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 http://www.archive.org/details/marplot01lysa
 
 THE MARPLOT
 
 THE MARPLOT 
 
 BY 
 
 SIDNEY ROYSE LYSAGHT 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I 
 
 iLontiait 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK 
 
 1893 
 
 Ail rights reserved
 
 COPYRIGHT 1893 
 
 BY 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO.
 
 ^ 
 
 So 
 
 f 
 
 1 
 
 gJl3 
 
 '? h^tlrn-^ 
 
 PART I 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Ship comes Home 3 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Uncles among the Ruins . . . -25 
 
 L* 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 
 VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 
 
 J 
 
 
 '^ 
 
 / CHAPTER IV 
 
 
 First Love 
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 38 
 
 63 
 
 ^ Modelling in the Round .... 83 
 
 ^
 
 VI 
 
 THE MARPLOT 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Adventures of a Tramp . . . . .98 
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 The Obtrusion of a Donkey upon a Fashion- 
 able Party 127 
 
 CHAPTER Vni 
 
 Miss Chillington . . . . . .143 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 Connie 167 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 A Supper Party 195 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Chelsea to Westminster . . . .226 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 Holy Matrimony 236
 
 THE MARPLOT 
 PART I 
 
 VOL. I
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A SHIP COMES HOME 
 
 Professor Wintersea returned from his 
 early walk across Hyde Park one morning 
 in a very happy frame of mind. A problem 
 relating to perfectly elastic solids, which had 
 been perplexing him for ten days, had sud- 
 denly grown clear to him, and he was look- 
 ing forward to the pleasure of transferring 
 his solution to paper after breakfast. So 
 occupied had he been with his problem dur- 
 ing the last two days that he had forgotten 
 his letters ; but at breakfast this morning he
 
 4 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 allowed himself the relaxation of reading 
 them, — fixing them open in a vacant division 
 of the toast rack so that he might enjoy 
 them without exacting from his hands that 
 attention which they owed to the meal. 
 The perusal of one of these letters changed 
 the expression of contentment on his face 
 to one of anguish. It came from a distant 
 connection, a Mr. Wrixon, who lived alone 
 with a brother in a half-ruined house on the 
 borders of Somerset and Devon ; It reminded 
 him painfully of a fact which he had en- 
 deavoured to foroet — that he was one of the 
 guardians of two children ; It informed him 
 that a ship called the Candia bearing these 
 children and their mother from India was 
 expected to arrive In London either on 
 that day or the next, and asked him to 
 meet them and superintend their departure
 
 CHAP. I A SHIP COMES HOME 5 
 
 for the west. Mr. Wrixon remarked that 
 it would be a good opportunity for the 
 Professor to make the acquaintance of his 
 wards. 
 
 These were a boy and a girl, children of 
 a Captain Malory, a cousin who had been a 
 friend of his boyhood. Professor Wintersea 
 being the only relation Captain Malory 
 possessed with whom he had not quarrelled, 
 had been appointed as one of the children's 
 guardians ; and though the office bristled 
 with terrors for the shy student, he had been 
 too good natured to refuse to act. He had 
 endeavoured to forget. But now the hour 
 of his trial had come. He was deeply 
 moved ; the news was full of unpleasant 
 suggestions : those of business responsibility, 
 of a multitude of dreaded and difficult duties. 
 
 * Dear me ! Bless mv soul ! ' he ex-
 
 6 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 claimed, ' this is very distressing — very 
 inopportune.' 
 
 The immediate task before him was also 
 uncongenial. He feared children, especially 
 growing boys, almost as much as he feared 
 young ladies who were already full grown. 
 He remembered that he would have to give 
 up his morning's work ; but the Professor 
 was an unselfish gentleman, and the thought 
 that he might be guilty of the discourtesy of 
 keeping a lady waiting on the steamer, while 
 he was indulging in perfectly elastic solids, 
 was even more distressing to him than the 
 abandonment of his studies. 
 
 As he drove down to the docks the quiet 
 streets reminded him that it was Sunday. 
 It was twelve o'clock before he found the 
 Candia, lying among the grim warehouses 
 near the Tower, and he observed her
 
 CHAP. I A SHIP COMES HOME 7 
 
 deserted appearance with some anxiety as he 
 went on board. At first he saw no one on 
 deck, but presently discovered a sailor lean- 
 ing over the bulwarks, smoking. The Pro- 
 fessor approached, and in his most courteous 
 manner — his politeness was of a more formal 
 type than is common now — asked him if the 
 captain was on board. 
 
 ' No, he ain't. What's your business ? ' 
 replied the man — not a pleasant man at any 
 time, and now not completely sober. 
 
 ' I came to see — that is, to meet some 
 friends,' explained Mr. Wintersea, 'but I 
 fear I am rather late.' 
 
 The sailor remained leaning on the bul- 
 warks with an eye over his shoulder. ' Yes, 
 you ain't too soon ; all the passengers went 
 ashore yesterday.' 
 
 ' Yesterday, by Jov^ ! ah ! dear me. dear
 
 8 THE MARPLOT iart i 
 
 me! But perhaps you can tell me if any 
 message was left for me by my friends ? ' 
 
 The sailor chuckled. ' Well, if that ain't 
 like a landsman. Without knowing who 
 you may be or who your friends may be, you 
 talks about a message. Now what colours 
 do your friends fly ? ' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon ? ' asked the Professor, 
 not comprehending. 
 
 The man turned with a look of vast 
 amusement and scrutinised the Professor, 
 who was beginning to be nettled. 
 
 ' In your case,' he said with dignity, ' a 
 little more of the suaviter in modo would not 
 be out of place, sir.' 
 
 The Latin was resented as a personal 
 affront. ' Look here,' growled the sailor, 
 ' we wants none of yer damnation parly 
 vooing on this here British ship. You ax a
 
 (HAP. I A SHIP COMES HOME 9 
 
 Straight question and I'll give you a straight 
 answer. Isn't it bad enough, after being at 
 sea eleven weeks, to be left here while all 
 my mates is ashore enjoying of themselves, 
 without being boarded by foreigners. Ay,' 
 he added, self-pity taking the place of anger, 
 ' eleven weeks at sea with eleven weeks' pay 
 in hand and no chance of going ashore to 
 spend it. I ain't a married man myself, and 
 I ain't sorry ; but that don't say as I ain't 
 fond of ladies' society, and I've had my fair 
 share of fun with 'em. Why, Lor' bless you, 
 governor, when I belong to the Evening 
 Star, and we was lying off Bonus Airs there 
 
 was a Spanish girl ' 
 
 ' Exactly, exactly,' interrupted the Pro- 
 fessor rapidly, ' very beautiful race the 
 Spaniards, — singularly so. Pra)- can you 
 tell me whether any letter was left for
 
 lo THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Mr. Wintersea by Mrs. Malory or the 
 captain ? ' 
 
 The sailor's manner changed at once. 
 ' Mrs. Malory, did you say ? Will you be a 
 near relation of hers ? ' 
 
 ' A distant relation : pray, why do you 
 ask ? ' 
 
 * Ah — she's dead.' 
 
 ' Dead ! Good God, man, are you 
 serious ? When ? What ? ' The Pro- 
 fessor could not proceed. 
 
 ' Ay, governor, it's a shock to you I can 
 see, so 'twas to all aboard, but it's a fact. 
 She died on the voyage, and we buried her 
 at sea, sure enough.' 
 
 The Professor saw that the man was 
 speaking the truth ; he was deeply shocked ; 
 he had a peculiar horror of death. The 
 sailor continued to relate some of the details
 
 CHAP. I A SHIP COMES HOME ii 
 
 of the circumstances, which he hardly heard ; 
 his thoughts were far away ; but suddenly 
 he exclaimed — 
 
 ' And the children, are they dead too ? ' 
 He did not know it himself, but when he 
 asked that question there was a momentary 
 vague hope in his heart that it might be so : 
 it would have been the solution of a difficulty, 
 an escape from dreaded guardianship ; but if 
 he had been conscious of the feeling he 
 would have blushed with shame. 
 
 ' Oh no, they're right enough ; Captain 
 Buntinof's took 'em ashore with him ; nice 
 children they be. Why, young Dick, he was 
 almost one of us. After we buried his 
 mother he'd scarce speak to one of the pas- 
 sengers, but he come up to the fo'castle. 
 And to see the way he looked after the 
 kid was a sight ; he always had her in tow.
 
 12 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 and her nurse, — a stiff- backed lady, no 
 liberties, governor, with her, no fear, — he 
 never let her do nothing for Nan. I believe 
 he scrubbed her decks and spread her canvas 
 his self. I beg pardon, sir, for being short 
 like when you come aboard ; I ain't had much 
 time for holystoning my language, and you 
 see you was a stranger to me, and my mates 
 was all ashore enjoying of themselves. Well, 
 now, I remember, the Cap'n's left a letter for 
 you in the cabin.' 
 
 The letter was addressed to ' Mrs. 
 Malory's friends,' and in it the Captain, after 
 briefly mentioning her death, said that he 
 had taken the children to the Bedford 
 Hotel in Covent Garden, where he generally 
 stayed himself when in London. Having 
 read this, the Professor bestowed a fee 
 upon his acquaintance, and departed hastily,
 
 CHAP. I A SHIP COMES HOME 13 
 
 in a state of mind more perturbed than 
 ever. 
 
 He was not fortunate in the circumstances 
 of his meeting with his wards. When the 
 door of a private room in the hotel was 
 opened and his name announced he en- 
 countered a scene so unHke anything he had 
 anticipated that he stood speechless with 
 bewilderment. A tall gentleman with a 
 noble brow and a countenance which, even 
 in wrath, wore a long-suffering smile, was 
 standing in the middle of the room ; opposite 
 to him was a boy of thirteen, whose face was 
 flushed with rage, and who was in the act of 
 tearing up a letter, the fragments of which 
 he threw at the benevolent gentleman's feet. 
 On a sofa sat Captain Bunting, smiling with 
 satisfaction, and on the Captain's knee was a 
 pretty little girl of five. The Professor
 
 14 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 distinctly heard the awful words, ' It's lies 
 from beginning to end, and you're a liar and 
 a sneak,' spoken by the boy to whom he was 
 guardian. He was thoroughly frightened, 
 and half unconsciously exclaimed, ' God bless 
 my soul ! Dear me ! This is — this is very 
 unusual.' 
 
 There was an awkward silence ; the boy 
 looked at the Captain ; the gentleman ad- 
 vanced towards the Professor. 
 
 ' If I am not mistaken, sir, you are this 
 boy's guardian '^, ' he said. 
 
 ' I fear so — that is, I hope so. I ' 
 
 stumbled the Professor. 
 
 ' This letter, which you see in fragments, 
 was addressed to you, sir, by me. Poor 
 Mrs. Malory was a friend of my wife. I 
 was in a measure entrusted with the care of 
 the children during the voyage. I felt it my
 
 CHAP. I A SHIP COMES HOME 15 
 
 duty to write to you with reference to the 
 boy's character.' 
 
 ' Don't Hsten to what he says, sir.' 
 
 ' Dick,' said Captain Bunting, 'hold your 
 noise.' 
 
 ' Don't listen to him,' cried Dick, still boil- 
 ing with indignation. ' The letter was all 
 lies ; he had the cheek to read it to me, and 
 tell me to give it you. He said I didn't care 
 when my mother — he said I insulted him 
 and went off in bad company with the 
 sailors, as if they weren't better than him.' 
 
 ' It is all perfectly true,' said the gentle- 
 man calmly. ' The boy is almost without 
 heart ; his mother's death had no subduing 
 influence on him — it hardened him. I should 
 like to be allowed a few minutes' private con- 
 versation with you when you are at leisure. 
 Now I will ask you to excuse me. You
 
 i6 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 have had an opportunity of judging for your- 
 self what he is like.' 
 
 An uncomfortable pause followed his de- 
 parture. Now that his passion had passed, 
 the boy felt humiliated and ashamed ; it was 
 very hard that his guardian should have 
 met him under such circumstances ; he 
 was silent, and looked to the Captain for 
 help. 
 
 Captain Bunting rose with a reassuring 
 laugh. ' You must not take too much notice 
 of what you have just heard, sir,' said he. 
 ' Dick and that one didn't hit it off together. 
 There might be a bit of truth in what he 
 said about his going too much to the fo'castle 
 and standing drinks, but there's nothing to 
 trouble you — Dick's right enough.' 
 
 ' Of course, of course,' assented the Pro- 
 fessor, much relieved ; ' I am delighted to
 
 CHAP. I A SHIP COMES HOME 17 
 
 have made your acquaintance, Captain Bunt- 
 ing.' 
 
 Dick and the Professor then approached 
 each other with mutual shyness. 
 
 ' How d'you do, how are you ? ' said Mr. 
 Wintersea. ' I'm — I'm your guardian, you 
 know, — that is, your cousin.' He always 
 spoke rapidly ; when he was nervous he spoke 
 more rapidly than usual. 
 
 ' We hoped you'd come tremendously,' 
 said Dick ; ' it was very good of you to come 
 to-day.' 
 
 ' Oh, not at all, not at all, my dear sir, my 
 dear boy. I ought to have met you yester- 
 day, but the ship arrived so suddenly, you 
 see. I really blame myself excessively, but 
 it can't be helped now.' The poor Professor 
 groped in his mind for a suitable way ot 
 
 alluding to Mrs. Malory's death, and jerked 
 VOL. I c
 
 i8 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 out, ' I've heard the sad news from a sailor 
 on board — a disappointed man apparently — 
 dear me ! so very sudden and sad, but we 
 must be brave, my dear boy.' 
 
 ' The Captain has been awfully good to 
 us,' said Dick. 
 
 * We must thank him heartily, Thomas. 
 Ah ! yes, that is to say, Wrixon. Of course, 
 of course. I was thinking of the editor of 
 Morte d Arthur for the moment.' 
 
 'And this is Nan, sir.' 
 
 ' And are you a very good little girl '^. ' 
 asked the Professor. 
 
 Nan had been contemplating the strange 
 gentleman with the beard for some time. 
 She always associated goodness with educa- 
 tion, and promptly replied, ' Oh yes, I can 
 count so nicely.' 
 
 Mr. Wintersea felt immediately on his
 
 CHAP. I A SHIP COMES HOME 19 
 
 own ground. ' Count, can you ? How many 
 can you count, my dear ? ' 
 
 'Almost as many as there is,' replied Nan 
 proudly ; and this so pleased the Professor 
 that he laughed heartily, and almost forgot 
 his recent fears. 
 
 ' And now, Wrixon, about our plans. 
 Your train for the west to-morrow leaves 
 Paddington in the morning at 11.45, ^ fi^^^^- 
 What about this afternoon ? ' he added 
 nervously, dreading the thought of being left 
 alone with the boy ; ' unfortunately Sunday 
 is such a bad day for seeing London.' 
 
 * May I keep charge of them rill the morn- 
 ing, as a favour ? ' asked the Captain. ' I 
 promised Dick to take him down to the ship 
 a^ain ; he wanted to have a last look at her.' 
 
 The Professor was relieved, and the re- 
 quest was so sincerely expressed that he
 
 20 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 could have no hesitation in agreeing to it. 
 He thanked the Captain cordially, and turned 
 to Dick. 
 
 ' You will perhaps excuse my accompany- 
 ing you, Wrixon. There is an engagement 
 I had made for five o'clock which I should 
 be glad to keep. I should like to have seen 
 more of the Candia, though there was a 
 sailor, — a very unfavourable specimen of his 
 class, I fear, but, poor fellow, we must- make 
 allowances — at first he was not very polite.' 
 
 ' Confound the fellow ! ' exclaimed the 
 Captain. 'I'll ' 
 
 ' Oh pray take no notice of it ! ' cried the 
 Professor anxiously. ' I assure you a mere 
 absence of formality in manner, a seafaring 
 bluntness, merely, quite refreshing in fact. 
 I will call for you, Wrixon, at nine o'clock 
 to-morrow morning, and perhaps we may see
 
 CHAP. I A SHIP COMES HOME 21 
 
 something of London on the way to the 
 station. Now what would you Hke to see 
 particularly ? ' 
 
 A great field for choice was spread 
 before this boy, for whom England was 
 the land of all that was wonderful and 
 pleasant, and London, though he had been 
 somewhat disappointed with what he had 
 already seen of it, the centre of that wonder- 
 land. 
 
 ' Of course there's the inside of the Tower 
 of London, sir, and there's St. Paul's, and 
 Westminster Abbey, and Newgate, and the 
 Horse Guards, and I suppose,' he added, with 
 some condescension, ' Nan would like to see 
 the Zoo. And would there be a chance of 
 seeing Lord's cricket ground ? ' 
 
 ' Lord's cricket ground ? I was never 
 there in my life. Bless me, Wrixon, all you
 
 22 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 boys are alike : you seem to think London 
 itself a sort of frame to Lord's cricket 
 ground, and another place called the Ellipse 
 — or Oval rather. No, I fear we shall not 
 have time ; besides, it is nothing but a bit of 
 grass ; there are other places of the most pro- 
 found interest.' Then he suddenly remem- 
 bered the existence of the strange gentleman. 
 
 ' Bless my soul,' he said ; ' I suppose 
 ni have to see this gentleman. It is 
 very painful, but I suppose there is no help 
 for It.' 
 
 ' Don't you trouble about him, sir,' said 
 the Captain ; ' you can slip out without his 
 seeing you. He's one of the interfering sort. 
 People who won't mind their own business 
 are a nuisance.' 
 
 ' A very just remark, Captain Bunting, 
 a very just remark,' said the Professor.
 
 CHAP. I A SHIP COMES HOME 23 
 
 ' You have been truly kind ; we owe you our 
 heartiest thanks. I can never thank you 
 sufficiently for your courtesy and your care 
 of my dear young relatives. And I have 
 your assurance that the good gentleman was 
 under a misapprehension ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly, sir — bar the fo'castle. I spoke 
 to Dick about that myself; but that was 
 nothing, he's all right.' 
 
 'Ah yes/ answered the Professor, 'no 
 doubt, no doubt ; a farewell occasion and 
 good wishes ; valedictory rum among the 
 mariners, and so forth — very pleasant. 
 I am delighted to have made your ac- 
 quaintance. Good - bye. Good - bye, my 
 dear children. Nine o'clock to-morrow 
 morning.' 
 
 The Professor departed very well pleased 
 with the manner in which he had discharged
 
 24 THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 his duties. He wrote a letter to Mr. Wrixon 
 detailing the circumstances of the meeting, 
 and then dismissed the children from his 
 mind and returned to his problem in mathe- 
 matics.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 UNCLES AMONG THE RUINS 
 
 Mr. Humphry Wrixon sat in his favourite 
 corner of the old walled garden of Farinder 
 Priory. It was December, but the day was 
 so genial that he, a lover of warmth, had left 
 his armchair in the library and brought out 
 his books. Humphry was a bachelor of 
 forty-five, plump and clean-shaven, his con- 
 tented countenance so like that of the repre- 
 sentative monk of the painter that, differently 
 clad, he might have passed for one of the ten 
 canons of the order of St. Augustine who 
 had once sought seclusion in this quiet corner
 
 26 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 of the world. The warm wall behind him 
 was bright with blossoms of yellow jasmine ; 
 a robin sang in an apple-tree ; pleasant 
 country sounds came from the distance, — the 
 lowing of cattle, the talk of the rookery, the 
 hum of the threshing-machine, suddenly fall- 
 ing half an octave in tone as a new sheaf 
 went between the rollers. On his knee was 
 a copy of The Golden Ass of Apuleius, in his 
 mouth an enormous pipe. 
 
 He had excited some curiosity in the 
 neighbourhood when he had joined his 
 brother at Farinder ; but, as there was no 
 lady in the establishment, little more was 
 known about him now than when he first 
 came. Even his brother had been sur- 
 prised at his choice, and had received no 
 other explanation for it than that the Priory 
 contained an excellent cellar in which he
 
 CHAP. II UNCLES AMONG THE RUINS 27 
 
 could keep his wine, and a room which could 
 be converted into a good library for his 
 books. His brother was fifteen years his 
 senior ; he had retired early from the navy, 
 and, after wandering about for a few years 
 an aimless widower, had bought the ruined 
 Priory, which was a fragment of family pro- 
 perty. He was a man who had been pro- 
 posed by nature as an artist, and disposed by 
 a stern parent in the navy. The old build- 
 ings were to him a sacred charge ; it was his 
 daily task to prevent their falling into further 
 ruin. He was a sculptor of some ability, 
 and in one of the outbuildings, which he had 
 converted into a workshop, he did loving 
 daily work in clay and stone. 
 
 Nothing disturbed Humphry, not even 
 the advent of the young people, which had 
 fluttered his brother with pleasant excite:-
 
 28 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 merit. He had found their presence agree- 
 able, his habits were in no way disturbed by 
 them, and they had brought with them a new 
 brightness to the daily life. Dick pleased 
 him ; he looked upon him critically as a 
 probable inheritor of his wine and his 
 books, the possessions he valued most, and 
 he was hopeful that with judicious train- 
 ing he might become worthy of the double 
 responsibility, 
 
 After finishing his pipe, Humphry remem- 
 bered that Squire Longfield, the only neigh- 
 bour who was a regular visitor at the Priory, 
 was coming with his boy to dine that night, 
 and that a few words with the cook would be 
 necessary. He strolled out of the garden 
 into the garth, passing through a gateway, 
 on each side of which was a shield : one 
 charged with the ^m^ Holy Wounds, the
 
 CHAP. II UNCLES AMONG THE RUINS 29 
 
 Other with a chevron between three bucrle- 
 
 o 
 
 horns. The garth had been used as a farm- 
 yard for generations, and the outbuildings 
 and even the chapel had, after the dissolution 
 of the monastery, been converted into farm 
 buildings. A look of special satisfaction was 
 on his face as he passed Ovens, Nan's maid ; 
 for he remembered that the month's notice 
 to leave which she had given immediately on 
 arrival expired in a few days. Ovens, on 
 being asked why she wished to leave, had 
 said that she liked life too much to stay in 
 such a place. With Voweraker junior, son 
 of the old out-door servant, he exchanged 
 friendly greeting. Voweraker junior, holding 
 a ladder against the chapel wall, was waiting 
 for Mr. Wrixon, who was about to ascend to 
 remove some encroaching ivy from the 
 tracery of a window. Voweraker senior had
 
 30 THE MARPLOT part r 
 
 gone to Wayland to buy a cow for Nan's 
 particular benefit. 
 
 He found his brother within the chapel 
 wistfully contemplating some uncarved blocks 
 of stone at the intersection of four of the 
 arch mouldings in the nave. These, and 
 some unfinished column capitals in the 
 chancel, had been left unexecuted at the 
 dissolution. Humphry knew that it was the 
 old man's highest ambition to complete these 
 himself, and that his veneration for the old 
 work was such that he hesitated to touch 
 them. 
 
 'Well, John,' he said, 'you are thinking 
 of making a beginning perhaps ? ' 
 
 Humphry spoke very slowly, lingering 
 on every word as though he loved it, drawl- 
 ing at such times as he was serious. He 
 had also a dif^culty with his letter ' r,' and
 
 CHAP. II UNCLES AMONG THE RUINS 31 
 
 was sometimes obliged to make his ' et7 ' do 
 double service. 
 
 ' It would be sacrilege, Humphry,' replied 
 Mr. Wrixon. ' It would be like an inferior 
 man undertaking to complete a book which 
 another had left unfinished when he died.' 
 
 ' But these two look so lonely by them- 
 selves. When I see them I feel inclined 
 to finish the others myself for the sake of 
 giving them some society. They have been 
 waiting three hundred years for the birth of 
 their friends. And it is not like completing 
 an unfinished book ; each of these heads is 
 complete in itself.' 
 
 ' I don't agree with you, Humphry. The 
 two already finished show signs of the same 
 hand. It is my belief that the sculptor had 
 an idea which he meant to carry out through 
 the series. Poor fellow ! I expect he died,
 
 32 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 and his companions would allow no one else 
 to continue his work.' 
 
 ' My dear brother,' Humphry protested, 
 ' I am perfectly convinced you are mistaken. 
 You know the monastic life had sunk low 
 before the dissolution, and it is my belief 
 that these heads are uncarved because the 
 monks were too lazy to do the work, — they 
 were too fat to go up ladders.' 
 
 ' I wish you would be serious sometimes, 
 Humphry. Well, perhaps some day I may 
 attempt the work. I wonder if there is 
 any chance of Dick taking to sculpture ; he 
 likes coming to the workshop.' 
 
 ' That's to avoid lessons.' 
 
 ' Well, perhaps so, but if he should take 
 up sculpture some day as his profession it 
 would be a ereat delight to me. We shall 
 have to think seriously about his education,
 
 CHAP. II UNCLES AMONG THE RUINS 33 
 
 Humphry ; it has been greatly neglected. 
 I wanted him to do a little Latin this morn- 
 ing, but he says it is the holidays, and Tom 
 Longfield has come home. They have gone 
 off together somewhere.' 
 
 ' We shall have to send the fellow to 
 school.' 
 
 'Yes,' replied Mr. Wrixon, with reluct- 
 ance, 'after a year, I think. We might 
 coach him a little at home first.' 
 
 Humphry entered the house through a 
 door at the end of the chapel. He went to 
 his library, and, after replacing The Golden 
 Ass on the shelf, opened a cupboard and 
 took out a decanter containing some very 
 excellent bitter sherry, and a plate of biscuits. 
 Then he rang the bell and had an audience 
 with the cook. This was a daily occurrence, 
 — the sole part which he took in the manage- 
 
 VOL. I D
 
 34 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ment of the household, — but to-day he had 
 some special instructions to give on account 
 of the expectation of visitors. He informed 
 Mrs. Collop that a barrel of oysters would 
 be sent up during the afternoon by the 
 carrier, and expounded to her some sound 
 doctrine on her duty towards her snipe. The 
 income of the brothers was moderate, but 
 their expenses were few, and Humphry 
 regarded the possession of a good cook as 
 a necessity. He had himself gone to London 
 some years before to secure one, and had 
 brought Mrs. Collop back, with him. Hav- 
 ing concluded this, the only business of his 
 day, and finished his abstemious lunch, he 
 again went out into the sunshine. This time 
 he strolled down the avenue towards the 
 village. 
 
 The Priory was well placed on the hill to
 
 CHAP. II UNCLES AMONG THE RUINS 35 
 
 catch the best of the sunshine. It looked 
 doAvn on the roofs of the village, and the 
 broad grass-grown street. To the north the 
 woodland sloped to the moor, and westward 
 there was a peep of the channel. 
 
 It was pleasant in the fields this morning : 
 the sunshine fell cheerfully on farm and 
 cottage ; on thatched roofs the bright green 
 moss had crimson patches ; the leafless woods 
 wore their delicate winter hues of madder 
 and dusky green ; the bare hedges were 
 bright with scarlet berries ; and in the far 
 distance the green country-side passed into 
 misty blue against the pale blue sky. On 
 the grass beside the pathway the moles had 
 upturned fresh mounds of red earth ; plovers 
 were wheeling, black to white, against a 
 cloud ; a ruffle of wind came from the south. 
 
 He stopped to talk with wayfarers in the
 
 36 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 road, or the village children coming from 
 school. He had a fraternal word for every 
 one : he did not think highly of human 
 nature, but he loved it none the less on that 
 account. He paused to watch the rooks. 
 He and the Priory rooks understood each 
 other ; his presence never disturbed them, 
 they regarded him as one of themselves ; 
 and them he regarded as friends, as monks, 
 apart from the world, untouched by the 
 changes of time, yet understanding man, and 
 dwelling near the homes of the trustworthy ; 
 as philosophers, neither hurrying nor exult- 
 ing, but leading godly lives of daily content. 
 ' Life is very pleasant/ he thought, ' very 
 pleasant. For those who are content to take 
 what it gives, it gives so much ; and those 
 who are always asking something which it 
 cannot give deserve to be unhappy, and do
 
 CHAP. II UNCLES AMONG THE RUINS 2>7 
 
 not understand what they want.' He remem- 
 bered a disappointment of the past, a dream, 
 an ideal which he had once cherished. This 
 thought made him grave for a few moments ; 
 then the smile of satisfaction returned to his 
 face. 'Yes,' he mused, Mife is very good, if 
 you don't take it seriously.'
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 
 
 That evening after dinner a merry party 
 gathered round the deep fireplace in the 
 refectory at the Priory. The sound of such 
 laughter had not been heard since the time 
 of the canons ; for the quiet farm folk who 
 had afterwards occupied the building were 
 not given to mirth. The presence of youth 
 radiated ; the great fire of peat and logs looked 
 pleasanter now that there were young eyes to 
 read the pictures in it ; the basset hound, who 
 had usually slept at this hour on former even- 
 ings, lay on the rug with open, contented eyes.
 
 CHAP. Ill VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 39 
 
 The conversation was of stag-hunting, 
 and other subjects dear to boys and pleasant 
 to their elders. Tom wanted little en- 
 couragement to talk : he produced fragments 
 of schoolboy lore, which were marvellous 
 to Dick ; he knew all the cricket averages 
 of the best players for the last three years ; 
 he dimly hinted that he himself was writing 
 the life of Jupp, the Surrey professional, 
 though it afterwards transpired that that 
 work had not progressed beyond the first 
 sentence : ' Henry Jupp first saw the light 
 at Clapham, in the county of Surrey.' 
 
 Although it was winter, Tom had a pur- 
 pose in introducing the theme of cricket. A 
 new ground was being made for the village 
 on one of his father's fields, which had one 
 fault from a player's point of view, though 
 this fault was one of its charms to an un-
 
 40 THE MARPLOl part i 
 
 critical spectator : it was surrounded by fine 
 old trees. Tom wished to see some of these 
 trees removed. He had ventured the request 
 once without success, but he had then been 
 alone with his father. Now he craftily 
 calculated that his good humour and the 
 presence of others might induce him to be 
 reasonable. 
 
 ' I suppose you've seen the new field ? ' he 
 asked Dick, with an air of indifference. 
 
 ' Yes, where they are stripping the turf 
 off,' replied Dick. 
 
 * There won't be a better village ground 
 in the county. It has only one disadvantage, 
 the light is bad — rather too many trees. I 
 say, governor, do you mind giving Mr. 
 Banks permission to have down two or three 
 of the elms at the top and bottom of the 
 field ? They'll interfere with the light for a
 
 CHAP. Ill VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 41 
 
 catch in the country. I know they're good 
 trees, but we have any amount of others. 
 Just four of the elms, sir ? ' 
 
 ' No, I'm damned if I will,' said the Squire, 
 suddenly growing angry. ' Why, boy, you'd 
 turn the game into a piece of machinery. 
 When I was a lad w^e went to the wicket like 
 men, begad, and took our chance of a crack 
 on the legs. Now you muffle your shins in 
 padding and your hands in india-rubber. 
 Psh, and you must have screens behind the 
 wicket ; and, because you're such confounded 
 young butter-fingers, you say you can't see 
 the ball, and want to cut down my trees. 
 Upon my soul, it's too bad. I wish I'd never 
 allowed the new ground to be made on my 
 land, begad.' 
 
 Tom took refuge behind the authority of 
 the Church. 'Oh, just as you like, sir,' he
 
 42 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 replied, in an aggrieved tone, 'but I'm not 
 the only one who thinks so. Mr. Middleton 
 said it would be a thousand pities to see a 
 first-class ground spoilt for the sake of a few 
 trees.' 
 
 'Well, Middleton ought to know better,' 
 thundered the Squire — ' a clergyman of the 
 Church of England, and a Conservative. 
 Does he want to see the country stripped 
 bare ? A parson, Wrixon, would you believe 
 it ? If I'd known he had ideas of that sort 
 he wouldn't have had the living, begad. 
 We'll have you asking us to take down the 
 fences next, because it's easier to cross 
 country without 'em.' 
 
 ' Well, I shan't be at home much, so it 
 won't make much difference to me,' Tom 
 remarked, rather defiantly. 
 
 'What should you say about it, Wrixon,
 
 CHAP. Ill VO WE RAKER DROPS A SPARK 43 
 
 if the trees were yours ? ' asked the Squire, 
 cooHng down. 
 
 ' I should keep the trees,' repHed Mr. 
 Wrixon, laughing. 
 
 ' Of course you would. No, Tom — look 
 here, I'll double my subscription to the club, 
 but the trees won't come down ; that's 
 settled.' 
 
 Tom saw that further argument was use- 
 less, and said no more. 
 
 Mr. Wrixon sent for Nan, who had dis- 
 appeared just before the guests arrived. A 
 little frown of perplexity gathered on his 
 brow as he glanced from Mr. Longfield's 
 cigar to Humphry's pipe. The long absence 
 of ladies' society had made them careless 
 about many of their habits at the Priory, 
 but he began to be thoughtful on Nan's 
 account ; her surroundings should be as
 
 44 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 refined, he argued, as if she had a 
 mother. 
 
 * Don't you think, Humphry,' he suggested, 
 ' that the smoke might make the child cough ? 
 Eh, excuse me, Longfield, I forgot you were 
 smoking too, — she'll be off to bed, you know, 
 in a few minutes.' 
 
 'Oh, she doesn't mind smoking a bit, sir,' 
 said Dick ; 'she got accustomed to it at sea.' 
 
 Nan came into the room w^ith a plate in 
 her hand and tears in her eyes. On the 
 plate were ^v^ fox-terrier puppy dogs' tails, 
 arranged in a row. 
 
 ' My dear child, what have you got there '^ ' 
 asked Mr. Wrixon. 
 
 Humphry laid down his pipe and regarded 
 her and her plate with great interest. The boys 
 exchanged comical glances ; they had them- 
 selves assisted at the amputation of the tails.
 
 CHAP. Ill VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 45 
 
 * Cruel, naughty boys ! ' said Nan, ' you let 
 them do it. They've cut off the poor, poor 
 little puppies' tails.' 
 
 Mr. Wrixon took her on his knee and 
 tried to comfort her, 
 
 ' They won't never wag again,' she said 
 dolefully. 
 
 * But you know, my dear,' said Mr. Wrixon, 
 ' all little puppy dogs of this sort have their 
 tails cut off' 
 
 This information brought small comfort. 
 
 ' But,' she insisted, ' their eyes opened 
 yesterday when they was ten days old, and 
 if their tails had to be cut off, why wasn't 
 they done before they opened their eyes, and 
 then they'd never have known they ever had 
 any tails, and wouldn't have minded so much?' 
 
 'You are a very wise little girl,' said 
 Humphry gravely, amid the laughter of the
 
 46 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Others ; ' and when Gin has any more pups 
 we'll not wait so long, or not cut them off at 
 all; 
 
 ' Fox-terriers, Humphry, fox-terriers,' re- 
 monstrated Mr. Longfield. 
 
 ' Why should they be cut off at all ? ' 
 asked Nan. 
 
 ' I don't think they ought to be cut off, 
 Nan,' replied her champion ; 'they might be 
 very useful to them sometime or other. 
 Once upon a time ' — the magic words ban- 
 ished her sorrow — ' once upon a time there 
 was a poor sailor who was wrecked at sea, 
 and left out alone in a boat with his dog, 
 which he had saved. They had nothing to 
 eat for several days, and the man was almost 
 starving, and so was the dog. He would 
 not kill the dog and eat him, because he loved 
 him, so what do you think he did ? '
 
 CHAP. Ill VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 47 
 
 ' Killed himself, and gave himself to the 
 poor starving dog,' said Nan, much in- 
 terested. 
 
 ' No, he did something better ; he cut off 
 the dog's tail, and cooked it, and ate it, and 
 gave the dog the bone.' 
 
 Humphry and Nan remained solemn, un- 
 moved by the laughter of the others. 
 
 * Did they get safely to their home ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 ' Yes, my dear ; a good ship picked them 
 up the next morning and brought them safe 
 to land, and the poor dog wanted to wag his 
 tail for joy, and had not got one to wag.' 
 
 Nan went off to bed happy, leaving her 
 plate of tails behind her. Humphry took it 
 up and addressed the boys in a portentous 
 tone. 
 
 ' These puppy dogs' tails are an illustration
 
 48 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 of the rights of the masses, which they are 
 born with. In former times they lost their 
 rights, as the puppies often lose their tails, 
 before their eyes were opened : now their 
 eyes are opened, and they see them being 
 taken way. Whether rights are good for the 
 people, or tails for fox-terriers, is another 
 matter. In both cases their masters think 
 they look better without them.' 
 
 ' Really, Humphry, is it desirable to put 
 such notions Into the boys' heads ? ' said his 
 brother, rather testily ; ' they may think you 
 are in earnest.' 
 
 'Well,' Humphry yielded, 'leave the 
 masses and apply the Illustration to the case 
 of woman.' 
 
 ' Oh,' cried the Squire, losing all patience, 
 ' what the devil do you want us to be- 
 lieve ? Do you want me to think that
 
 CHAP. Ill VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 49 
 
 a fox-terrier ought to have a long tail, and 
 every ignorant blackguard in the country 
 have the same rights as his betters ? And 
 you'd give every may -cow of a woman 
 a vote, and make 'em doctors and lawyers, 
 begad.' 
 
 'On the contrary,' replied Humphry. 
 ' Personally, though I think it is rather un- 
 just, I prefer to see a fox-terrier without a 
 tail, and a woman without her rights.' 
 
 ' Well, why did you say the opposite ? ' said 
 the Squire, immediately mollified. ' What a 
 humbug you are, Humphry. One never 
 knows whether you are in earnest or not. 
 This uncle of yours is an old humbug, 
 Dick, and you must be careful to take 
 what he says with a grain of salt. D'ye 
 hear — niultis grants — that's good Latin, 
 ain't it, Wrixon ? ' The Squire laughed 
 
 VOL. I E
 
 50 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 heartily, and the boys joined him. Mr. 
 Wrixon produced a backgammon board. 
 
 * What do you say to our game, Long- 
 field ? ' he asked ; ' I want my revenge. By 
 the way, next time you're passing in day- 
 light I wish you'd have a look at a little cow 
 I bought to-day for the young lady's special 
 benefit. You boys can be off for a bit, if 
 you like.' 
 
 They were ready enough to take advan- 
 tage of the permission. Tom had a visit to 
 the inn and the introduction of his new friend 
 to some village institutions in view. 
 
 * I say,' said he, when they were outside, 
 * you don't suppose old Humphry was in 
 earnest, do you ? He can't be a Radical ? I 
 believe he was drawing my parent. You're 
 a Conservative, of course ? I suppose you're 
 going into the army ? '
 
 CHAP. Ill VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 51 
 
 * If they'll let me,' replied Dick. ' I don't 
 know whether I can afford it. I mean to, if 
 I can.' 
 
 ' Oh, you must work it. I am. After 
 next term I'm going to read for a bit with a 
 coach, and then I'm going to Sandhurst. I 
 say, Malory, I do hope there'll be a jolly 
 good war soon after I get in. I wonder 
 who it's likely to be with — the Germans, 
 I suppose.' 
 
 * It's a pity they've beaten the French,' 
 said Dick, meditatively. ' I should like to 
 have begun on the French, and I don't like 
 the idea of any one but us licking the French. 
 I'd like to fight the French because they are 
 gentlemen. My governor said the Germans 
 were not.' 
 
 'It is a pity,' Tom assented sadly; 'and 
 besides, there won't be so much credit in 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSmr OF ILLINOfS
 
 52 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 licking the French now that the Germans 
 have done it.' 
 
 ' But fighting isn't as good as it used to 
 be,' Dick continued. ' What a lark it must 
 have been for a knight with a few followers 
 to have taken a castle himself.' 
 
 ' Oh, but there's plenty of good fighting 
 left,' Tom argued. ' Look at Balaklava. I 
 mean to get into a cavalry regiment if I can.' 
 
 'And if I can't afford to go in as an 
 officer, I suppose I shall have to enlist,' said 
 Dick, 'and work up. I don't see why a 
 gentleman shouldn't enlist' 
 
 The word gentleman was still full of 
 significance for him : it summed up the 
 religion of his father. Goethe remarked 
 that the beautiful was greater than the good, 
 forasmuch as the beautiful included the 
 good : the late Captain Malory held that
 
 CHAP. Ill VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 53 
 
 good breeding was greater than morality, 
 since it included morality, or, at least, so 
 much as was necessary. Honour was to 
 him the thing of paramount importance ; 
 it even justified the duel under certain cir- 
 cumstances, and he had himself fought one. 
 He had instilled some of his ideas on the 
 subject into his son. 
 
 ' I knew two fellows who were gentlemen 
 who enlisted,' Tom said. * If it comes to 
 that, you enlist in my regiment, and I'll do 
 all I can to shove you on, old chap, but I 
 hope you'll work it without.' 
 
 As they came to the village the boys fell 
 into the attitude towards each other of host 
 and guest. Tom made a suitable impression 
 on his companion. At the inn he called 
 the landlord's daughter by her christian 
 name, complimented her upon her personal
 
 54 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 appearance, and as he entered the inn room, 
 where the village company was assembled, 
 he actually lighted a cigar. The presence 
 of the boys produced a mental awakening 
 among the company ; the pauses in the talk 
 v/ere fewer ; they made no more personal 
 remarks about cows. 
 
 Souls these simple folks no doubt pos- 
 sessed, but they were hidden away and lost 
 in their bodies. Or, if the body be the 
 clothing of the soul, in their case it did not 
 seem as if they had been measured ; there 
 was a want of proportion in the amount of 
 body and the amount of soul, which re- 
 sembled the condition of an urchin in his 
 father's breeches. They were as so many 
 flints with hidden lights, but not able to 
 strike them for each other. Tom was as the 
 necessary steel, and won sparks from them :
 
 CHAP. Ill VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 55 
 
 he had a charm to rouse them and make 
 them laugh ; he seemed to know what to 
 say to each, and was very popular among 
 them. 
 
 The old inn room, with settle and chimney 
 seats ; the low ceiling, from the great beam of 
 which depended sides of bacon dangerously 
 hanging over the heads of subjacent rustics ; 
 the rustics themselves with ruddy faces, 
 slowly responsive and kindly — some of them 
 bearing marks of acquaintance with half a 
 century's beer and hard weather, comparable 
 to the coloured clay pipe on which no 
 thought has been bestowed, just as other 
 faces delicately tinted with port wine are 
 suggestive of the well-toned meerschaum — 
 all made a pleasant scene, picturesque in 
 its way, and novel to Dick. 
 
 Tom introduced him, — his friend Mr.
 
 56 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Malory who had come to live in this 
 country. 
 
 Dick rose to the occasion ; he said he was 
 very glad to make their acquaintance, and 
 hoped they would do him the honour of 
 allowing him to order drinks for them all. 
 This produced a very favourable impression, 
 and met with Tom's hearty approval. The 
 landlord took the order with a beaming face, 
 and chairs were brought for the boys. 
 
 ' You'll be down here now for a bit, may- 
 be, Master Tom 1 ' inquired a farmer. 
 
 'Well,' said Tom, 'yes, a month or so, 
 and then I shall have to prepare for the army.' 
 
 'Ah, well now, well, to be sure,' said the 
 landlord ; ' so you won't stay with us, you're 
 for the army ? well now.' 
 
 'You see,' explained Tom, regarding his 
 cigar ash critically, ' the country must have
 
 CHAP. Ill VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 57 
 
 defenders, and although it's pleasant enough 
 here in the old place, a man must not shirk 
 his duty.' 
 
 This remark was received with a murmur 
 of approbation. 
 
 'And duty's duty,' remarked the butcher, 
 ' and foreigners wants teaching their place.' 
 
 'Ah,' observed an old herdsman, 'they're 
 funny chaps, they foreigners — fights wi' 
 knives, they say. I wouldn't like to live 
 along with 'em from what I do hear. I 
 don't know the sensation of 'em myself, but 
 it's what I do hear, gentlemen.' 
 
 'Hullo!' cried Dick, 'if that isn't old 
 Voweraker, and I believe he's drunk.' 
 
 Voweraker had been sleeping unobserved 
 in a corner, and was now aroused amid 
 general laughter. He was drunk for the 
 first time since he had been in Mr. Wrixon's
 
 58 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 employment. It was a great day in his life, 
 a cow had been bought. Things had gone 
 along so uneventfully at the Priory until 
 now, his duties were of so unimposing a 
 kind, that the thought of the responsibility 
 attending the care of a cow fascinated him : 
 he felt a new dignity. He had himself been 
 entrusted with the purchase, and the occasion 
 had been too great for considerations of 
 prudence. 
 
 ' Voweraker,' said Dick, 'you are drunk.' 
 ' It's like this here, Mr. Dick, and gen'le- 
 men all,' said Voweraker, staggering to his 
 feet. ' Who says I'm drunk says wrong. 
 Maybe I've overstepped the bounds o' pru- 
 dence. But this little cow, oh dear, oh dear. 
 Hast thee ever heard I sing, Master Dick ? ' 
 ' Don't make a fool o' theeself, John,' said 
 a neighbour ; ' sit down and keep quiet,
 
 cHAr. Ill VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 59 
 
 the beer's hurt thee back, thee casn't stand 
 straight' 
 
 ' Beer ! ' said Voweraker indignantly, 
 ' don't 'ee talk to I o' beer, give me a nice 
 drop o' zider, / say, better than all the beer, 
 / say. And that little cow, God bless her — 
 a better milker, gen'lemen, and Mr. Dick, 
 where'll you find? I ask, meanin' no offence.' 
 
 ' Some o' Squire's cows have a great 
 name,' suggested one of the company. 
 
 ' Squire Longfield's a gen'leman,' replied 
 Voweraker, ' so he be, and his cows is good 
 cows, as they am. Squire Longfield's a 
 gen'leman, and he 'on't deny it, and young 
 Mr. Tom settin there as happy as a king, he 
 'on't deny it. Eh, but he's a fine lad, he be. 
 What a leg 'er got on 'er, han't 'er ? ' 
 
 In spite of his use of the feminine pronoun 
 it was understood that he had called upon
 
 6o THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 the company to admire Tom's leg, not the 
 cow's, and Tom had to submit to general 
 scrutiny, feeling rather uncomfortable. 
 
 'It's a fine family, friends,' continued 
 Voweraker, ' young Tom's a fine lad, and 
 Miss Margaret, her's a straightbacked likely 
 maid. Likely thee'll go coortin' there some 
 day, Mas'r Dick } ' 
 
 This speech was received with great 
 laughter ; but Voweraker was becoming un- 
 bearable. Dick blushed scarlet. 
 
 ' Shut up, you old donkey,' he said, 
 angrily, ' you're getting cheeky. If you say 
 any more we'll put you under the pump. I 
 say, Tom, oughtn't we to be going ? ' 
 
 More laughter followed at Voweraker's 
 expense ; he was crestfallen ; and, when the 
 boys left, he was weeping copiously and 
 making incoherent references to the cow.
 
 CHAP. Ill VOWERAKER DROPS A SPARK 6i 
 
 Tom was in great spirits as they walked 
 home. He was pleased with the impression 
 he felt he had produced on Dick as show- 
 man, and he was satisfied with the way in 
 which his friend had conducted himself. 
 They laughed at the villagers and made 
 plans for the next day ; they were already 
 fast friends. 
 
 ' I shall tell Peggy what Voweraker 
 said about you going courting her,' said 
 Tom. 
 
 ' Oh, don't,' Dick interrupted quickly ; 
 ' no lady would like to think her name had 
 been made free with among a lot of yokels 
 at an inn.' 
 
 ' Oh, it's nothing,' Tom assured him. 
 ' Fancy Peggy minding ! ' 
 
 ' I should be much obliged if you wouldn't,' 
 said Dick.
 
 62 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ' Oh, well, if you make a point of it I 
 
 won't.' 
 
 He became suddenly preoccupied, but 
 just as they were approaching the Priory 
 gates he addressed Dick confidentially : ' I 
 say, old fellow, did you happen to notice the 
 girl I was with this afternoon. The girl in 
 furs, you know, who's staying with us ? ' 
 
 ' Rather,' Dick replied. 
 
 ' Isn't she ripping ? ' 
 
 ' Ripping,' Dick assented ; but at the same 
 time he made a note that she was not to 
 be compared with Tom's sister Margaret. 
 Voweraker's random remark had set him 
 thinking.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 
 The coming of his first English spring was 
 a great event to Dick, both for its own sake, 
 and because with it came his first love. 
 
 Love is generally in possession of the 
 heart for some little time before he is dis- 
 covered. He is a stowaway on the ship, 
 who does not declare his presence until there 
 is no chance of putting him ashore ; he 
 comes into the heart in some other guise, 
 as the Greeks came into Troy ; and, when 
 nothing is suspected, it is suddenly found 
 that the citadel is taken.
 
 64 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Voweraker's words had made Dick aware 
 that he had fallen in love with Tom's sister. 
 After this life began to look different ; there 
 was something new and delightful and pain- 
 ful in it. At his studies he was not so atten- 
 tive as usual — a sure sign of a disturbed 
 heart or stomach. His uncles noticed it, and 
 blamed the wrong organ. 
 
 Dick was perplexed as to how to act ; 
 whether to confide in Tom, whose return 
 to school had been delayed by a humiliating 
 attack of measles, or boldly to see the lady 
 herself At one time he considered the 
 desirability of an interview with the Squire 
 before making any advances to his daughter ; 
 he had heard that this was considered an 
 honourable course, but it did not commend 
 itself to him, and he remembered no pre- 
 cedent for it in the loves of the days of
 
 CHAP. IV FIRST LOVE 65 
 
 chivalry. At last he decided upon a letter 
 to Margaret. The composition of it cost 
 him some anxiety, and he passed the interval 
 of a couple of days between its despatch and 
 the receipt of the reply in a state of great 
 unrest. 
 
 On the second day Tom appeared, and, 
 with a look of gravity — a certain superiority, 
 as became the lady's relative — handed him 
 in silence a note written in a handwriting in 
 which only the eye of love could have dis- 
 cerned grace. Dick put it in his pocket 
 nervously ; he could not read it before Tom, 
 but Tom seemed to understand, and, with a 
 preoccupied air, begged Dick not to think of 
 him — he had several things on his own mind, 
 and would take a short walk and return in 
 half an hour. Dick climbed the church- 
 tower as a place of seclusion to devour 
 
 VOL. I F
 
 66 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 his letter. It contained the following 
 matter : — 
 
 My dear Dick — I was so surprised to get your note. 
 I shall keep the flowers till I die. For goodness' sake 
 don't say a word to the governor or any one but Tom. 
 Tom knows all about it. He will understand. Tom 
 loves too. Je vous aime. — In haste, yours truly, 
 
 Margaret Selwyn Longfield. 
 
 It was a moment of intoxication. He 
 descended the tower rapidly. The sight of 
 Humphry sent him back again. Then he 
 began to surround his new possessions with 
 imaginary insecurity. What if she should 
 change her mind ? He read the letter over 
 again. 
 
 * My dear Dick' and 'yours truly' read 
 rather coldly, but then, he argued, that was 
 only becoming maidenly reserve. His criti- 
 cal sense received a momentary shock at her 
 allusion to * the governor,' but the insight of
 
 CHAP. IV FIRST LOVE 67 
 
 love gave him power of interpretation. After 
 all, it was a noble phrase — 'the governor.' 
 It showed that the daughter really regarded 
 the father in the light of a superior being, in 
 whose governance her life was placed. She 
 would keep the flowers till she died : gentle 
 being ! The allusion to her mortality almost 
 brought tears to his eyes. And then in the 
 French phrase there was something alto- 
 gether subtle and charming. She could not 
 bring herself to write the words in common 
 English ; she spoke them in a foreign 
 tongue. Yes, the letter was perfect as the 
 writer. 
 
 At the end of half an hour Tom returned, 
 his head bent, his bright smile gone. 
 
 * I know all about this affair between you 
 and Peggy,' he said, as they walked down 
 the avenue together. ' Well, you have my
 
 68 THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 consent, old boy. It's not every one finds 
 matters run as smoothly as you have.' 
 
 This Dick admitted. 
 
 ' I suppose,' continued Tom, ' you're too 
 full of your own affairs to listen to those 
 of any one else. Old Pegtops isn't a bad sort 
 of girl, but what a fellow can see in her to 
 fall in love with beats me.' 
 
 ' She's ' Dick could find no adequate 
 
 words of praise. ' I wish you would not call 
 her '' Pegtops," ' he protested. 
 
 'There are troubles,' Tom continued, 
 unmoved, * which you happily know nothing 
 of.' He sighed profoundly. 'Dick, I'm 
 in love, and I'm miserable. I feel my life 
 is wrecked. I can't eat, and I can't read, 
 and I'm certain I shall get spun for Sand- 
 hurst. I believe she cares more for another 
 man.'
 
 CHAP. IV FIRST LOVE 69 
 
 ' I say, that's serious. Where does she 
 live, and who is she ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I don't mind telling you, Dick ; it's 
 Miss Medley ; you saw her at Christmas. 
 She wore furs, you remember ? ' 
 
 ' But she's grown up,' said Dick. 
 
 ' She's two years and ten months older 
 than me, and I should like to know what 
 difference that makes, and I'm told I look 
 old for my age. She certainly gave me 
 every encouragement at Christmas. She — 
 well, I'm not at liberty to tell you what 
 passed. I took her in to supper — there wasn't 
 a girl there got better looked after at supper 
 — and by Jove, Dick, didn't she look lovely ? ' 
 
 * Lovely,' assented Dick. * I saw you 
 dancing together, and I wished I could 
 dance like you. And now you think she 
 cares for another fellow ? '
 
 70 THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 ' I have grave suspicions,' said Tom, 'and 
 I know some one else is after her. Oh, it is 
 unbearable ! We exchanged letters, Dick. 
 I have a letter from her in my pocket now. 
 It shakes one's faith in the whole sex. I 
 can't bear this suspense. I want action of 
 some kind. I should like at this moment to 
 be in a football scrimmage.' 
 
 'No,' Dick corrected him, 'a cavalry 
 charge would be the thing, a charge like 
 the Light Brigade.' 
 
 ' Yes, you're quite right, a cavalry charge 
 is the thing. Of course, I don't despair.' 
 
 ' Who's the other chap ? ' 
 
 Tom looked terrible. * Who do you 
 think ? That horrid old General Adams, 
 the governor's friend, an old, selfish bach- 
 elor, a stiff-kneed, wrinkled, pot-bellied old 
 beast. It makes me sick to think of it.
 
 CHAP. IV FIRST LOVE 71 
 
 The governor said at breakfast he shouldn't 
 wonder if Adams settled down after all, and 
 mentioned his admiration for Kitty, and said 
 what a good thing it would be for her, as she 
 has no coin. ''Adams is hit at last," said he, 
 "and Kitty'd make him a sweet little wife. 
 I'm half in love with her myself." I left the 
 table, Dick, it was unbearable.' 
 
 ' It was the only thing to do,' Dick replied, 
 sympathetically. 
 
 'I'd call him out,' continued Tom, 'only 
 people don't fight duels now, and besides, 
 the old wineskin wouldn't fight. He'd treat 
 me as if I were a boy ; he'd get the governor 
 on his side. No, it won't do at all. I shall 
 have to write to the dear girl, she's gone 
 back to town, you know, and I'm a wretched 
 hand at composition. Perhaps you can give 
 me a help. I thought something in poetry
 
 72 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 might tell — girls all like poetry — something 
 about January and May, Dick. You'll think 
 it over, won't you, like a good chap. I'll come 
 round to-night, and we'll write it. By the 
 way, old Pegs said if you'd care to see 
 her, she'll be at home by herself to-morrow 
 afternoon at three o'clock.' 
 
 ' I must really beg of you, Tom, to call 
 your sister by her proper name. What 
 better name do you want than Margaret ? 
 Pegs! ril take it as a favour, Tom.' 
 
 * Oh ! all right,' said Tom, departing, ' but 
 she answers to that name.' 
 
 Next day Dick was ushered into the 
 presence of the young lady by her brother. 
 He felt rather awkward, and could not find 
 any words appropriate ; the mood in which 
 he had written his letter had deserted him. 
 Margaret was the first to speak.
 
 CHAP. IV FIRST LOVE 73 
 
 ' It's not quite so cold to-day,' she re- 
 marked. 
 
 * No, indeed,' said Dick, 'it's beautiful 
 weather.' 
 
 * And what a jolly morning it was. I 
 rode past the Priory.' 
 
 ' If you two are going to talk about the 
 weather all the afternoon, I'll leave you 
 alone,' said Tom. 'What's the use of hum- 
 bugging? Give her a kiss, Dick, like a 
 man.' 
 
 Dick blushed. A kiss was a sacred thing, 
 belonging to a much later date in courtship 
 than this, to his thinking ; but Margaret was 
 not disturbed. 
 
 * Mr. Malory knows how to behave as a 
 gentleman,' she said. ' You're a cheeky boy, 
 Tom, and we don't want you here. Do 
 we ? ' she appealed to Dick.
 
 74 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Tom chuckled. ' " Mr. Malory," ' he re- 
 peated, * that's pretty good. Dick, you take 
 my advice, and have a kiss. She likes 
 kissing. I could tell you a thing or two.' 
 
 A few days afterwards Tom went back to 
 school. He had received no answer to his 
 letter to Miss Medley, but he said that he was 
 hopeful, and that he did not intend to allow 
 his spirit to be crushed, whatever happened ; 
 he would not allow any woman to destroy 
 his career ; he intended to work hard. 
 
 The south-west wind blew up from the 
 sea, and brought days of gentle rain ; the 
 feeling of the spring-time was in the air, new 
 scents came from the ground, the snowdrops 
 had come and gone, and the trees were still 
 bare, but the golden flowers of the celandine 
 were bright on grassy banks, and a few early 
 primroses clustered in the shelter of the
 
 CHAP. IV FIRST LOVE 75 
 
 hedges and tree-trunks. Every new flower 
 was a delight to Dick, who saw the wonder 
 of spring now for the first time. It was 
 Margaret who told him the names of the 
 flowers and the birds. She did not feel 
 the same interest in watching the change, 
 but it was a new pleasure to her to be able 
 to give information which could be of 
 interest : Tom had never shown any interest 
 in anything she had ever said. She was 
 given considerable freedom, and came in and 
 went out much as she pleased, the only 
 enemy she had to fear being her governess ; 
 but Miss Templet was a poet, and loved 
 solitude and the opportunity of composing 
 lines for a newspaper in Glamorganshire, to 
 which county she belonged. 
 
 Margaret came up constantly to the 
 Priory, ostensibly to see Nan. Her visits
 
 76 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 brought a further cheerfulness to the old 
 place. She would talk to Mrs. Collop in the 
 most friendly way, and compliment her on 
 her young ducks and chickens ; she would 
 make jokes to old Voweraker, and more than 
 once Dick, with mingled feelings, saw her 
 milk the cow. She paid constant visits to 
 Mr. Wrixon's workshop. He was well 
 pleased to see his little idol, Nan, taken 
 notice of. Margaret and he became great 
 friends, and there was always a good deal 
 of laughing in the workshop when she came 
 in. Dick's love made him so serious just 
 now that she probably found it a relief to be 
 merry with the old man or to milk the cow. 
 With Humphry she was more on her guard, 
 they regarded each other with a certain 
 coyness and a suspicion that each was quietly 
 amused with something in the other.
 
 CHAP. IV FIRST LOVE jy 
 
 She and Dick rode together sometimes, 
 for Tom had made him promise to use his 
 horse while he was away. On one of their 
 rides he ventured, with some hesitation, on a 
 matter which was troubling him, born of 
 Tom's hasty words. 
 
 *You know, Margaret,' he said, 'you are 
 my first love. Am I yours ? Did you ever 
 love before ? Don't be offended at my 
 asking, but you know I could not bear the 
 thought of your caring for any one else.' 
 
 ' Why do you ask ? I never asked you 
 any questions like that,' she replied, pro- 
 vokingly. 
 
 ' I think I have a right to know,' said 
 Dick. 
 
 ' Then you won't know,' she answered, 
 ' and if you are going to ask rude questions, 
 I shall not ride any farther with you.'
 
 y8 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Then there was silence and inward mis- 
 givings for about the space of ten minutes, 
 during which they galloped along the turf; 
 but Margaret's horse got on ahead. 
 
 ' You see, Dick, I have to wait for you,' 
 she said, pulling up. ' You can't do every- 
 thing you like with me. Now, don't be cross 
 and I'll tell you. No, I never cared for 
 any one before really — perhaps I may have 
 fancied I did a little, but not really, you 
 know.' 
 
 And with this he had to be satisfied. It 
 is the explanation which is so often given, 
 and has always to be accepted, between 
 lovers. The last love, it seems, is always 
 the real one ; in all the previous ones we had 
 deceived ourselves. 
 
 * Margaret,' he asked, * what can I do to 
 prove my love to you ? I can only say how
 
 CHAP. IV FIRST LOVE 79 
 
 I love you, but I cannot do anything noble 
 or great to show you.' 
 
 * I don't want you to do anything, Dick.' 
 
 Dick was disappointed. 'Can't you 
 think of anything you would like me to 
 achieve for you ? ' 
 
 * Well, of course some day you will go 
 into the army and be a hero.' 
 
 ' I mean to try, but now — is there any- 
 thing you would wish me to do for you now ? ' 
 
 'There's one thing I want, Dick. I've 
 been wanting it ever so long for my collec- 
 tion, — a nettle-creeper's ^gg.' 
 
 She said this perfectly seriously, and Dick 
 felt like Naaman when he was told to wash 
 in Jordan. It was too trivial — a nettle- 
 creeper's Qgg in exchange for her love. But, 
 nevertheless, he set to work to find one, and 
 he also thought of another gift, better than
 
 8o THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 this, which should be a pledge between 
 them : he was skilful with his hands, and had 
 learned from one of the sailors on board ship 
 to hammer silver rings from florins and 
 shillings, and he now set to work with great 
 zeal and all the cunning he possessed to 
 fashion one. It was not a bad bit of work, 
 and, with the help of one of Mr. Wrixon's 
 tools, he traced a creditable heart on its 
 surface. The discovery of a nettle-creeper's 
 ^ZZ ^^^ attended with greater difficulties, 
 as he did not know in the least what a 
 nettle -creeper was like ; but this also was 
 at last to yield to the power of love, and 
 both gifts were presented humbly to the 
 lady. 
 
 The days sped pleasantly and the course 
 of love ran smoothly until the end of the 
 summer, when Dick's felicity received a
 
 CHAP. IV FIRST LOVE 8i 
 
 sudden disturbance. One morning, with 
 scarcely any preliminary warning in the way 
 of coldness of demeanour from Margaret, he 
 received the following note : — 
 
 Dear Mr. Malory — Miss Templet and my con- 
 science tell me that we have done wrong in meeting as 
 often as we have. She thinks my father would not 
 approve of it, and that ' men were deceivers ever.' I'm 
 afraid we must part. We must forget the past. I return 
 the ring. I shall always esteem you. — Yours sincerely, 
 Margaret Selwyn Longfield. 
 
 Tom returned a few days afterwards. His 
 own love affair had not progressed, but the 
 effects of his failure were not serious. Dick 
 put a question about it when they met, and 
 his brow darkened. 
 
 ' Never mention her name again,' he said ; 
 ' she is henceforth dead to me.' 
 
 * Women are all weather-cocks,' said Dick, 
 
 bitterly. 
 
 VOL. I G
 
 82 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ' Yes, weather-cocks ought to be called 
 weather-hens,' replied Tom. * I want you to 
 drive down to-morrow with me to Porlock, 
 and we'll have a sail. Come, don't bother 
 about women ! '
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MODELLING IN THE ROUND 
 
 Dick was a hero-worshipper, but he did not 
 always choose his heroes wisely. Schoolboys 
 are apt to despise respectable people more 
 heartily than they deserve, and to exalt the 
 lawless overmuch. At school, Caruthers, 
 his leader, a boy who had chosen him among 
 the juniors for the special honour of his 
 friendship, had committed most of the sins 
 of which boys are proud, but he was good- 
 looking and clever, and had the second best 
 average in the eleven. Dick loved him with 
 all his heart ; he delighted in sharing his
 
 84 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 adventures and doing him service when he 
 should have been working. His hero took the 
 place, and more than the place, of Margaret 
 Longfield In his affection. She was a deity 
 growing with time more and more shadowy, 
 as indeed Is the habit of deities. 
 
 But at the end of his third term his idol 
 was shattered and his school days came to 
 an end. Caruthers sent him through a 
 window to the study of one of the masters, 
 to get a portfolio of sketches which, he said, 
 belonged to him, and had been unjustly 
 confiscated. Dick was caught ; and the 
 portfolio contained not sketches but exam- 
 ination papers. It was a shameful action. 
 Dick was paralysed when he knew the truth, 
 but he refused to give the name of his chief. 
 He took the consequent castigation, Inflicted 
 in the sight of the whole school, like a man,
 
 CHAP. V MODELLING IN THE ROUND 85 
 
 believing firmly that Caruthers would come 
 forward and clear him ; but his hero was of 
 base clay and made no sign. After it was 
 over he flung an affectionate arm round 
 Dick's neck and called him a brick. He 
 showed him that if he, a boy in the upper 
 school, were convicted of the crime, he would 
 be expelled ; that his father would disown 
 him, and he would be ruined ; whereas for 
 a junior the whole thing was different, and 
 would soon be forgotten. Dick suffered far 
 less during the flogging than when he saw 
 his hero in his true light : he despised him 
 and he was indignant ; but even then his 
 love for his leader, his remembrance of 
 old favours, prevailed, and he was true to 
 him. 
 
 That night, at an hour when the boys 
 were supposed to be in bed, he entertained
 
 86 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 his dormitory at a farewell supper. Kidneys 
 and sausages were cooked ; bottled beer and 
 cider, plates of fruit, cake, a box of cigarettes, 
 and other delicacies were on the table ; the 
 neck of a bottle of champagne protruded 
 from a jug on a washhand- stand, where it 
 had been placed to keep cool. He had been 
 supplied that morning with funds for his 
 travelling, and the payment of some small 
 bills, and had, after allowing enough for a 
 third-class ticket home, spent the remnant on 
 his feast. 
 
 ' This is one of the few advantages of a 
 private school,' remarked Theobald minor. 
 ' They couldn't do this at a public school. I 
 have a brother at Rugby ; they stick a sixth- 
 form boy into every dormitory.' 
 
 ' This is the first supper I remember at 
 the end of a term,' said Crabb, 'there's no
 
 CHAP. V MODELLING IN THE ROUND 87 
 
 coin left. I mean to have one, beginning 
 of next term, and I invite you all.' 
 
 Dick looked mysterious. ' I suppose you 
 fellows think I really went after the exam- 
 ination papers,' said he. 'Well, I didn't.' 
 
 No one believed him, but he was their 
 host, and they were discreetly silent. He 
 had an important announcement to make, 
 but he reserved it until the uncorking of the 
 champagne. It was a solemn gathering ; 
 prudence forbade sounds of revelry. Mickle- 
 john, a small boy, delicately thoughtful for 
 Dick's tenderness after castigation, brought 
 a pillow from a bed and placed it beneath 
 him on the hard chair. 
 
 Dick acknowledged the courtesy, but said 
 he did not so much object to the pain as its 
 locality. It was a distinct indignity to inllict 
 punishment there. The Spartans boasted
 
 88 THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 that they never received wounds in the 
 back ; but to themselves no alternative was 
 given : the marks implied flight or sub- 
 mission. Jones secundus comforted him by 
 the reminder that they were out of sight. 
 
 As the meal progressed they became 
 more hilarious. After the champagne was 
 opened — it had to be divided amongst eight 
 boys — Dick made his speech. He repeated 
 his statement that he was innocent ; he said 
 that he had been that afternoon to the 
 headmaster and told him so, and had not 
 been believed. He had therefore decided 
 to leave the school at daybreak next morn- 
 ing. He would not call it running away. 
 He would leave a place where the word of 
 a gentleman was not taken. 
 
 The news caused much excitement ; he 
 became exalted in their eyes. Little Eustace,
 
 CHAP. V MODELLING IN THE ROUND 89 
 
 the youngest boy in the dormitory, shed 
 tears. 
 
 ' It's rather too much to be treated as a 
 Har,' said Dick. 
 
 * Well, after all, I suppose we are liars,' 
 said Theobald minor, who was matter-of-fact. 
 ' No mistake we do tell stickers.' 
 
 'Not ''on your honour,"' said Dick. 
 ' Stuffing a fellow's one thing, but if you 
 give your honour the thing's different.' 
 
 The distinction was admitted, and Dick's 
 health was drunk. After this 'He's a jolly 
 good fellow ' was sung up the chimney, and 
 without being found out they went to sleep 
 in an atmosphere of sausages and tobacco 
 smoke. Next morning before breakfast 
 Dick was gone. 
 
 The reports of his progress, which Mr. 
 Wrixon had received, had been so unsatis-
 
 90 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 factory that he was not sorry to have the 
 boy under his eye again. He did not send 
 him to another school, but kept him at home, 
 where he soon fell back into the old routine 
 of study which had been instituted when he 
 first came to the Priory. This subsequently 
 included a regular attendance in Mr. Wrixon's 
 workshop. Here he made good advance- 
 ment, and encouraged the old man in his 
 hope that sculpture might become his pro- 
 fession. 
 
 Tom Longfield had passed his examina- 
 tions and was at Sandhurst ; Margaret was at 
 school in France. Dick had no other friends 
 of his own age at Farinder, and his life was 
 now very quiet. The influence of his sur- 
 roundings was manifest ; he ceased to long 
 - for wild adventure ; his heart was no longer 
 set on going into the army, but he stored his
 
 CHAP. V MODELLING IN THE ROUND 91 
 
 brain with books of old romance. For the 
 present, his ideal was in a world of imagin- 
 ation, and not in a world of action. Mr. 
 Wrixon was confident that he would find his 
 vocation in art ; but Humphry believed that 
 there was an undercurrent of restlessness in 
 his nature, and that in the world of action, 
 only, he would be content. 
 
 The time came when a decision had to be 
 made, and Dick consulted Humphry on the 
 subject. 
 
 ' Now what do you consider,' he asked 
 him, ' the finest thing a man can be ? I may 
 as well choose the best.' 
 
 ' I see you want to be a hero,' replied 
 Humphry. 'The easiest way is to become 
 a politician, but for that you have not the 
 necessary qualifications. The next is to be 
 a prominent ecclesiastic with hazy views, but,
 
 92 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 alas ! I fear you have not the necessary 
 piety. Fighting, except perhaps the occa- 
 sional cuffing of disorderly Africans, has 
 ceased to be a function of the army — besides 
 with only a couple of hundred a year you 
 can't afford the army. There is a good 
 chance for an active man as a professional 
 cricketer ; and the man of science, if he only 
 has the good fortune to discover anything 
 which is humiliating to his race, may win 
 notoriety. It seems to me, old fellow, that 
 you are not fit to be a hero.' 
 
 ' Who wants to be ? ' said Dick. ' I said 
 nothing about heroes. But I must be some- 
 thing. I might as well choose a thing really 
 worth doing, and you haven't left anything.' 
 
 ' What do you feel good for yourself.'^ ' 
 
 'Almost anything.' 
 
 ' That's capital, Dick. Do you think you
 
 CHAP. V MODELLING IN THE ROUND 93 
 
 could write poetry ? We want a new poet 
 
 very much.' 
 
 ' No, I should think not ! ' 
 ' What do you say to sculpture ? ' 
 ' I should never be good enough.' 
 ' Do you like it .^ ' 
 
 * I'm getting to like it more and more.' 
 
 * Well, you think about it seriously, Dick. 
 You can't get rich at it, but it's honest, clean 
 work, and you may let off all your bottled-up 
 poetry on it, and even have admirers if you 
 do it nicely, and consider it worth while. 
 But think it well over. Sculpture will never 
 make you a popular hero in England.' 
 
 The result of this conversation and some 
 after meditation was that Dick deliorhted Mr. 
 Wrixon's heart by announcing to him that 
 he desired to become a sculptor. It was 
 true that in this he did not wholly realise his
 
 94 THE MARPL07 part i 
 
 dream of a career, but nothing else seemed 
 so promising ; and why, he argued, in spite 
 of Humphry, who laughed at everything 
 heroic, should he not, through this noble 
 art, bring honour to his name and race ? 
 Fear of ridicule made him silent about his 
 ambitions before Humphry, but when Mar- 
 garet Longfield came home from France 
 he confided some of his hopes to her. She 
 did not sympathise much with his choice of a 
 profession. She was disappointed that he 
 was not going into the army. She objected 
 to her old chum, the reckless Dick, talking 
 seriously about art. She chaffed him, told 
 him his hair wanted cutting, but supposed 
 that long hair was good for a sculptor, and 
 promised to ride with him next day if he 
 would not talk nonsense. Dick was highly 
 offended, but next day he rode with her,
 
 CHAP. V MODELLING IN THE ROUND 95 
 
 and there was no more reference to art or 
 ambition. They were no longer lovers, but 
 they were friends to the heart's core. Dick 
 perhaps accepted the new relationship as too 
 final to please Margaret. 
 
 She felt it later on, when the time came 
 to say good-bye, and he left home to begin 
 the world as a student of sculpture in 
 London. Dick was then eighteen ; Mar- 
 garet two years younger, a light-hearted girl, 
 fresh as a breezy morning, cool, but with 
 promise of warmth later on. Her figure was 
 charming, her face provoked doubt. Differ- 
 ent eyes read it differently. She was thought 
 plain by none, pretty by many, — beautiful 
 no one had called her. After he had gone 
 there was a shade of vexation on her face 
 as she thought of his leave-taking. She 
 had allowed him to give her a kiss, but then
 
 96 THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 what a brotherly kiss it had been. Not that 
 she was in love with him, she was quite sure 
 about that ; but she would willingly have felt 
 that she had the power of awakening his 
 love if she cared to do so. She was very 
 young, but a girl begins early to enjoy the 
 feeling that the fountains of love in male 
 hearts are responsive to her touch — obedient 
 as those in the rock of the wilderness to the 
 hand of Moses. Unfortunately, when she 
 does smite definitely, with the object of mak- 
 ing the fountain flow, it is too often on 
 irresponsive clay ; and subsequently she may 
 find the fountains in the way which conveni- 
 ence and circumstances arrange for her, as it 
 were through the taps of the local water 
 company. 
 
 Humphry Wrixon said good-bye to his 
 nephew with a mixture of amusement and
 
 CHAP. V MODELLING IN THE ROUND gj 
 
 solicitude. He was amused at the magni- 
 tude of his expectations, his unbounded faith 
 in human nature : he perceived inevitable 
 disillusion, and consequent unhappiness. He 
 counselled him to beware of hoping too 
 much of the world, but to little purpose. 
 Dick was in love with life, and such warn- 
 ings were like those of a discreet friend who 
 points out the imperfections of a lady to her 
 worshipper. 
 
 VOL. I H
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 
 
 England laughed in young green under 
 dappled skies of early June ; the wind sang 
 of the sunshine ; the orchards were in blos- 
 som ; the swallows dropped in a line on 
 a rail and then dived again across the 
 meadows ; long waves of wind passed, 
 leaving the near trees silent, and a 
 minute afterwards they were sounding 
 in the distance among the trees across 
 the field. There was a prodigality of 
 light everywhere, — fountains of gold, wells 
 of green ; an overflow of light in a
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 99 
 
 world which tossed and waved in warm 
 gladness. 
 
 Dick had chosen to begin his career on 
 foot. Of the breadth of England unknown 
 and unexplored, which lay between him and 
 London, more than half had been traversed. 
 The beauty and solitude of the west was 
 behind him : the country was flatter, the 
 towns were more frequent, travellers on the 
 road more numerous. This journey, this 
 setting out to face the world, appeared to 
 him an occasion of great importance, be- 
 fitting adventure ; but hitherto no adventure 
 had been granted. 
 
 He had made good stages of some five- 
 and-twenty miles each day, resting by night 
 at village inns or farmhouses, fraternising 
 with every one he met, eating a meal when- 
 ever a chance of one was offered. One
 
 loo THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 morning he rose with the farm labourers and 
 was on foot in dewy lanes before sunrise. 
 Whenever there was a stream to be found 
 he ended a day's tramp with a plunge. 
 After dinner he would sit with the village 
 folk and smoke. Humphry had warned him 
 against the practice of smoking, but had, 
 nevertheless, made him a farewell present of 
 a pipe. Dick was well pleased with him- 
 self and with the world ; he was satisfied 
 that nothing could really go wrong with 
 either. 
 
 One evening, when he was some three 
 days' journey from London, he drew near a 
 large village from which came sounds which 
 struck strangely on the wonted quiet of the 
 summer nightfall, — sounds of the steam 
 organ and the shooting gallery, voices of 
 revellers in swing-boats and merry-go-rounds,
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP loi 
 
 for this village celebrated its annual fair. 
 Dick found a fine old inn here, mellowed 
 with three hundred years of hospitality, and 
 a landlord whose appearance was in harmony 
 with his house. After dinner he went to the 
 door and surveyed the street. The fair was 
 at its height, Twilight had come, but the 
 street blazed with the flickering lights of 
 paraffin torches. The drone of the steam 
 organ of the merry-go-round was mixed 
 with the hoarse voices of the proprietors 
 of cocoa-nut stands, the shouts of country 
 lads, and the screams of girls in the swing- 
 boats. In an open space opposite the 
 inn a man on a stage informed people 
 that a circus performance was about to 
 commence. Hard by the superior attrac- 
 tions of a fat woman and a living skeleton 
 were offered.
 
 I02 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ' Lively, isn't it ? ' remarked the landlord, 
 joining him at the door. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Dick. ' I think I shall go 
 and have a shy at a cocoa-nut. By the way, 
 what does ''Billings's entire" mean on the 
 sign under the Battle Axes '^ ' 
 
 ' Oh,' said the landlord, ' this here's a 
 brewers' house.' 
 
 ' What is that 1 ' 
 
 'A many don't know,' replied the land- 
 lord, enjoying the boy's ignorance of the 
 mysterious sign. ' And you've never heard 
 of Billings's.^ Well, to be sure!' He pro- 
 ceeded to explain that these great brewers 
 owned a hundred and twenty houses — this 
 being one of them — and that he was himself 
 only a caretaker. Dick was deeply dis- 
 appointed, the glory of the old inn departed ; 
 he went off to throw at cocoa-nuts in disgust.
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 103 
 
 By and by he found himself inside the 
 circus tent. A band of three brass instru- 
 ments produced sounds in comparison with 
 which those of the steam organ were sooth- 
 ing ; the air was stifling ; the smell of dead 
 trodden grass was mixed with that of oil 
 lamps ; vacuous laughter greeted the witti- 
 cisms of a clown in the ring ; a man in a 
 frock-coat announced the appearance of 
 Linda, the tight-rope walker. Dick thought 
 he had seen nothing before so melancholy. 
 Linda was a woman of five-and-twenty ; she 
 had probably been good-looking, but her 
 face was hard and worn ; there was no trace 
 of a smile on it as she walked across the 
 stretched rope ; she made no response to the 
 applause ; she had been doing the same thing 
 during the whole afternoon ; she had done it 
 week after week and month after month. She
 
 I04 THE MARPLOT._ part i 
 
 might once have been ambitious of pleasing a 
 more imposing audience, and now cared Httle 
 for the applause she won from village lads : 
 she looked hopelessly weary and disappointed. 
 
 Dick was on the point of quitting the tent 
 when the man in the frock-coat announced 
 that the marvellous child, Connie, the re- 
 nowned equestrienne, would appear. 
 
 The sad woman withdrew : there was a 
 flourish of trumpets, and a girl of twelve or 
 thirteen entered on a piebald pony. Her 
 face was radiant, her dark eyes flashed. She 
 was so handsome that the tawdry finery in 
 which she was dressed looked picturesque. 
 She nodded to the audience familiarly, and 
 acknowledged their applause with gratified 
 smiles. Then she went through her per- 
 formance, standing on one leg on the ambling 
 pony's back, flying through a hoop, jumping
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 105 
 
 to the ground and springing again to her 
 seat with much skill. When she had finished 
 she again bowed. She did more, she made a 
 witticism at the expense of the policeman at 
 the tent-door ; she outraged the feelings of 
 the assistant overseer by kissing her hand 
 to him (he had come in, not for amusement, 
 but as a solemn parochial duty to see that the 
 performance was respectably conducted) ; she 
 caught Dick's eye and she winked at him. 
 Loud shouts of approval terminated her per- 
 formance. 
 
 Dick left the tent and walked through the 
 noisy street sadder than when he had entered. 
 In a few years, he thought, this child will be 
 hopeless as that woman. His was the time 
 of sentiment. He pictured her evil surround- 
 ings, and longed to see her removed from 
 them. He had taken a sudden and violent
 
 io6 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 dislike to the person who appeared to be 
 the proprietor. He took another turn at 
 the cocoa-nuts, fixing on one of them to 
 represent this individual, and did not leave the 
 stand, v^here his extravagance was watched 
 by an interested little crowd, until he had 
 felled his enemy. Returning, he again passed 
 the circus : the commencement of a fresh 
 performance was being proclaimed. The 
 thought of the dreariness of its repetition 
 made him curious to see how the actors 
 would behave, and he re-entered. The 
 audience was smaller, the brass instruments 
 louder, — for the band was in liquor, — the air 
 more stifling, the rope-walker sadder than 
 before ; but Connie came in as radiant as 
 ever. She went through the same postures, 
 smiled the same smiles, and seemed no less 
 flattered by the applause which greeted her.
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 107 
 
 She recognised Dick again with a look of 
 triumph. She beHeved that he had come 
 back to look at her ; she had made a con- 
 quest. She was a child in years, but no 
 child in other respects. 
 
 Half an hour after, when the last perform- 
 ance was over, an unpleasant episode took 
 place behind the scenes. Connie was going 
 to the van where she slept, when the man in 
 the frock-coat came up to her. The girl 
 looked half afraid, half angry. 
 
 ' Come, Connie, my dear,' said the man, 
 ' let's have no more stand-offishness. Come, 
 let's be friends, my beauty.' He put his arm 
 round her waist and attempted to kiss her. 
 
 Connie flung an ugly oath at him and ran 
 frantically to the sleeping -quarters of the 
 tight-rope dancer ; when she was safe within 
 she bolted the door. It was dark, and the
 
 io8 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Other girl was nearly asleep. Connie lay 
 down beside her and made a plan. 
 
 By degrees the village grew silent ; the 
 drone of the steam organ had ceased ; the 
 drunken rustics had sung their last chorus ; the 
 sounds of the summer night were audible 
 again. Dick lay awake thinking of the circus 
 child. The scent of the country found its way 
 through the open window. Life was very 
 beautiful, though a new feeling of its sadness 
 had touched him. But nothing was really 
 wrong with the world yet. Sleep soon came 
 to him from over the fields, diso^uised in the 
 wandering song of a brook. 
 
 But while he was asleep, the child who 
 had troubled his thoughts was up and doing. 
 As soon as everything was quiet, she wrapped 
 a cloak round her finery and stole through 
 the deserted village street into the open
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 109 
 
 country along the London road. She had 
 made up her mind to run away. 
 
 Against the showers of spring, which are 
 admittedly good for the land, the civilised 
 world is accustomed to hoist umbrellas. The 
 world treats the enthusiasm of youth, without 
 which life would soon dry to barrenness, in 
 much the same way. Probably the reason 
 may be found in the fact that both the 
 showers and the enthusiasm are undis- 
 criminating — pouring alike on the "shy prim- 
 rose and the caustic old bachelor. Dick had 
 just now abundant store of sympathy and 
 enthusiasm for indiscriminate diffusion. He 
 was led into some absurdities and encoun- 
 tered some ridicule in consequence. The day 
 after his visit to the circus was memorable 
 to him in this respect : it began with a 
 misplaced sympathy which made him the
 
 no THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 unhappy owner of a very stubborn donkey. 
 About an hour after starting, as he was pass- 
 ing through a scattered hamlet on the edge 
 of a common, he saw this donkey ; it was 
 heavily laden with brushwood, and its master 
 was belabouring its hind legs with many 
 blows. Between his whacks, which were 
 delivered in an unconscious fashion, the man, 
 as he passed, exchanged greetings with 
 village acquaintances. Pity for the donkey, 
 wrath against the man, urged Dick to inter- 
 cession and strong words. He was forgetful 
 that, whatever may be the modern senti- 
 ment about horses and wives, every English- 
 man has a perfect right to beat a donkey. 
 The donkey himself seems to recognise 
 this as part of his condition, nor partic- 
 ularly to object, otherwise would he prefer 
 to go his own pace with stripes rather
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP iii 
 
 than his master's Idea of pace without 
 them ? 
 
 The man eyed Dick composedly, repeating 
 his words with a fine imitation of his manner, 
 which brought simultaneous grins to the 
 countenances of five friends who had come 
 up to see the row. Explosive laughter 
 followed, and the proprietor of the animal 
 further asserted his rights by a fresh attack. 
 He had not calculated on dealing with such 
 a hot-headed youth. Much as Dick resented 
 the treatment of the ass, he still more 
 objected to the man's manner to himself. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said he, ' you're cheeky, are you, as 
 well as brutal ? See how you like it your- 
 self.' And he treated him to half-a-dozen 
 blows of his stick, which produced howls. 
 
 The man made no attempt at resistance ; 
 he saw that his enemy was too strong for
 
 112 THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 him, and, having wriggled himself free, 
 placed the shadow of the law between them, 
 calling upon his five friends and others who 
 had appeared, to bear witness to this 
 shameful outrage. One of them indignantly 
 asked the company. Whose donkey it was, 
 he should like to know, if not Joe Larkins's ? 
 Joe Larkins's donkey, yes, and what right had 
 any one to interfere between a poor honest 
 man and his moke ? 
 
 The law of conservation of energy, which 
 shows us how the failure of a missile to re- 
 bound from a mark becomes converted into 
 heat, illustrates how it happened that Dick's 
 blows, though not returned, became con- 
 verted into bad language in Mr. Larkins's 
 mouth. The energy which failed to raise his 
 arm loosened his tongue, and, if any well- 
 equipped man of science had been present,
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 113 
 
 he might have demonstrated the principle 
 referred to by showing that the heat of the 
 language was an exact equivalent to the 
 motion of the stick which his back had re- 
 tarded. During this abuse Dick walked 
 away, but he was followed by the whole 
 party. They did not intend to let him off so 
 cheaply. The law was again mentioned, his 
 name demanded. One, wise in his village, 
 advised him to settle out of court, remarking 
 that Joe was a forgiving creetur, and might 
 square for ten bob. A grinning boy in- 
 formed him that the moke would have to 
 pay for it when he was gone ; trust Joe, he 
 would lick that moke for bringing this trouble 
 upon him. And this last shot told. How 
 was he to know that the man would not 
 continue to ill-treat the poor animal } He 
 would not offer him money to be humane. 
 
 VOL. I I
 
 114 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 What could he do ? Another suggestion 
 from the crowd resulted in a bargain. 
 
 * Perhaps you'd like to buy the little 
 donkey,' said the voice ; 'just suit you, sir, 
 he'd carry your weight beautiful' 
 
 Dick showed a disposition to treat, and 
 Mr. Larkins, being in pecuniary difficulties, 
 and seeing a possibility of doing well for 
 himself, allowed expediency to triumph over 
 indignation, and commenced to speak the 
 praises of his ass — its likeliness, its speed, 
 its willingness, except on rare occasions when 
 the stick was necessary, and the donkey 
 knew it. Shortly afterwards a bargain was 
 concluded, and Joe Larkins returned with his 
 friends to the village inn with four sovereigns, 
 while Dick, leading the donkey and some- 
 what embarrassed by his possession, departed 
 slowly over the hill.
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 115 
 
 At first he thought he would make 
 arrangements at the next railway station 
 for sending the donkey to Farinder for Nan's 
 use, but before they had travelled far to- 
 gether he decided that they must part, that 
 he must sell him at a sacrifice to the first 
 comer — give him away if need be. The 
 stubbornness of the ass was such that Dick 
 was guilty of the inconsistency of himself 
 adopting the treatment which he had con- 
 demned in Mr. Larkins. At noon he left 
 his friend to graze by the roadside, while he 
 went into a field adjoining, and sat "down 
 to reflect under a hay-rick. Before long he 
 heard sounds of laughter, and a waggon 
 appeared on the road. Perched up beside the 
 driver he saw Connie. She had slept on the 
 previous night in a shed, and was now taking 
 advantage of a lift for a few miles of the
 
 ii6 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 road. Looking over the hedge she saw 
 and recognised Dick, and immediately said 
 good-bye to the waggoner, and jumped 
 down. 
 
 ' Hullo ! ' she said, taking a seat beside 
 him on the loose hay, ' I never thought as I 
 should see you again.' 
 
 * Well ! ' said Dick, much amazed. ' What 
 on earth brings you here ? ' 
 
 ' You ask me no questions and I'll tell you 
 no lies,' said Connie. ' P'r'aps I'm on the 
 spree, like yourself. Well, what did you 
 think of our show last night ? ' 
 
 ' Very poor,' he replied, looking at her 
 with much amusement. 
 
 ' Oh, Indeed ! Well, why did you come 
 in twice ? You couldn't keep away. Did 
 you come to look at me ? ' ' 
 
 Dick found it difficult to explain.
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 117 
 
 'That was it,' she continued. 'Well, I 
 liked the looks oi you! 
 
 ' Where are you going to ? ' asked Dick. 
 
 ' *' Where are you going, my pretty maid ?" 
 I'm going to London, sir, she said. And 
 nowjyou'd ought to ask : '' May I come with 
 you, my pretty maid ? " ' 
 
 The boy could not keep pace with her. 
 
 'Well, now, it's my turn to ask questions,' 
 she continued. 'Where are you going 
 to?' 
 
 'Oh! I'm going to London too, at least 
 I'm going to walk to Riplow to-day, and 
 then on by train.' 
 
 ' I'm running away,' said Connie more 
 seriously. 
 
 ' Running away ? Who from ? ' 
 
 ' From our show. My ! won't they be in a 
 fix to-night. They'll have to give up the
 
 ii8 THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 performance.' She laughed exultingly when 
 she thought of it. 
 
 ' Why '^. ' asked Dick, much interested. 
 ' Tell me about it.' 
 
 ' You won't go back on me. You'll stand 
 in as my pal ? ' 
 
 * Yes, I will' 
 
 Connie looked at him critically, to assure 
 herself of his good faith. ' I think you're 
 straight,' she said. ' Well, me and the boss 
 fell out last night ; he treated me shameful. 
 I hate him. I can't abide him, the viper.' 
 Her eyes blazed with indignation. 
 
 ' Did he hit you ? ' 
 
 ' No ; he was always hanging about trying 
 
 to kiss me. I wouldn't have minded if I'd 
 
 liked him, but — oh ! he's a devil.' 
 
 ' My poor child,' said Dick, from the 
 
 « 
 magnificent pinnacle of his eighteen years.
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 119 
 
 ' Oh, child Indeed ! ' exclaimed Connie. 
 ' P'raps I'm not such a kid as you think. 
 I'm nearly thirteen, and I daresay I could 
 teach" you a thing or two.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Dick, ' if that blackguard 
 bothered you, you were quite right in bolt- 
 ing. But have you friends to go to, or 
 anything } ' 
 
 ' I shall stay with a lady friend to-night 
 at Riplow,' she answered, lying. ' Then I 
 shall go on to relations in London.' 
 
 ' Have you any money ? ' 
 
 ' No. Are you going to lend me some ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, if you like. And how are you going 
 to get to Riplow .^ Walk ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. We might as well go along 
 together if you'll have me. Will you '^. ' 
 
 Dick looked at her curiously ; she was 
 arrayed in her professional garments, but
 
 I20 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 they were partly hidden by a cloak. Like 
 most people of his age, he was sensitive 
 as to appearance, though he fancied he was 
 indifferent about it, and the thought of being 
 seen in such strange company was dismay- 
 ing. However, he reflected that he was 
 likely to meet no one for whose opinion he 
 could care on these country roads, and the 
 child was in need of a protector. 
 
 ' Oh, yes ; come along. We'll go together,' 
 he said, cheerfully. 
 
 Connie perceived that he had hesitated. 
 'You're real kind,' she said, 'and you're a 
 toff; 
 
 ' What's a toff ? ' 
 
 * Oh,' she laughed, ' a swell, one as fancies 
 himself. My aunt ! if some of your folks 
 was to meet you travelling with me, wouldn't 
 you get talked to, just.'
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 121 
 
 ' I don't mind what any one thinks about 
 me,' said Dick. ' I do what pleases me. 
 Do you think, though, you'll be able to walk 
 all the way to Riplow ? It's thirteen miles. 
 By the way, I've a donkey here. I know 
 you can ride. We might make use- of him ; 
 he could carry you part of the way.' 
 
 ' You don't tell me as that moke's yours ! ' 
 cried Connie. ' Well, you're a comic ! ' 
 
 It was curious that immediately Connie 
 was on the donkey's back his speed became 
 all that could be desired. Perhaps her 
 training in the circus had given her a subtle 
 influence with animals, perhaps the ass was 
 proud of carrying a lady ; at all events the 
 stick was no longer needed. Dick walked 
 at the side and continued to converse with 
 his new friend. She needed no inducement 
 to talk ; she was communicative about her-
 
 122 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 self, but mixed fiction freely with her facts. 
 He gathered that her mother was French, 
 and belonged to a circus, and had been 
 deserted by her father, whom she believed 
 to be of high rank. She had been taken 
 care of by another circus lady, and she had 
 begun soon to take part in the performance 
 herself She was reticent about the relatives 
 in London to whom she was going, but she 
 seemed quite happy, and laughed at Dick's 
 solicitude for her safety. 
 
 ' You bet I know how to look after 
 myself,' she said. ' I know my way about.' 
 
 After they had been travelling about an 
 hour, they halted at a village for refresh- 
 ment. The novelty of going to an inn with 
 a gentleman pleased Connie mightily. 
 
 ' They'll think as we're on our honey- 
 moon,' she remarked, as they drew up at the
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 123 
 
 door. ' This is about the best lark I ever 
 had.' 
 
 * You cheeky Httle beggar,' said Dick, ' if 
 you don't behave yourself I won't go in with 
 you. Pull that cloak well round you and 
 don't let them see your dress.' 
 
 The landlord eyed the pair with severity. 
 Dick was somewhat ashamed : he spoke a 
 word or two of explanation to him aside, 
 and ordered lunch. 
 
 'Well,' said the landlord, amused and half- 
 incredulous, * there's no knowing what games 
 young gentlemen are up to nowadays. Any- 
 how, it's no business of mine.' 
 
 Dick went out to look after the ass. In 
 his absence Connie assumed an air of dignity 
 with the attendant maid. ' Could you show 
 me a room,' she said magnificently, 'where I 
 can wash ? We found the roads rather dusty.'
 
 124 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 She looked very fresh when she came 
 down again. She kept on her cloak, but had 
 removed her hat, and her fine black hair fell 
 abundantly over her shoulders. 
 
 'Ah,' said Dick, 'you've been polishing 
 up.' 
 
 ' Yes ; do I look nice "^ ' 
 
 'Very.' 
 
 ' You admire me, don't you ? ' 
 
 'Oh, you're not bad,' he admitted. 
 
 'You won't say it, but you know I'm 
 pretty. Prettier than those ladies you know, 
 though they have finer dresses and that.' 
 
 He was disposed to give her a lecture on 
 vanity, but could only laugh. The meal was 
 a very pleasant one : they were both hungry; 
 the cold beef and ale were excellent ; tea was 
 provided for Connie. 
 
 ' Fancy you and me mealing here together
 
 CHAP. VI ADVENTURES OF A TRAMP 125 
 
 like two old friends,' said she. ' I wish we 
 were going on together for days and days. 
 Well, now I think of it, I don't even know 
 your name. I told you mine.' 
 
 ' Malory,' he informed her. 
 
 * And what's your christian name '^. ' 
 - 'Dick.' 
 
 ' I suppose you'd be cross if I was to call 
 you Dick.' 
 
 ' No. I shouldn't particularly mind. We 
 shall probably never see each other again 
 after to-day.' 
 
 Connie looked almost sad. ' No,' she 
 assented, ' and I don't suppose that troubles 
 you. Well, let's be jolly.' 
 
 She had a few shillings in her pocket : 
 before leaving the inn, relying upon Dick to 
 replenish her funds, she magnificently be- 
 stowed half- a -crown on the girl who had
 
 126 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 shown her to her room. Dick brought 
 round the donkey, and, after Connie had 
 taken her seat and waved adieu to the land- 
 lord, the travellers set out on the journey to 
 Riplow, which was about nine miles distant.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE OBTRUSION OF A DONKEY UPON A 
 FASHIONABLE PARTY 
 
 One Sir Compton Dando, when an over-due 
 death brought him fortune in money, was 
 commended by his friends for his wisdom 
 in building a new house on the banks 
 of the Thames, instead of enlarging the 
 inaccessible and dilapidated family man- 
 sion in Cornwall. He was considered for- 
 tunate in his site, which sloped pleasantly 
 to the river, in its position some three- 
 quarters of an hour by rail from London, 
 and in the good taste and skill of his archi-
 
 128 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 tect. When it was suggested that he had 
 perhaps been his own architect, he allowed 
 it to be understood that Mr. Quoin was not 
 unindebted to him for the design, though 
 in the matter of staircases and chimneys and 
 so forth, that gentleman had had a free hand. 
 Sir Compton shared the national sentiment 
 in favour of the comfortable beauty of the 
 river Thames, with its pleasant breadths of 
 sunny water, happily flowing among the 
 lands of the prosperous and by the cottages 
 of the contented, — England's beauty, as it 
 were, mirroring her prosperity. 
 
 There had been picnicking on the river. 
 Disembarking at the landing - stage above 
 Riplow, the neighbouring town, the party 
 presented a pretty picture of gracefully- 
 attired men and women. Indeed, men have 
 at such times an opportunity not often
 
 CHAP. VII OBTRUSION OF A DONKEY 129 
 
 afforded to them of indulgence in colour, and 
 of returning to the original superior brilliancy 
 of male plumage. 
 
 Tom Longfield was assisting Miss 
 Chillington to land. When she took his 
 hand in stepping from the boat her move- 
 ments endowed him with a sudden grace 
 not his own. Of her beauty there could be 
 no doubt, though many people considered 
 it was marred by an expression of self- 
 possession, unbecoming in a girl so young. 
 It occurred to Tom that if the landing-place 
 had been muddy, she was the sort of woman 
 for whom one would have felt impelled to 
 throw down his boating coat of many colours, 
 as Raleigh his velvet mantle, and that she 
 would have stepped on it as if she were 
 doing him an honour. Her whole appear- 
 ance gave the impression of careful study, 
 
 VOL. I
 
 I30 THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 even in the simple boating dress which she 
 now wore. She was a girl of seventeen, 
 with the confident air of a woman of the world. 
 A bend in the river and a sudden view of 
 Riplow pulled her up, and gave Tom another 
 opportunity of admiring her figure as she 
 stood with elbow and hand lifted to shade 
 her eyes. Miss Askew, passing at the 
 moment with Archdeacon Pomfret, observed 
 her, and wondered to her companion whether 
 Miss Chillington knew what a pretty fore- 
 ground she made to a picture. (It should 
 be chronicled that she was the daughter of 
 Mr. Justice Askew, who was at the time of 
 her birth a Crown Counsel terrible in cross- 
 examination, and that her younger sister, 
 who was born after he became a judge, was 
 more tolerant to human weaknesses.) Per- 
 haps if Miss Chillington had known how
 
 approvingly the Archdeacon had looked at 
 her as he passed she would not have made 
 fun of his appearance to her companion. 
 
 ' If it is true that your profession and the 
 Archdeacon's are the most popular with 
 women,' she said, ' you certainly have an 
 advantage over your rivals in your uniform, 
 but you miss the opportunity of wearing it 
 in private life, for indeed you cannot wear 
 your sword on the river, Mr. Longfield. 
 Well, I really think the Church should show 
 more discrimination — it should no more 
 select an archdeacon without calves than a 
 precentor without a voice. Look, now, at 
 our poor attenuated friend in front.' 
 
 Tom laughed as he looked, but not freely. 
 The remark did not come up to his standard 
 of the truly feminine ; for it is curious how 
 the very men who will speak most lightly of
 
 132 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 women to each other are unusually exacting 
 in their demands for false refinement in the 
 ladies of their own circle. Tom had still an 
 honest respect for women, but he had caught 
 many of the modes of thought of some of his 
 less sturdy associates, and to his thinking there 
 was a shadow of indelicacy in her admission of 
 the fact that she was aware of the existence of 
 the human calf However, he remembered 
 as an excuse for her that she was Irish, and 
 the next minute he was her worshipper again. 
 He was conscious of a special effort to show 
 himself in her presence to his best advan- 
 tage, and also of a feeling of dissatisfaction 
 with the result. He felt some undefinable 
 superiority in her, which certainly was not 
 asserted in her frank speech and laugh, and 
 was probably negative and traceable to a 
 failure on her part to recognise the
 
 CHAP. VII OBTRUSION OF A DONKEY 133 
 
 established attitude of man, and play be- 
 comingly to his part of referee. 
 
 A bend of the river showed the approach 
 of unusual figures — Dick, Connie, and the 
 donkey. The evening being warm, Connie 
 had taken off her cloak ; she was mounted ; 
 her spangles sparkled in the sunshine. Dick 
 walked at the side with the bridle on his 
 arm. He had not calculated on meeting a 
 fashionable party on the towing-path. 
 
 ' My aunt ! ' cried Connie, ' here's a joke. 
 Here comes a lot of swells.' 
 
 Dick felt very uncomfortable ; he was 
 inclined to turn back, but it was too late. 
 
 ' Just put that cloak on, Connie,' he said. 
 * Fasten it up tight. What idiots we must 
 look ! ' 
 
 Connie did as she was desired, but with a 
 protest. 'Oh! if you're ashamed of me,'
 
 134 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 she said, ' you can hide till they're past. 
 Why don't you go and hide in them bul- 
 rushes, like young Moses ? ' 
 
 ' What an extraordinary couple ! ' ex- 
 claimed Miss Chillington to Tom as they 
 drew closer. * The man looks like a gentle- 
 man, but do look at the girl on the donkey.' 
 
 A minute later Tom Longfield and Dick 
 had recognised each other. It would be 
 difficult to say which of them was the more 
 confused — probably Tom. He was the elder ; 
 nothing smote him harder than a ridiculous 
 position ; Miss Chillington was at his side, 
 the rest of the party coming up ; he was 
 utterly ashamed for his friend's absurdity. 
 On the other hand, directly the position 
 became apparent to them, both Miss 
 Chillington and Connie enjoyed it. Connie's 
 inborn spirit of devilry became active. Miss
 
 CHAP. VII OBTRUSION OF A DONKEY 135 
 
 Chilllngton found the scene comic, and she 
 took a mischievous delight in Tom's un- 
 easiness. She had Httle reverence herself 
 for respectability, and to see a young 
 Englishman ruthlessly torn from his goddess 
 made her merry. 
 
 ' Well, Tom ! ' said Dick, taking off his 
 cap and laughing shyly. 
 
 * Well, Dick, you're a funny chap.' 
 
 Dick was inclined to go on, and Tom 
 would no doubt have allowed him to do so, 
 but Miss Chillington begged to be intro- 
 duced. 
 
 'This is my friend, Mr. Malory, Miss 
 Chillington,' he said, with an effort ; 'how he 
 comes here and what he is doing he must tell 
 us for himself.' 
 
 * I am on my way to London,' said Dick. 
 ' I thought I'd walk as the weather was fine.'
 
 136 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 The explanation was incomplete. Miss 
 Chillington scrutinised him with amuse- 
 ment. Connie joined in the conversation. 
 ' Yes, we're going to London,' she observed, 
 with a wicked look at Tom. 
 
 Others of the party passed and criticised 
 the group ; and there were quiet smiles, 
 for which Tom was on the look-out, and re- 
 turned, to show that he was on the side of the 
 smiles, not on the donkeys. 
 
 'I suppose,' continued Connie, 'it's me 
 that puzzles you. You think It's a funny 
 thing to meet your friend with one of my 
 sort. Well, he's been very good to me. I 
 say, Dick, I'm making the gent uncom- 
 fortable. I think I'd better ride on, and you 
 can follow when you've had your talk.' 
 
 Dick saw that it was useless to attempt ex- 
 planation, that he must accept the situation ;
 
 CHAP. VII OBTRUSION OF A DONKEY 137 
 
 and he was irritated at Tom's supercilious and 
 superior manner. It made him aggressive. 
 
 'Not a bit of it, Connie,' he said; 'I'll 
 come with you.' He was fortified and re- 
 warded by an approving look from Miss 
 Chillington. Connie had also been influenced 
 by that young lady. She had been inclined 
 to be very audacious ; she had even con- 
 templated startling the party by standing on 
 the donkey's back when the time came to 
 move on, and putting him through a few 
 circus evolutions, but Miss Chillington's 
 presence subdued her, and as Dick had 
 not been ashamed of her, she desired to 
 show her gratitude. 
 
 'We met coming along,' she remarked. 
 ' I was tired, and he gave me a ride on his 
 moke.' 
 
 ' You don't mean to say that donkey is
 
 138 THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 yours ! ' cried Tom. ' Are you going to ride 
 him into London ? ' 
 
 'Yes, I think it is very probable,' Dick 
 replied, uncompromisingly. 
 
 Tom pictured him on the donkey entering 
 London from the west, and coming down the 
 Row towards evening. Miss Chillington 
 stroked the donkey's ears affectionately, and 
 gave Connie a friendly smile. 
 
 ' Lm afraid your countrymen would never 
 stand it, Mr. Malory,' she said; 'the masses 
 would rise. The donkey has a peculiar effect 
 upon their imaginations. In Ireland we 
 understand him better.' 
 
 ' Oh, don't pet him,' cried Dick ; ' he doesn't 
 deserve it ; he's the most ungrateful beast you 
 ever heard of. He's for sale, Tom.' 
 
 Miss Chillington entered into conversation 
 with Connie, and speedily learned something
 
 CHAP. VII OBTRUSION OF A DONKEY 139 
 
 of her story. Tom perceived her attitude, 
 and became happier. He spoke to his friend 
 with some of his old cordiahty ; he said he 
 had been so surprised that he had forgotten 
 to say how glad he was to see him again. 
 
 ' And where do you stay to-night '^. ' he 
 asked. ' Riplow .^ Well, I'll come down to 
 your inn — the Swan's the best — after dinner 
 and have a talk. I'm awfully glad to see 
 you. I'm off to Gib, you know, next week, 
 and there's heaps to talk over.' 
 
 *Ah, not at all,' joined in Miss Chilling- 
 ton. ' Mr. Malory must not go to an inn — 
 he must come up to Somerford, of course. 
 Blaise ! ' she called to her cousin, young 
 Dando, who was behind, and came forward 
 fixing an eyeglass, ' this is Mr. Malory, an 
 old friend of Mr. Longfield's, who is tramp- 
 ing across the country and just met us by
 
 I40 THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 accident. You must persuade him to spend 
 the night at Somerford instead of going to 
 an inn.' 
 
 ' Of course ! take no refusal,' said the 
 Lieutenant, nodding. 
 
 Dick hesitated. ' It is very good of you, 
 but I am on foot, you know, and quite un- 
 presentable.' 
 
 ' Easily fit you up,' said Blaise, laughing, 
 and looking at Connie ; ' won't we. Long- 
 field.'^ And what about' — he was going to 
 add 'the lady,' but he caught his cousin's eye 
 and refrained. 
 
 'The easiest thing in the world,' Tom 
 replied. 
 
 ' Dinner at half-past seven,' added Mr. 
 Dando. 'We shall expect you.' 
 
 'Of course — it is settled,' said Miss 
 Chillington ; and Dick had accepted the
 
 CHAP. VII OBTRUSION OF A DONKEY 141 
 
 invitation before he had time to hesitate 
 further. 
 
 ' I'll go on to Riplow and put up the 
 donkey,' he said to Tom, 'and come up in 
 time to dress for dinner. Connie, we must 
 be going.' 
 
 ' I like your friend immensely,' Miss Chil- 
 lington remarked to Tom after they had 
 parted. ' I shall make him tell me all about 
 his adventures to-night. What a strange 
 child that was — and so beautiful' 
 
 ' She had good eyes,' Tom admitted. 
 'Well, Dick always was a funny fellow.' 
 
 ' That lady's just the finest-looking piece 
 I ever set eyes on,' said Connie to Dick. 
 * And, my ! wasn't she fixed up smart ? Now, 
 if I was got up like her — but it's no use 
 wishing. And you wasn't ashamed of me.' 
 
 ' No,' Dick replied, absently.
 
 142 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ' But you'll forget me when you get up 
 among your grand friends. I expect you'll 
 fall in love with that young lady, and you'll 
 never think of me again, I expect.' 
 
 ' Of course I shall, and all the fun we had 
 to-day.' 
 
 * You're not thinking about me at all,' she 
 said, in a vexed tone ; ' I see it by your look. 
 You're thinking about that lady.'
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MISS CHILLINGTON 
 
 The evening sun filled the drawing-room 
 with mellow light, and Sir Compton Dando 
 beamed on his assembling guests. Man 
 loves to have a role : his was that of host ; 
 he was insignificant in any other. When he 
 left his house he left his power behind him, 
 and he knew it, — in a bathing-machine he 
 hardly felt like a baronet. But as a host he 
 was great. It was he, not the sun of the 
 south, who received credit for the vintage ; 
 he unconsciously felt a joint-authorship with 
 the Creator in the view which he gave his
 
 144 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 guests from the windows, and a joint- 
 responsibility for the weather while they were 
 with him. 
 
 On this occasion he felt himself specially 
 fortunate in his guests. The House of Lords 
 was represented by the Earl of Eigg ; the 
 Lower House by Mr. Frampton Cotterell, the 
 member for Riplow ; the Church by Arch- 
 deacon Pomfret ; the law by the ladies of 
 Mr. Justice Askew ; diplomatic circles by 
 Mr. Chillington ; letters by Mr. Norton Tris- 
 tram ; and the army numerously. Business 
 was also there, ' in two places ' — to borrow 
 a figure from the auctioneer, — in the person 
 of the member for Riplow and that of a 
 nephew of his own, who, having failed to 
 gain admission to the army, had recently 
 entered on a commercial career. The mother 
 of this gentleman had not altogether approved
 
 CHAP. VIII MISS CHILLINGTON 145 
 
 the choice, but had grown reconciled to 
 it on the reflection that it was not an un- 
 common thing now for gentlemen of good 
 family to go into business, and that a 
 large fortune in the course of a few years 
 was to be the certain and meet reward of 
 the sacrifice. 
 
 While Sir Compton reviewed his assem- 
 bling forces and arranged the order of march 
 to dinner — Lady Dando having previously 
 worked out this arrangement through all its 
 permutations and combinations, — Tom Long- 
 field brought Dick to his hostess, who was 
 talking to the Archdeacon. 
 
 'Ah, Mr. Longfield,' she said, ' I was just 
 
 telling Archdeacon Pomfret that the Bishop 
 
 ought to be very much obliged to me for 
 
 persuading him to pay us a visit, the river 
 
 air has done him so much good already ; he 
 VOL. I L
 
 146 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 works so hard, you know. What a pity you 
 have to go to-morrow — but I really would 
 not allow you to stay. I know what a 
 mother's heart is, and of course your own 
 people are the first claimants for the next 
 week or two. It is a great comfort to have 
 dear Blaise with us before he leaves, poor 
 boy, though he says he must go to town 
 next week to make arrangements.' Tom 
 presented Dick. ' Oh, I am so pleased to 
 make your acquaintance, Mr. Malory. What 
 an original idea of yours to come through the 
 country on a donkey! It is quite refreshing 
 to meet people who do original things. Mr. 
 Longfield, you know Miss Brosely, don't 
 you ? Mr. Malory, let me introduce you to 
 Miss Beatrix Askew.' 
 
 When Miss Chillington came into the 
 room she became the centre of a little group
 
 CHAP. VIII MISS CHILLINGTON 147 
 
 of men, and even charitable women do not 
 care to see one of their number engaging 
 more than her share of attention. She pro- 
 voked the criticism of two ladies who were 
 looking at an album of engravings in the 
 shelter of a recess. 
 
 ' She is unmistakably handsome,' admitted 
 the first. 
 
 * Yes, she is certainly good-looking, but it 
 is a style I don't admire. She looks so con- 
 scious of her beauty, as though she demanded 
 admiration.' 
 
 ' Well, she gets quite as much as she 
 deserves. Why, she's not eighteen. There 
 are curious things said about her, my dear. 
 If all accounts are true she is very fast.' 
 
 * Nothing serious, I hope.' 
 
 ' Oh ! not that I know of, but they say she 
 has no becoming feminine reserve. She
 
 148 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 talks to men as if she were a man herself, or 
 perhaps more as men talk to women. My 
 husband, who like the rest of them admires 
 her, says she assumes the offensive instead 
 of the defensive.' 
 
 * You know there are all sorts of stories 
 about her wilfulness. One, of her being out 
 hunting in Ireland when the fox crossed a 
 flooded river, and one of the riders who 
 followed had his horse drowned. She fol- 
 lowed in spite of her father's orders. They 
 say he threatened to horsewhip her if she 
 was not drowned, and it is believed he after- 
 wards did so.' 
 
 ' Oh, the best story I have heard of her,' 
 said the first lady, * is about her conduct to 
 little Mr. Shipton, the curate who was here 
 last week. Jim told me to take it for what 
 it was worth.'
 
 CHAP. VIII MISS CHILLINGTON 149 
 
 ' Whatever did she do to poor i\Ir. Ship- 
 ton ? Do tell me.' 
 
 ' The story is that she was walking by the 
 river with Mr. Shipton, and her little terrier 
 contrived to fall in, and was nearly drowned. 
 Mr. Shipton heroically went to the rescue, 
 and came out holding the wretched dog, and 
 looking a woeful sight with his long coat tails 
 clinging round his legs. One of the gentle- 
 men was walking near and saw it all. And 
 what do you suppose Miss Chillington did? 
 — ran impetuously up to him crying, ''You 
 dear, brave, little creature," and gave him a 
 kiss.' 
 
 ' Oh, it is too absurd,' said the other lady, 
 laughing ; ' they must have invented it in the 
 smoking-room.' 
 
 ' Not at all, my dear. 1 believe it is quite 
 true. Only just fancy what Mr. Shipton
 
 I50 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 must have felt. You know he is engaged to 
 that tall, plain girl with freckles — the girl 
 we saw in church. He must have felt like a 
 criminal with the secret of that kiss on his 
 cheek.' 
 
 ''Well, I could believe a good deal of her, 
 but hardly her kissing Mr. Shipton. We 
 might ask him if the dog really fell in, or if 
 she threw it in to test his devotion, as De 
 Lorge's lady threw the glove to the lions.' 
 
 ' Or if he felt inclined to throw the dog in 
 her face, as De Lorge threw the glove, or, 
 being a Christian, to be forgiving and turn 
 the other cheek.' 
 
 ' Very good, but just a little profane, dear, 
 and you know my feelings about the Bible. 
 Ah ! Major Anderson, have you had much 
 difficulty in finding me ? It would have 
 served us right for hiding away if we had
 
 CHAP. VIII MISS CHILLINGTON 151 
 
 been left behind and sent to bed without 
 dinner, Hke naughty children.' 
 
 Dick was not feeling very happy ; the 
 subjects of conversation were entirely strange 
 to him ; of the theatres, the doings of the 
 fashionable world, the musical and artistic 
 gossip, the young men's allusions to yachting, 
 or race-horses, or polo matches, he knew 
 nothing : he was envious of the men who 
 were laughing with Miss Chillington. At 
 dinner he was entrusted with the care of the 
 younger Miss Askew, and had the wife of 
 the Archdeacon for his other neighbour. 
 Opposite were Miss Chillington and Norton 
 Tristram, and this couple so engrossed his 
 attention that he failed somewhat in his duty 
 to his mess-mate. 
 
 ' What a recluse you must be ! ' said she, 
 after offering various conversational headings
 
 152 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 which remained unamplified ; ' you have never 
 seen Mr. Irving act, and not read anything 
 about Buddhism. Of course that sort of 
 reading is dangerous. I suppose, Hke every 
 thoughtful man to-day, you have been 
 through a phase of religious doubts. It is 
 hard nowadays to escape.' 
 
 ' No,' said Dick, apologetically, ' I'm 
 afraid I have not had them yet. Are you 
 bound to have them ? ' 
 
 ' How can you be so flippant ? ' 
 
 Religious doubts to the young lady were 
 more sacred than faith itself. To Dick 
 there was something very comical in the 
 subject as a topic for conversation at dinner, 
 but he had seen little of the world. 
 
 * You cannot accept everything ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 ' I do,' he answered ; ' I'm like the school-
 
 CHAP. VIII MISS CHILLINGTON 153 
 
 master in our village ; he can't read very 
 long words himself, and when a boy stumbles 
 at one he tells him *' to call it summat and 
 go on." I do that with puzzles.' 
 
 ' Then you're very cowardly. You know 
 what Tennyson says about " honest doubt " ? ' 
 
 Dick hardly heard, he was watching Miss 
 Chillington, whose eyes grew brighter as she 
 spoke to the poet about her country. 
 
 * Oh yes,' he replied. ' I remember. It's 
 very pretty.' 
 
 ' Pretty ! surely that's hardly the word. 
 Well, I envy you your peace of mind. 
 Thank you, a pate.' 
 
 The gentleman sitting next her now en- 
 gaged her in conversation on the coming 
 regatta at Henley, and Dick was left at 
 leisure to watch Miss Chillington. He 
 thouo;ht she looked even more beautiful than 
 
 o
 
 IS4 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 when he had first seen her ; her colour was 
 brighter, her forehead and the golden brown 
 hair which shadowed it had before been 
 hidden by her hat. Her figure was as 
 beautiful as her face ; but where other ladies 
 were prodigal in their poverty she was ex- 
 clusive in her wealth, and wore a dress which 
 showed but little of her neck. She gave the 
 impression of extreme finish in detail, of 
 fulfilling in her person Mr. Ruskin's demand 
 for architecture — that it should be as care- 
 fully executed where hidden as where seen, 
 the column capital as lovingly completed 
 where it was turned to the wall as to the 
 congregation. 
 
 Tristram, her companion, was at first dis- 
 appointing to Dick, who had read a volume 
 of his poems which he had found among 
 Humphry's miscellaneous collection of books.
 
 CHAP. VIII MISS CHILLINGTON 155 
 
 He had formed an ideal conception of a 
 poet's appearance, and to this Tristram did 
 not conform ; he was like other men — with- 
 out suggestion of romance : his countenance 
 seemed rather that of the world-weary man 
 of pleasure than of the inspired singer. 
 
 He and Miss Chillington were on excel- 
 lent terms. Dick heard her reproach him 
 for his ignorance of Ireland, speaking with a 
 slight Irish intonation which was to the poet 
 one of her many charms. 
 
 * We don't want to be part of the English 
 Empire which you think such an honour,' 
 she was saying ; * we cannot, and will not, 
 forget the past ; but if you do consider 
 Ireland part of your country, why do you 
 allow the peasantry to be starved out of it 
 and go to America in thousands every 
 year ? '
 
 156 THE MARPLOT parti 
 
 'Oh, I wish you would not say "you,"' 
 repHed Tristram; 'say England.' 
 
 'Yes, I do say "you,"' she continued, 
 ' because it is just such men as you — a poet 
 who loves freedom and justice, and is outside 
 the interest of any class — who should be our 
 champion. Ah ! if only we had a great poet 
 of our own. It is a great thing to fight for 
 your country : it is still greater to give your 
 country something to make it worth fighting 
 for. An English soldier has to fight for 
 England's wealth : the army is in the service 
 of trade. It is the artist and the poet who 
 keep its ideals fresh. A poet is what we 
 want, to express our own ideal for us. We 
 have no voice to speak our hopes and our 
 wrongs. We are not ready for our Mazzini ; 
 we should not understand him.' Tristram 
 looked at her with great approval, but it was
 
 CHAP. VIII MISS CHILLINGTON 157 
 
 the speaker, not the subject, that interested 
 him. 'A poet would find Irish hearts less 
 difficult to stir than English,' she continued. 
 
 'Perhaps so,' said Tristram. *I have 
 been accustomed, in my darkness, to look 
 upon the difference between the English and 
 Irish people as similar to that between a 
 man who has had too much to eat and one 
 who has had too much to drink.' 
 
 Miss Chillington laughed. 'It is clear 
 that patriotism is no longer a necessary part 
 of the equipment of a poet. Well, you will 
 come and see for yourself, will you not ? My 
 father will be with us in the autumn for a 
 few weeks, and you must come then. If you 
 are disappointed in the people w^e can give 
 you scenery.' 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret became a trickling tributary 
 to their conversation, and spoke of moun-
 
 158 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 tains : ' They give us such a sense of mystery 
 and sublimity, and of the smallness of our 
 own life.' 
 
 * A recent president of the Alpine Club 
 quotes an old writer who justified the Creator 
 for making mountains — which the ancient 
 world regarded as a nuisance — solely on the 
 ground that they harboured fur - yielding 
 animals,' observed Tristram. 
 
 The younger Miss Askew remarked that 
 though fur was indispensable, she considered 
 that the mountains had a yet higher use. 
 She forgot the world when she was in the 
 presence of the mountains. 
 
 'The longer I live,' said Mrs. Pomfret, 
 ' the more I feel the truth of the saying that 
 "God made the country and man made the 
 
 town." ' 
 
 ' Don't you think an exception might be
 
 CHAP. VIII MJSS CHILLINGTON 159 
 
 made in favour of cathedral towns ? ' said 
 Miss Chillington, slyly. 
 
 ' I alluded to manufacturing towns, my 
 dear,' replied Mrs. Pomfret, with dignity. 
 
 Miss Chillington turned to her neighbour 
 on the right — the business nephew of the 
 house of Dando. 
 
 ' I suppose you are quite a learned man 
 of business now, Sam,' said she, 'and know 
 all about stocks and dividends and things.' 
 
 Sam remembered the nature of the official 
 duties of which he had become master. He 
 spoke solemnly. ' There is a fearful amount 
 to learn, you know, and I can't say I have it 
 all at my fingers' ends, you know, but I am 
 told these sort of things come all at once to 
 you.' 
 
 Mr. Tristram asked if this happy result 
 were obtained by a laying on of hands by the
 
 i6o THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 senior partner, or some such sacramental 
 process. 
 
 * We shall hear of you waking up some 
 morning and finding yourself rich,' said Miss 
 Chillington. 'After your day's business it 
 must be pleasant to have your evenings 
 to yourself. Now, tell me, do you read 
 much ? ' 
 
 <Well, no'— 
 
 * And why so ? ' 
 
 * Well, the fact is, I have so little time,' 
 said Sam, * and there are so few good books, 
 you know.' 
 
 'Oh, Sam,' said his cousin, laughing 
 gaily, ' you are too severe — too severe al- 
 together. Now, isn't he, Mr. Tristram?' 
 
 Lady Dando exchanged glances with the 
 Countess of Eigg and rose. A warm even- 
 ing and a rosy north-west attracted many of
 
 CHAP. VIII MISS CHILLINGTON i6i 
 
 the ladies from the drawing-room to the 
 garden. The men gathered closer round 
 their host, who gave biographical hints about 
 the wine. 
 
 Dick's shyness was gone ; he desired to 
 talk. He asked his neighbour, a large, 
 vacant-looking soldier, whom he had heard 
 making allusion to Egypt, what he thought 
 of the Pyramids. ' Oh, they're damn rum 
 things, you know ; damn rum things,' replied 
 the Major, whereupon the conversation came 
 to a close. Tom Longfield came round and 
 took a chair beside Dick. 
 
 'And seriously,' he asked, *you have 
 decided on being a sculptor ? Is it good 
 enough ? ' 
 
 * Oh, I suppose so ; you must be some- 
 thing,' Dick replied. 
 
 ' I never understood how a sculptor earned 
 
 VOL. I M
 
 i62 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 his living-,' grumbled Tom. * Making monu- 
 ments, or how ? Well, I'm sorry, old 
 fellow.' 
 
 ' Oh, nonsense,' said Dick, impatiently. 
 ' If you're good enough you can serve your 
 country as well by art as by fighting.' He 
 was recalling what Miss Chillington had 
 said. 
 
 ' I should like to know how.' 
 
 'Well, you can stir the heroism in your 
 country and celebrate its heroes, for in- 
 stance.' 
 
 * Oh, I know, those statues in St. Paul's,' 
 said Tom ; ' Victory presenting the naked 
 admirals with wreaths — ridiculous things. I 
 don't believe you'll stick to it either. I say, 
 they're on the move ; we'll have a talk out- 
 side. I want to hear more about the jack- 
 ass.'
 
 CHAP. VIII MISS CHILLINGTON 163 
 
 The garden was beautiful under darken- 
 ing skies and the first stars. In addition to 
 the Hght of heaven, Sir Compton Dando 
 provided artificial illumination to cheer his 
 guests. In a glow of limelight quartettes 
 were being sung. The faces of the guests 
 at Somerford were beautiful in their content- 
 ment. If what is known as a composite 
 photograph could have been taken, the ex- 
 pression of the resultant face would have 
 been one of gently smiling, kindly benevo- 
 lence. Nay, if the representative were 
 clothed in white robes, it might even have 
 portrayed Charity — Charity well born, that 
 is, and seen at a moment when she was 
 thinking more of what she had done than of 
 what remained to do. Dick, perhaps, should 
 have been excluded from the portrait, for he 
 was restless. After a talk with Tom Long-
 
 i64 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 field he wandered about the garden alone, 
 the possessor of some new sensations. Miss 
 Chillington had fired his thoughts. His 
 boyish enthusiasm for the heroic, which had 
 contented itself with the imaginary or with the 
 past, now turned to the actual and the pre- 
 sent : the heroic was still to be achieved — he 
 himself might achieve it. The few words he 
 had heard her say to Tristram about the ser- 
 vice of one's country by art inspired him 
 with a longing to enter on such service ; her 
 own ardent love of her country showed to 
 him patriotism as a great ideal within reach ; 
 it showed him how England should be loved; 
 he could have wished, however, that it might 
 have been his to attempt this by poetry 
 rather than sculpture ; sculpture was too cold 
 for his present mood. Miss Chillington her- 
 self seemed to him more beautiful, more
 
 CHAP. VIII MISS CHILLINGTON 165 
 
 admirable, than the unknown perfect maidens 
 of his boyish dreams, and also as far removed 
 from him — a princess beyond reach. It 
 would be the supremest joy conceivable to 
 do such work as might rank him in her 
 eyes among those who deserve well of their 
 country. And the cause of her country too ! 
 he would study that — it must be noble since 
 she was devoted to it. Tristram was un- 
 worthy of himself as a poet, and of her 
 appeal to him, in having been uninspired by 
 her words. Might not he himself find the 
 subject for his first great work in sculpture 
 in that cause? Erin parting with her 
 children, who were about to be driven into 
 exile, or England, nobly generous, giving 
 her back her children. 
 
 He subsequently mentioned the subject 
 casually in one of his letters to Humphry,
 
 i66 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 and Humphry approved it, with the comment 
 that a work which claimed to represent the 
 national sentiment would be incomplete with- 
 out the presence of the domestic pet of the 
 national hearth ; he thought that if the statue 
 of Erin should be equestrian or rather pig- 
 mounted it might take rank as a companion 
 work of art with Europa and the Bull, or 
 Una and the Lion.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 CONNIE 
 
 The transition from youthful sentiment to 
 experience of the world of men is like that 
 from the country to the town, where half- 
 finished streets project into half-mutilated 
 meadows : we are not tempted to linger. 
 Beyond, in the city's dark mystery, lies an- 
 other world of romance for such as are fear- 
 less in beholding and generous in judgment ; 
 beyond again, for these, paths outward to the 
 mountains and the sea. 
 
 The process of disillusion is gradual. Like 
 the ruddy complexion from the cheek of
 
 i68 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 youth, the first bloom of romance quits the 
 soul ; neither is wept for ; each is remem- 
 bered with kind laughter. 
 
 During the first few years of his life in 
 London Dick's thoughts were less for his 
 art than for the problems of life and the con- 
 dition of his fellow-creatures. He gave much 
 attention to the doleful pastime of reform ; 
 he startled Humphry in a letter by informing 
 him that he had joined a society called the 
 Asynepangelists, — the ' no-compromisers,' he 
 translated it ; he worked in the East End ; 
 he showed a tendency to Socialistic prin- 
 ciples. He caused his uncle much amuse- 
 ment. ' These young souls, when they begin 
 to boil and the lids come off, are very inter- 
 esting,' he commented ; ' there is nothing so 
 comical as the earnestness of the young, and 
 nothing so sad as the indifference of the old.'
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE 169 
 
 The progress of disenchantment was 
 steady ; the work of reform did not progress ; 
 the society of Asynepangelists tottered ; 
 many of its most prominent members with- 
 drew. The Honourable Thomas Molyneux 
 Thynne Culbone, who had dropped the word 
 ' honourable ' so that he might earn the only 
 real title to it by labouring for his fellow- 
 creatures, resumed his rank ; Mr. Tuam, 
 whose conscience had told him that the land 
 should be owned by the nation, and who, 
 having a small property in Ireland, had pre- 
 sented this to the Government of the day, 
 was very glad that the Government had re- 
 fused to accept it ; and young Featherstone, 
 who had been so severe upon the Church, 
 though he had a decanal parent, had taken 
 holy orders. Dick himself had begun to find 
 the work irksome. In his unbounded trust
 
 170 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 of life he had at first refused to believe that 
 anything could be wrong with the world. 
 When he discovered his mistake he saw the 
 imperfections of the earth as a lover sees the 
 fault or pain of his lady. He did not shut 
 his eyes, nor avoid the dark places ; he felt 
 that while these were unlightened he could 
 not enjoy the beauty of the sunshine else- 
 where ; that it was service, not appreciation, 
 which was first demanded. Now, with further 
 acquaintance, the darkness deepened, the ser- 
 vice looked less hopeful ; he was impatient 
 and disappointed. 
 
 Tristram, the poet, introduced him to his 
 own circle of friends — artists, literary men, 
 and others, — men very different from the 
 Asynepangelists. They went, indeed, to the 
 opposite extreme, allowing their conduct to 
 be hampered by no restrictions whatever ; and
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE 171 
 
 Dick found the change pleasant. His new 
 companions met with the disapproval of two 
 men among his former associates whose true 
 friendship he had gained. One of these was a 
 working-man named Strong, a Socialist with 
 brains ; the other, his fellow-lodger, one Clovis 
 Cloudesley Shovel, a simple-minded and lov- 
 able creature, with a countenance which would 
 have made the fortune of a comic actor. 
 
 Dick's new habits aroused Strong's scorn 
 and awoke Shovel's anxiety, but he took his 
 own way unconcerned by either. And just 
 at the time when his ideas were in a muddle 
 and his path undefined, his old friend Connie 
 danced into his life and shaped it for him. 
 
 He had been to the East End to pay a 
 visit to Robert Strong. After leaving him 
 he walked towards the docks near the Tower 
 of London, feeling depressed and unhappy.
 
 172 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 The gloom of the November evening was 
 thrice gloomy in those dark streets. Where 
 there was any brightness — by tavern or 
 music-hall — it was viler than the gloom ; 
 where there was any beauty — a pretty child 
 with happy smiles for her ragged doll under 
 a lamp, a Scotch mountain song played on a 
 barrel-organ — it was sadder than the prevail- 
 ing ugliness. He passed sailors with brawl- 
 ing women, clerks — the narrow-chested sons 
 of our commercial prosperity — going home 
 northwards from their warehouses, and some 
 few of their masters, spruce and silk-hatted, 
 stepping westward. There was no greeting, 
 there was no brotherhood here. He was 
 glad to get down near the ships ; they re- 
 vived his spirits ; they told of an outlet from 
 this prison ; they spoke of far-distant seas 
 and starry nights, and the lap of shoreless
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE 173 
 
 waters against the dipping bows. And ships 
 were coming in from the sea, and as they 
 swung in the river to their berths, came 
 the sound of the voices of the sailors as 
 they hauled on the ropes. The memories of 
 childhood touched his heart as he listened. 
 
 The condition of the world which he now 
 saw, so different from the world which he had 
 pictured, gave him serious thoughts as he 
 walked homewards. It seemed to him that 
 men had lost faith in each other and in their 
 country and in earth and heaven, so that 
 there was little room for pleasant wayfaring 
 on the unknown road, or great sacrifice for 
 the dear native land : there was no unity of 
 purpose to make men brothers. 
 
 Near London Bridge he met Norton Tris- 
 tram — an unwonted visitor east of St. Paul's. 
 
 * Ah, Malory ! ' he cried, ' well met. Now,
 
 174 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 by your countenance, you've been howking 
 the middens, " doing good." Am I not right ? 
 and I, where do you think I've been?' 
 
 ' To Brighton, to get an appetite for 
 dinner.' 
 
 ' No. I have been sitting for two hours 
 with a pious old lady, my great-aunt, who 
 lives in lodgings at Clapham Common.' 
 
 ' This is inconceivable,' said Dick. 
 
 ' It is true. I am to sup to-night with 
 some ladies of the theatrical profession and 
 other merry friends — there is a charming 
 Neapolitan among them, — and it occurred to 
 me that it would give the entertainment a 
 flavour if I spent the afternoon with my aunt. 
 Virtue is my olive before the wine.' 
 
 Tristram had passed those days of com- 
 parative innocence when wickedness had 
 been piquant to him, and now in the days
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE i7s 
 
 of his dissipation he found a comparative 
 piquancy in innocence ; he looked at it artist- 
 ically. His deliberate seeking after new 
 sensations marked him as one to whom 
 Nature was no longer friendly. She is unin- 
 dulgent to those who are over-careful about 
 indulging themselves, dooming them to per- 
 petual pursuit, and sending them to ugly 
 places in search of new emotions. The fresh- 
 ness of Dick's nature, his enthusiasm for life, 
 had attracted Tristram, by contrast to his 
 own condition and that of the greater number 
 of his friends. He had recently frequently in- 
 vited him to his rooms, and had introduced 
 him to his own companions and to a side of 
 life which had many attractions. 
 
 ' So you still stick to the slums,' he re- 
 marked. 
 
 ' Only on the Clapham Common principle,'
 
 176 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 said Dick. * I'm going to the theatre to- 
 night.' 
 
 ' Not a bit of it, Malory ; you go because 
 you haven't yet got over your love for 
 humanity. Now, if I went, I should go to 
 get a few necessary shadows to make my 
 picture of life interesting. I don't care a 
 straw for the poor really. Indeed, I think 
 the lower classes are horrid.' 
 
 ' Yes, shocking,' said Dick, ironically. 
 
 'It's a good thing you're going to the 
 theatre to-night, my boy ; these expeditions 
 make you cantankerous. If you get out of 
 temper with life, Malory, you're ruined as an 
 artist, though you may do for a reformer. I 
 assure you that art and reform are sworn 
 foes. Don't trouble about social problems, 
 study individuals as they are. A landscape 
 painter might as well vex his soul about
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE 177 
 
 improving uncultivated lands by artificial 
 manures. These are questions for the tiller 
 of the soil.' 
 
 ' I have a relation,' said Dick, ' who calls 
 England the land of the well-fed Muse. 
 '' Pepsina," he calls her.' 
 
 ' Interpret your relation to me.' 
 
 ' I understand him to mean that she 
 sings on a full stomach. That our art 
 and our poetry are addressed to the well-to- 
 do ; that art has become a luxury merely, 
 and endeavours no longer to stir the pulse 
 of the nation, to express its pain, to plead for 
 noble sacrifice or patriotism.' 
 
 ' England!' said Tristram, contemptuously. 
 ' To love art is to forget England — England 
 of to-day. Some art may dwell here, but it 
 has nothing to do with England.' 
 
 ' Patriotism and poetry ought to go hand 
 
 VOL. I N
 
 178 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 in hand,' said Dick, warmly; 'we want a 
 common cause and a common faith to unite 
 us, and our poetry and our art ought to point 
 to that. We are all going different ways, each 
 selfishly playing for his own hand. In our 
 religion, our politics, our morals, in everything 
 we are divided. Some may be on the right 
 track and the rest on the wrong. I believe 
 in comradeship. If England is drifting — if 
 half the world is going towards damnation — 
 for God's sake let us all be damned together.' 
 
 ' The devil ! ' exclaimed Tristram. 
 
 ' And I believe we are drifting. I don't 
 see what the remedy is to be unless we have 
 some great disaster. I should like to see 
 the money-lenders, and editors of financial 
 papers and society papers, and sw^eaters 
 persecuted to-day like the Jews were perse- 
 cuted long ago. I should like myself to
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE 179 
 
 assist In breaking up half the printing-presses 
 and knocking down half the palaces and 
 clubs and hotels in London.' 
 
 ' Spare my club, you young firebrand,' 
 said Tristram, laughing. ' I tell you, Malory, 
 you are not fit to be an artist. You must give 
 up the thought of it. Your mind ought to be 
 occupied with Giovanni Dupre, and Wag- 
 mliller, and Rodin, and Flaxman. I swear I am 
 getting an appetite. I am glad you are going 
 to the theatre. I recommend the burlesque at 
 the Gaiety.' He hailed a cab. ' If you have 
 no engagement come to dinner on Tuesday.' 
 
 A few minutes after parting with Tristram 
 Dick met another acquaintance. 
 
 'Hullo, Connie!' he cried, 'who'd have 
 thought of meeting you ? ' 
 
 ' Well, now, if this isn't ridiculous,' laughed 
 Connie ; ' I was just thinking of you.'
 
 i8o THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ' Ridiculous/ agreed Dick, with doubts as 
 to her veracity. 
 
 It was not their first meeting since they 
 had travelled to Riplow together. Dick had 
 seen her on two or three occasions recently ; 
 for Connie was acting as a model to one 
 of his artist friends. According to her own 
 account she had had many strange adven- 
 tures since they had parted on the towing- 
 path. All he knew for certain was that she 
 had been engaged at one of the inferior 
 music halls at the East End, and had after- 
 wards taken an unimportant part in a panto- 
 mime at one of the large theatres. Here 
 Headly, the artist, had seen her and approved 
 her beauty. He had made her a liberal 
 offer to sit as his model for a contemplated 
 picture, and she had accepted. It pleased 
 her to think that her beauty was appreciated ;
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE i8i 
 
 her vanity, not the remuneration, made 
 her consent. She was now about sixteen 
 years old, but there was Httle about her 
 which suggested childhood. 
 
 ' And where are you off to, Connie ? ' Dick 
 asked. 
 
 ' I'm disengaged. Now, wouldn't you 
 like to take me to some place of amusement ? 
 A pal asked me to come to tea, and go with 
 her to a music hall after, but I'm not bound.' 
 
 ' Very well, let's have a happy evening 
 together. Come and have tea, and I'll 
 take you somewhere afterwards. Will 
 you ? ' 
 
 ' Will I ? Won't I just ? But couldn't you 
 make it dinner instead of tea.^ I should like 
 to go just for once to a tip-top place where 
 the toffs go, and there's a band. That's if 
 you don't mind being seen with me.'
 
 i82 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ' Don't you think tea is more suitable for 
 young ladies of your age ? ' 
 
 She glanced at him in a way to make him 
 lauoh. 
 
 'All right,' said Dick, 'it shall be dinner.' 
 
 ' You're an angel. And after dinner we'll go 
 to the theatre. I don't care a pin about the 
 piece. I want to go to a place where I can 
 see the swells. I'll be one myself to-night.' 
 
 ' We ought to be in evening dress to go 
 among the grand people at the theatre.' 
 
 Connie clapped her hands. ' What luck,' 
 she cried. ' Now, what do you think I've 
 on under my ulster? I've got on the Greek 
 dress with a border same as the picture. 
 Mr. Headly gave it me to-night to take away, 
 because he had no use for it now the picture's 
 done, and the girl that cleans the studio was 
 outside, and I promised her I'd give her
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE 183 
 
 a dress, because she's in rags ; so I gave her 
 my old 'un straight off my back and came 
 away in this.' 
 
 They went to a well-known restaurant, 
 an over-decorated haunt of the Philistine 
 pleasure-seeker, — one of the places Dick had 
 been anxious to rase to the ground when 
 he was speaking to Tristram an hour before. 
 But it was exactly what Connie desired. 
 After taking off her ulster and arranging her 
 hair she joined him in the passage, and walked 
 into the dinino-room before him with her head 
 in the air. In her Greek dress, which she had 
 drawn close at the waist to make it look more 
 modern, she was amazingly handsome. Dick 
 could hardly conceal his admiration. 
 
 * Will 1 do ? ' she asked him, with a confi- 
 dent air, as they took their places at a little 
 table, under general scrutiny.
 
 1 84 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ' What a transformation ! ' he laughed ; 
 ' it's Cinderella.' 
 
 ' My boots ain't like Cinderella's, but it's a 
 good thing they can't be seen. You'll buy 
 me a pair of shoes, won't you, and a pair of 
 gloves, before we go to the theatre .^ ' 
 
 A waiter bent over the young lady : 
 
 ' Puree de Pois St. Germain — Fausse 
 Tortue Claire.' 
 
 Connie blushed slightly and hesitated for 
 a moment. Dick helped her to choose. 
 
 ' The people who come to these places 
 like to have their food in French,' he told 
 her ; ' they think it is more refined.' 
 
 She was a little anxious at the commence- 
 ment of the meal ; she wished to be correct 
 in her selection of fork, knife, or spoon, and 
 watched her companion carefully ; but her con- 
 fidence soon returned, and her spirits rose high.
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE 185 
 
 'Well, this is the sort of place for me/ 
 said she, surveying the golden columns and 
 cornices with rapture. ' And what swells they 
 all look ; nothing but shirt fronts and low 
 necks all over the shop. And to think how 
 soon it'll all be over ! It's like Cinderella — 
 got to be changed back again. You can just 
 fancy how dismal it is at my lodgings ; 
 there's no one there at all but Emily- — that's 
 the slavey. Mother Pring's gone to Croydon 
 to her sick daughter, and the other young 
 person that lodges there's gone to stay with 
 a friend. Emily's pious, and what do you 
 think she does when she's got no work to do ? 
 She scrubs part of the kitchen floor, whether 
 it wants it or not, to keep her thoughts 
 i)\{ young men. I say ! how many more 
 courses ? ' 
 
 Dick's spirits were rising too. This
 
 1 86 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 adventure with Connie was a relief after a 
 depressing afternoon. He looked at her 
 with satisfaction, partly on account of her 
 beauty, partly because of her strange attire ; 
 he was pleased at his own indifference to 
 appearances and to the criticism of others. 
 
 ' This sort of thing, which you seem to 
 like so much,' he said, laughing at her last 
 remarks, * is just what I hate. I'm sick of 
 all this show. I feel more than half inclined 
 to clear out, and go to the backwoods of 
 America or somewhere.' 
 
 ' My word ! you don't mean it ! Well, if 
 you go, I wish you'd take me with you for 
 company. What fun we had that day after 
 I ran away ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, hadn't we ! Let me give you some 
 champagne,' said the ex-Asynepangelist. 
 ' And tell me what became of my donkey .^ '
 
 CHAP, rx CONNIE 187 
 
 ' Oh ! didn't I tell you ? I sold him to an 
 ostler at Riplow for a quid. I thought of 
 you that evening among your grand friends. 
 I liked the looks of that young man — your 
 friend with the moustache.' 
 
 ' He's in India now.' 
 
 ' And the young lady — the handsome 
 princess ; I expect you got thick with her.' 
 
 Dick looked displeased ; he had not seen 
 Miss Chillington since that night, but she 
 was often in his thoughts ; he objected to 
 discuss her with Connie. 
 
 'She lives in Ireland. Well, Connie, now 
 the picture's finished, what are you going to 
 do with yourself ? ' 
 
 ' No more modelling for me,' said Connie. 
 ' It's dull work ; and if the artist hadn't been 
 a bit fond of me, and come round now and 
 then to make things lively, I could never
 
 1 88 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 have sat still for so long. Well, I'm 
 ambitious. I'm going in for the theatrical 
 profession. I suppose I must be content 
 with engagements at a music hall to begin 
 with.' 
 
 Dick did not like the prospect for her, 
 but he had no alternative to offer. ' I hate 
 all these music halls,' he said. ' I wish you 
 lived in a jolly country place like my home. 
 There's nothing in all London as good as a 
 country lane in the spring when a south-west 
 wind is blowing, and a thrush ' 
 
 ' ''Oh, that we two were mying!"' cried 
 Connie. ' I know that song, but this is 
 November.' It was no use being sentimental 
 with this young lady. 
 
 'It's an awful pity,' he added, 'that you 
 have no nice friends — girls, I mean. I wish 
 you knew some ladies.'
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE 189 
 
 * I prefer gentlemen,' replied Connie. 
 
 It was time to go. Connie put on her 
 waterproof again rather reluctantly, and they 
 drove towards the theatre, after a pair of 
 gloves and a pair of shoes had been pur- 
 chased. 
 
 In the cab she slipped her hand into 
 Dick's. ' I wonder at your being so shy,' 
 she said. ' I mean, you never tried to give 
 me a kiss and that, like some of them. 
 Because, you know, you don't look good ; 
 you look like "don't care as came to the 
 gallows." Do you love me at all V 
 
 'Yes, very much, Connie.' 
 
 ' The others take notice of me because 
 I'm pretty ; I know them. I don't suppose 
 they care much about me. Well, here's the 
 theatre. I say ! I'm getting a bit funky about 
 
 o^omo^ m.
 
 iQo THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Their seats were not in a conspicuous 
 place, and they did not attract special 
 attention from their neighbours during the 
 performance, except once or twice when 
 Connie laughed very loud indeed or made 
 unusually audible comments ; but when it 
 was over Dick had a trial to go through. 
 He was waiting for her in a crowded vestibule 
 when she came over to him from the cloak- 
 room carrying, not wearing, her ulster, and 
 looking defiant. 
 
 ' Wait and see who's coming out,' she 
 said, as Dick took her ulster from her. 
 
 ' Any one I know ? ' 
 
 ' You bet. She may think herself very 
 grand, but she stared at me in a way that 1 
 couldn't abide.' 
 
 ' You didn't say anything to her, did 
 you ? ' he asked, laughing.
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE 191 
 
 'Well, I said, ''It's me; perhaps you'll 
 know me next time ! " ' 
 
 ' Who is she ? ' 
 
 ' You'll see fast enough. I believe she 
 knew me, but was too proud to speak. Here 
 she comes.' 
 
 It was Miss Chillington, who came out to 
 her father, who was standing near Dick. As 
 she caught sight of him, a smile of recognition 
 came to her eyes ; she seemed about to stop 
 and speak to him when she saw Connie, who 
 had taken his arm. The colour rose at the 
 same instant to her face and Dick's, but a 
 moment after she looked as cold as a statue, 
 and passed on. 
 
 This was the young man who had prided 
 himself on his independence of appearances 
 and of the opinion of others. It was one of 
 the most wretched moments of his life. As
 
 192 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 they drove away in the cab he hardly heard 
 what Connie was saying. 
 
 ' She didn't seem inclined to be very 
 friendly.' 
 
 ' No, I suppose not, that is — I wish to 
 goodness, Connie, you'd be more particular 
 how you speak to ladies. You must have 
 been very rude to her.' 
 
 * My aunt ! ' cried Connie. ' Here's a to- 
 do ! here's temper ! I see how the land lies. 
 You said you wished I knew some ladies. 
 Why didn't you introduce me to her ? And 
 if you're ashamed of me directly you meet 
 one of your friends, we can say good-bye at 
 once. You can stop the cab now if you 
 like.' 
 
 ' Don't be a goose,' said Dick, who saw 
 that he had no one to blame but himself, and 
 was trying to make the best of his discom-
 
 CHAP. IX CONNIE 193 
 
 fiture. ' It makes no difference. But you 
 are fearfully cheeky, you know.' 
 
 * Maybe I am,' said Connie, mollified by 
 his tone. ' Well, there's no doubt she's a 
 beauty. She might be the queen of Ireland 
 from the way she walks and looks ; and what 
 a dress ! white ostrich feathers on the body ! 
 and wasn't her hair spiff .^^ I say! you're 
 thinking about her again. It's funny, both 
 times I've seen her I've been with you. 
 She'll think there's something between us.' 
 
 Dick looked cross. ' Well, I hope you 
 enjoyed yourself,' he said. 
 
 Connie twined her arm in his. ' You 
 were a real dear to take me. Will you take 
 me again, some day ? Now we're pals again, 
 aren't we ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, rather. Look here, Connie, this is 
 
 where I must get out ; I want a walk after 
 VOL. I o
 
 194 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 the heat of the theatre. The cab can take 
 you home.' 
 
 'Oh, come all the way,' said Connie, per- 
 suasively, * and come in and see my room, 
 and I'll make you a cup of cocoa for your 
 supper. It will be fine to finish up the 
 evening, and I'm all by myself.' 
 
 ' Perhaps another evening — not to-night.' 
 Miss Chillington was in his thoughts. He 
 stopped the cab. 
 
 'Well,' said Connie, 'you've been very 
 kind ; you've been kinder than any one else 
 ever was to me, and you can have a kiss if 
 you want, and that's more than I'd give any 
 one.'
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 In the following spring Humphry Wrixon 
 came up to London, and, as was his custom, 
 took a room at the Tavistock Hotel. He 
 had not written to let his nephew know that 
 he was coming. For months very little had 
 been heard from him at Farinder ; but 
 Humphry had gathered from his occasional 
 letters that it was not well with him, and he 
 determined to pay him a visit. 
 
 Humphry's prognostics of his nephew's 
 development had been correct up to a point ; 
 but, as with those good men who prepare
 
 196 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 forecasts of our British weather, however 
 far-seeing may be the prophets who pro- 
 nounce on the soul's morrow, unexpected 
 and disturbing causes are constantly a source 
 of perplexity. The fault is not with the 
 meteorologist nor with the student of human 
 nature ; it must rest on the British weather 
 and the human soul. 
 
 On the evening after Humphry's arrival 
 in London he invited Professor Wintersea to 
 dinner, and afterwards proposed that they 
 should give Dick the pleasant surprise of a 
 visit at his rooms. He was living at this 
 time at Chelsea with Tristram and Headly, 
 the artist. 
 
 It happened to be a special occasion 
 among the Chelsea comrades, who had met 
 at Tristram's rooms to celebrate the rejection 
 of a picture which one of them had sent to
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY igy 
 
 the Royal Academy. The gathering this 
 evening had, too, the unusual attraction of 
 ladies' society. The festivity was a freak of 
 Tristram ; the young ladies, who had acted 
 as models to the artists present, had been 
 entertained at dinner, together with one or 
 two other fair ones less directly connected 
 with art. They had now retired from the 
 feast chamber to an adjoining room, whither 
 most of the men had followed, and were smok- 
 ing. Half a dozen men, intent on their talk 
 and on their wine, remained at the dinner 
 table, Tristram and Malory among them. 
 
 ' The fun of this sort of thing gets poorer 
 as one gets older,' the poet said, nodding his 
 head in the direction of the room where the 
 others were laughing. * I believe, after all, 
 your virtuous man who goes to church 
 regularly, and has a faithful wife and a
 
 198 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 suburban villa, and children to welcome him 
 home at night, has the best of it. A man 
 should marry before it is too late. If I were 
 you I should marry. Excuse me, Malory, I 
 am not joking, though this sentiment may 
 surprise you.' 
 
 *Why don't you marry yourself.'^' Dick 
 asked. 
 
 ' Ah, Malory, you ask an impossibility. 
 Discover a woman to my taste, and I 
 promise you I would marry her instantly, 
 if she would consent. I will describe her. 
 She must be exceedingly beautiful, beguiling 
 in manner, brilliant in mind. She must be 
 capable not only of winning my love but of 
 keeping it. She must be my superior in 
 everything except, let me say, in verse — I 
 could not admit her as a rival there. She 
 must attract the admiration of other men —
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 199 
 
 this is important. And while she is pure 
 as the snow on an inaccessible mountain 
 peak, she must be full of passion and warmth, 
 and must constantly keep me on the verge 
 of jealousy. She must love and admire me, 
 but make almost a concession of her love, 
 and keep me in a perpetual state of wooing.S 
 
 'Oh,' said Dick, 'you would combine, in 
 one woman, a nunnery, a ladies' college, and 
 a harem.' 
 
 'As I observed,' continued Tristram, 
 seriously, ' I ask for an impossibility. The 
 women who present themselves are not to 
 my taste. Of mere beauty of face a few 
 weeks would weary me. I should require a 
 new style of beauty as much as I want a new 
 charm of scenery. An intellectual woman 
 without beauty would be better as a friend 
 than as a wife, while mere virtue without
 
 200 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Other charms is Hke an empty fire-proof 
 safe. ' 
 
 Dick laughed appreciatively, and filled 
 Tristram's glass. 
 
 ' And suppose,' he went on, ' I found 
 such a lady, and suppose I could induce her 
 to marry me, — what right should I have to 
 do so ? Look at my record for the last 
 twenty years, and fancy my appropriating 
 such a woman. A man should be able to 
 come to her with a clean conscience, and, 
 what is more important, sound lungs, strong 
 nerves, and a good digestion. The last is 
 almost more important than a clean con- 
 science — it means good temper. But you 
 could give a fair account of yourself in these 
 details ; for you it is not too late.' 
 
 'The woman you describe,' answered 
 Dick, * is the creation of a jaded mind. She
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 201 
 
 is a monster ; there is no harmony about her. 
 You have forgotten all about love, I believe. 
 Think of your own first poems. You love a 
 woman, and her faults become a joy to you.' 
 
 ' Quite true ; at first they are a joy to you ; 
 afterwards they turn and rend you. You 
 ought to have no difficulty in finding a wife 
 to your taste. You have faith in woman 
 still ; I envy you ; I had it once. I have lost 
 my taste for a simple good woman, just as 
 my palate has ceased to approve simple 
 honest fare. You will excuse my remarking 
 that you are going the way to lose it also. 
 You see I am like Dives warning his 
 younger brothers.' 
 
 ' I tell you, Tristram,' said Dick, warmly, 
 ' I don't mean to marry, and there is no 
 reason why I should choose your alternative 
 course. There are women who are too good
 
 202 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 for us ; I have no intention of seeking one. 
 And these girls here whom you look upon as 
 created for your amusement, whose weakness 
 men take advantage of, I say they are better 
 than we. I have done with the high and 
 noble. I cast in my lot with the sinful and 
 disappointed. If I married at all, I would 
 take one of these and stand by her weakness 
 and folly.' 
 
 ' Good heavens, boy, what are you saying ? 
 you are drivelling, Malory. The wine has 
 got into your head. Oh dear, oh dear, just 
 listen to Cleopatra laughing ' (the ladies 
 were known by their pictorial names) ; ' that 
 silly little cackling laugh of hers is madden- 
 ing ; no doubt you youngsters think it 
 charming. I suppose my blood is getting 
 cold. 1 require more wine than you. I 
 really apologise for attempting to lecture. I
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 203 
 
 have had my innings ; I have followed my 
 inclinations ; I have sought my own pleasure, 
 and, now that I am tired of the life, I say it 
 is worthless. But I am interested in your 
 work, and your work is not progressing ; you 
 are drifting. This life of ours does not suit 
 you. Perhaps these women are getting hold 
 of you. Women and good work don't go 
 together. If your relationship with a woman 
 does not bring out the best in hery it will 
 bring out the worst m yott.' 
 
 Dick replied hotly : ' These girls who 
 are looked down upon, are they any worse 
 than the ladies whose virtue is protected by 
 the British constitution and the British god, 
 Respectability, and cramped by custom till It 
 is as deformed as a Chinese woman's foot } 
 Their ideals are not high, but they have no 
 chance. I am sick of hicrh motives, and
 
 204 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ideals, and noble aims. The few people who 
 can achieve them must stand alone, apart 
 from the mass of humanity. I count it 
 ignoble to seek to be noble. If you have 
 the power to be so while your fellows 
 cannot, it is deserting them. I would 
 rather remain with the sinful and be 
 damned.' 
 
 ' Easy enough to do that,' replied Tris- 
 tram, shrugging his shoulders. It was no 
 use arguing with this hot-headed fellow. 
 
 Coffee had been sent into the adjoining 
 room. Tristram went in, leaving Dick to 
 meditate at the dinner table. A girl's laugh 
 reminded him unpleasantly of a fact he had 
 almost forgotten whilst talking to the poet : 
 Connie was in the next room, and the man 
 who had introduced her to the entertainment 
 was Eustace, his old schoolfellow, the golden-
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 205 
 
 haired little fellow who had wept at his 
 castigation. 
 
 Dick had seen a good deal of her lately ; 
 he was growing more and more interested in 
 her ; he saw the dangers which beset her, and 
 was anxious. He was angry, almost jealous, 
 at her intimacy with Eustace. Connie had 
 Indeed spread her toils for the boy ; she was 
 amusing herself with him, but that was all. 
 An influence of which Dick knew nothing 
 held her somewhat in check. She had a 
 true lover. Robert Strong, Dick's friend, 
 the hard-headed Socialist, had been com- 
 pletely conquered by her. His introduction 
 to her, some six months back, had been the 
 knocking down of a man on her behalf, out- 
 side a music hall, and a consequent fortnight's 
 Imprisonment. When he came out Connie 
 had endeavoured to show her gratitude.
 
 2o6 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Strong's intense admiration and devotion to 
 her flattered her vanity; and though she could 
 not altogether understand him, she admired 
 him for his masterfulness and for the sacri- 
 fices he made to help his poorer fellow- 
 workmen. She refused to marry him ; but 
 Strong, whose extreme principles at this 
 time made him scornful of laws and customs, 
 regarded her as his wife. As his wife she 
 had lived with him, and he had been happy 
 for a few months. But she could not exist 
 without excitement ; recently she had got 
 an enofap^ement at an East End music hall, 
 and had gone to lodgings of her own, and 
 only visited him occasionally. He, who 
 was a man of iron with other men, was 
 a child in her hands ; he was unable to 
 influence her, and had to content himself 
 with watching over her to the best of
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 207 
 
 his power, and hoping sadly for better 
 days. 
 
 When Dick joined the others, nearly all 
 the men were smoking, and some of the girls 
 had lighted cigarettes. A young burlesque 
 actress, brought by an art critic, was in the 
 middle of the room amusing the company by 
 mimicking the bearing and manner of several 
 friends, absent and present. Laughter and 
 applause were abundant. 
 
 Humphry Wrixon and the Professor, on 
 their arrival, heard these sounds of festivity, 
 and conjectured that there was a party. Of 
 its nature Humphry inquired of the man who 
 opened the door for them, and was informed 
 that it was composed of ' artists and litery 
 gents and Bo'emians.' The Professor was 
 in favour of retiring and choosing another 
 evening for their visit, but Humphry, anti-
 
 2o8 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 cipating fun, would not hear of it, and sent 
 up their names. 
 
 A sudden pause followed their entrance. 
 Dick jumped up in consternation. Every one 
 scrutinised the new-comers, but Humphry 
 walked across the room the picture of smiling 
 ease. ' I perceive,' he murmured to himself, 
 ' that the Bo'emians are ladies.' ' Well, my 
 dear nephew, we thought we would give you 
 a surprise. I came up to town rather 
 suddenly. Pray, present us to your host.' 
 
 Dick introduced them to Tristram uncom- 
 fortably. ' I wish to heaven you had told 
 me you were coming,' he said in an under- 
 tone to Humphry. 
 
 Tristram enjoyed the situation ; he wel- 
 comed them with grave courtesy. ' If we 
 had known you were in town we might have 
 had the pleasure of seeing you at dinner.
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 209 
 
 The bond of our union to-night is the picture 
 you see on the easel ; we have met to praise 
 it and to drink confusion to the hanging 
 committee of the Royal Academy for reject- 
 ing it. Professor Wintersea, it is a great 
 pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your 
 reputation has reached even so unscientific a 
 person as myself.' 
 
 The Professor was greatly embarrassed. 
 ' I am much obliged to you — very good of 
 you indeed ' — he glanced vaguely at the pic- 
 ture — ' a very remarkable production ; very 
 brilliant indeed.' 
 
 Every one was listening ; an audible titter 
 from one of the young ladies broke the 
 silence. 
 
 'You perceive, Professor,' said Humphry, 
 'that these gentlemen require, and take, a 
 litde relaxation sometimes after the strain of 
 
 VOL. I 1'
 
 2IO THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 artistic and literary work. We expected to 
 find you, Dick, alone, studying the lectures 
 of Mr. Flaxman. It is pleasant to discover, 
 eh, Wintersea ? that the working mood is not 
 always upon him.' 
 
 'Exactly, exactly,' replied the Professor ; 
 ' it shows how many departments the human 
 mind possesses. It is very desirable ; an 
 occasional indulgence is no doubt followed 
 by a resilience.' 
 
 'Well, I'm sure!' said Cleopatra; and 
 the Professor, thoroughly bewildered by the 
 laugh which this simple remark excited, took 
 the seat which was offered to him. He was 
 gradually taking in the scene, and became 
 more and more uncomfortable. The ladies 
 perplexed him most. He had heard much, 
 latterly, of strong-minded women who claim 
 the friendship of men, and concluded that
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 211 
 
 the ladles present belonged to that advanced 
 guard. Humphry was taking the scene In 
 also, and grew more and more amused. 
 
 Dick hardly said a word ; he was ill at 
 ease ; he sought for a scheme to get the Pro- 
 fessor away, but saw mischief in Humphry's 
 eye. 
 
 Though general conversation was re- 
 sumed, a breach for the time had been made 
 in the evening's festivities. Humphry and 
 Tristram held the talk. 
 
 *I suppose,' Humphry was saying, 'that, 
 like everything else, painting is greater to- 
 day than it has ever been before. The 
 picture on the easel, which we. celebrate to- 
 night, seems to me a better one than any 
 landscape of more than a hundred years back 
 which I ever saw.' 
 
 A young artist, who had been enjoying his
 
 212 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 wine, struck in : ' Do you seriously think, old 
 chap, that I'm better than Claude; because, 
 if so, I should like to know more of you. 
 You admire my work, don't you, Diana ? ' he 
 asked, turning to his fair neighbour. 
 ^ Tristram caught the young man's eye and 
 silenced him. The Professor looked at the 
 door ; he was considering the possibility of 
 flight. 
 
 'And yet,' said Humphry, 'this interest- 
 ing art, I suppose, cannot hope for a future.' 
 
 ' That is serious news for us,' said another. 
 * Now, why do you think so ? ' 
 
 ' I should have thought,' answered Hum- 
 phry, ' that, as with other forms of handicraft, 
 machinery would be your enemy. The future 
 of photography seems to me simply gigantic ; 
 we should lose much, of course, but should 
 we not gain more? — in truthfulness and
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 213. 
 
 accuracy, for example. And think of the 
 masses ! I take it that, in the future, we 
 shall have an equalisation of wealth which 
 will check the paying large sums for pictures ; 
 and how nice it will be when, for a simple 
 shilling, a hardworking waiter or constable 
 may have an admirable and accurate picture 
 of his wife done by some machine power, 
 instead of the portrait he now hangs up, which, 
 no doubt, cost him five pounds ; I mean the 
 one in which she is dressed in blue silk, and 
 wears the gold chain which she has borrowed 
 from her sister who married the publican.' 
 
 ' / should be very sorry to borrow any- 
 thing from anybody when / was going to be 
 photoed, I must say,' said one of the young 
 ladies, who was listening. 
 
 ' I am sure you would, madam,' agreed 
 Humphry, '"beauty unadorned," you know.'
 
 214 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Few were quite certain as to whether the 
 stranger were a hopeless PhiHstine or a scoffer, 
 he spoke with such gravity ; but it was evi- 
 dent that he was extremely self-possessed, 
 and was disposed to be agreeable. His last 
 gallant speech provoked great laughter. 
 
 Tristram was wondering with some appre- 
 hension how much longer Humphry would 
 be allowed to monopolise attention and inter- 
 fere with the ordinary course of the evening's 
 revelry. His friends were gentlemen, and he 
 had little fear, even on such an evening as this, 
 that any one of them would be discourteous 
 to Humphry or Wintersea ; but there were 
 young men there who had drunk a good deal, 
 and he was sure that before long the fun 
 would take some form which would dismay, 
 at least, the Professor. Dick's anxiety had 
 been brief; wine had made him reckless.
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 215 
 
 He had been horrified at their arrival at first ; 
 now he did not care what happened, but he 
 was ready to quarrel with any one who was 
 disrespectfijl to his visitors. 
 
 Tristram took up the conversation with 
 Humphry. ' You interest me, Mr. Wrixon, 
 when you say that we are superior to our 
 ancestors, not only in art, but in everything 
 else. Now I believe we have gone back. 
 There is less nobility in men than there was.* 
 
 ' Do you think so really ? ' said Humphry. 
 ' I should have thought there was not a single 
 point in which we were not superior to our 
 ancestors. Not to speak of all the obvious 
 advancement in knowledge, and the blessings 
 of civilisation, I should have thought that in 
 mere personal qualities, in physical strength 
 and size, in the beauty of our women (if we 
 may trust the portraits of the great masters
 
 2i6 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 you admire — and a picture usually flatters ; 
 when I see a lady with two chins in a portrait 
 I always conclude she had three), and in 
 character, in morality too, we are very far 
 ahead of any previous time.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' said Dick, impatiently ; ' we 
 have gained something, I suppose, in the 
 comforts of civilisation. In luxury, in peace ; 
 but we are worse men than our fathers. As 
 Tristram says, we have lost nobility. We 
 have peace ; but what sort of men do we 
 breed In the times of peace ? Look at our 
 pigmies In manufacturing districts! I don't 
 care twopence for the blessings of civilisation. 
 Look at fellows like ourselves who think 
 about pleasure, and look at the whole race 
 of weak-kneed city clerks and commercial 
 gentlemen who have not a spark of heroism 
 left In them, poor devils ! They cannot help
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 217 
 
 it : there is nothing to bring the heroism out 
 of the race now.' 
 
 ' Do you think so ? ' protested Humphry ; 
 ' I think they are very noble in their way.' 
 
 ' Not you,' said Dick. 
 
 'And there are other forms of heroism 
 besides running a man through with a 
 sword. Look how patient they are, and how 
 they undergo privation to educate their 
 daughters! I beHeve,' he continued, solemnly, 
 ' that almost any one of us is a better man 
 than St. Paul, — and I need not say I admire 
 St. Paul greatly.' 
 
 ' The wicked creature ! what'll he say 
 next ? ' whispered Connie. 
 
 ' By Jove! Bless my soul, Humphry, are 
 you serious ? ' cried Mr. Wintersea, startled. 
 
 ' Perfectly. I don't see how we can help 
 it ; it is so much easier. Take such a simple
 
 2i8 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 matter as humanity — treatment of women 
 and animals and enemies — and compare it 
 with that of the ancients. As to your great 
 heroes of antiquity, my dear Dick, we simply 
 could not know them now. Ulysses was a 
 person we could not have admitted to our 
 drawing-rooms.' 
 
 Tristram laughed heartily. 
 
 'Seriously, my nephew,' he concluded, 
 ' I consider disbelief in our own age the very 
 worst form of infidelity. I advise you to 
 give this consideration.' 
 
 ' There is a great deal of infidelity now, 
 I am afraid,' said Connie to the Professor, 
 next whom she was now sitting. ' Have you 
 read Duncan Thompson ? ' 
 
 Duncan Thompson was an amiable novel 
 of the day which had gained considerable 
 notoriety, chiefly from the fact that the hero's
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 219 
 
 theological views were mildly unorthodox. 
 It happened that the Professor had taken it 
 up, but had found it so wearisome that he 
 had not finished it. 
 
 * I tried it ; I read part of it,' said he, 
 'but I could not go on.' 
 
 'Ah,' said Connie, 'I know. I have 
 heard that many people find it very un- 
 settling.' 
 
 Tristram shouted with laughter ; the idea 
 of Duncan Thompson unsettling the Pro- 
 fessor's faith was very funny. 
 
 ' For goodness' sake listen ! ' said some one 
 in the background. * Connie and the Pro- 
 fessor are talking theology. Come — this is 
 an evening to remember.' 
 
 * Ah, it was hardly on that account,' stam- 
 mered Wintersea, anxious and unable to 
 explain.
 
 220 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ' You thought the hero too pi ? ' suggested 
 Connie. 
 
 ' Pi ! dear me, I hardly understand.' He 
 was not acquainted with the slang abbrevia- 
 tion of the word pious. 'Ah, yes. Bless 
 my soul ! of course, very good, I see — an 
 insoluble character, an enigma, one who 
 bears the same relation to his surroundings 
 as the diameter to the circumference of a 
 circle.' He began to entertain a high opinion 
 of his companion's intellect. ' You are a 
 student of mathematics ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' I have not gone very far,' replied Connie, 
 conscious that the conversation was amusing 
 the listeners, and willing to continue it with 
 a show of seriousness. 
 
 'Ah, well,' smiled the Professor, 'but you 
 are a student.' 
 
 ' I haven't much time for reading ; my
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 221 
 
 profession is art. This young lady is in the 
 same business. She is in the Grosvenor 
 this year — Number 291.' 
 
 * Really,' said Wintersea, bowing gallantly. 
 ' I am very glad to hear of your success. I 
 must pay a visit to that excellent institution 
 and find out your work — 291.' He made a 
 memorandum of the number. 
 
 These Bohemian women are not so un- 
 pleasant after all, he thought. He had not 
 been more uneasy in her presence than with 
 other ladies. He appreciated gifts in woman, 
 and was an advocate for her admission to 
 the professions of men ; her mere feminine 
 charms he never noticed until they were 
 categorically pointed out to him. 
 
 He had now a general impression that his 
 companion was good-looking, and she was 
 certainly most agreeable. He found his
 
 222 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 shyness departing, and he was commencing 
 further conversation with her when some 
 tumult in another part of the room again 
 filled him with misgiving, and caused him to 
 consult his watch and Humphry's face. 
 
 But Humphry was not disposed to stir ; 
 he was now asking for a song, and his 
 suggestion was received with acclamation. 
 
 ' Perhaps you sing yourself, sir ? ' a lady 
 asked, innocently. 
 
 * A little, my dear,' replied Humphry. 
 ' And would you sing ? Oh, do ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, do ! ' said everybody. 
 
 ' Well,' he consented, ' perhaps after some 
 others have made a beginning, I might do 
 so.' 
 
 * My good uncle, are you mad '^ ' cried 
 Dick. 'Why, Tristram, he never sang a 
 song in his life.'
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 223 
 
 * G — good gracious ! Humphry,' exclaimed 
 the Professor, aghast. 
 
 But neither Dick nor Wintersea knew 
 half the accomplishments of Humphry ; 
 there was a time when his songs had 
 been popular in a merrier and more 
 honest, if a rougher company than the 
 present. 
 
 One of the younger men sang a German 
 student's song with a chorus, which was 
 heartily shouted. The evening was about 
 to begin in earnest. A serious song followed, 
 called ' For ever and for ever.' The Pro- 
 fessor's politeness made him feel it a duty to 
 express approbation. 
 
 ' Very charming,' said he ; ' very excellent. 
 " For ever and for ever," exactly, '' For ever 
 and for ever." ' 
 
 A brief interval followed. Connie's arm
 
 224 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 silently stole round the Professor's waist, not 
 unobserved by others. 
 
 ' G — G — God bless my soul ! ' he cried, 
 jumping up and turning pale ; ' this Is — this 
 is very unusual My dear Dick, I must 
 
 really ' He retired hastily to the other 
 
 end of the room, In a perfect storm of 
 laughter. 
 
 * Damn you all ! ' said Dick, In a huge 
 passion. * Is this the way you treat your 
 guests ? Come, Professor, we won't stay 
 here a moment longer,' and taking Winter- 
 sea's arm, he hurried him out of the room. 
 
 Humphry smiled blandly ; he went over 
 to Tristram to say good-bye. 
 
 ' I am awfully sorry this has happened,' 
 apologised Tristram. ' I am greatly vexed 
 that Professor WIntersea Is offended. I 
 think he Is a dear old boy. I hope you will
 
 CHAP. X A SUPPER PARTY 225 
 
 be able to explain to him. You know what 
 evenings like this mean.' 
 
 'It is not worth a moment's anxiety,' 
 replied Humphry. ' Thank you for a de- 
 lightful hour. I ought not to have brought 
 my friend here to-night. Good-bye, gentle- 
 men — and — ladies' — he bowed to the room 
 generally — ' I hope you will spend a pleasant 
 evening, and I look forward to the pleasure 
 of meeting you all again.' 
 
 VOL. I
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 CHELSEA TO WESTMINSTER 
 
 After saying good-bye to his relations, Dick 
 walked up and down in front of the house. 
 The street was quiet ; the dark space of sky 
 above the houses bright with stars. He 
 began to think calmly about the scene he 
 had just quitted. While he was meditating 
 Connie came to the door with her hat on, 
 and seeing him, ran to his side. 
 
 ' I thought I'd find you,' she said. 'Are 
 you going to forgive me ? Please ! ' 
 
 ' It's not you I'm angry with, Connie ; it's 
 the others and myself.'
 
 CHAP. XI CHELSEA TO WESTMINSTER 227 
 
 ' I behaved very bad to the old bird, but 
 I'm very, very sorry.' 
 
 ' It's our fault,' said Dick. 'We have no 
 business to let you spend evenings like 
 this with us. We ought to treat you like 
 ladies, and then you would treat us as ladies 
 would.' 
 
 Connie was submissive for once. ' I wish 
 I could be like that. I'm a bad lot ; I wish 
 I was better.' 
 
 She perceived the way in which Dick was 
 to be attracted. She spoke with an air of 
 sincerity, almost deceiving herself — him com- 
 pletely. 
 
 ' Connie, something must be done,' he 
 said. ' We must have a talk. I mean to 
 get you out of this sort of life. I mean to 
 get away from it myself Look here ; are you 
 ready to go ? I'll take you, and we can talk.'
 
 228 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ' I promised Mr. Eustace.' 
 * I'm going with you,' said Dick. 
 She took his arm, and they walked down 
 the quiet street towards the river. 
 
 ' I'm glad to be along with you,' said 
 Connie ; ' it does me good. I was afraid you 
 were going to give up being pals. You hardly 
 spoke to-night. That's why I was so cheeky 
 to your friend. If you go back on me I 
 don't care what I do, and you're the only one 
 as I mind.' 
 
 Dick looked at her. Her face was very 
 beautiful. A definite purpose as to this 
 girl was shaping itself in his mind. 
 He had spoken to Tristram recklessly 
 about marrying a girl from her class — 
 that was in a spirit of defiance — now he 
 was thinking of it in the spirit of the 
 reformer.
 
 CHAP. XI CHELSEA TO WESTMINSTER 229 
 
 ' I shall stand by you, you may depend on 
 that, Connie,' he said. 
 
 They came to the river-side, and stood for 
 a short while looking at the dark water. 
 There was a jetty close by at which the river 
 steamers called. Some rowing-boats were 
 bobbing in the ripples at its side. In obedi- 
 ence to a whim of Connie, who was always 
 on the alert for novelty, Dick arranged with 
 one of the boatmen, who was smoking his 
 pipe on the jetty, to row them down the 
 river as far as Westminster Bridge. He 
 laughed at Connie, but the idea pleased him 
 too. 
 
 The last steamer had gone, and the river 
 was very quiet. Connie and Dick sat to- 
 gether in the stern. The boatman under- 
 stood them to be lovers, and did not attempt 
 conversation.
 
 230 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 The sky, which had seemed a narrow 
 channel above the street, was now as a great 
 open sea ; dark reaches of the river were 
 broken by lines of trembling gold where the 
 lights on the bridges were reflected ; the 
 night wind blew warm south-west down 
 stream with a message of the country and 
 the English spring ; the roar of the streets 
 was far away ; the splash of the oars and 
 the ripple of the water pleasant to hear. 
 
 ' I wonder why you should trouble about 
 me,' Connie said, after a while. 'What's it 
 matter to you whether I'm straight or not? 
 no one else cares.' 
 
 * No, that's just it ; it's because no one else 
 cares.' 
 
 ' Oh,' she answered in a disappointed tone, 
 'that's the only reason.' 
 
 ' No, not the only reason. But they dont
 
 CHAP. XI CHELSEA TO WESTMINSTER 231 
 
 care, Connie ; not one of them cares a straw 
 for you really.' 
 
 ' I'm not so sure about that,' she replied, 
 forgetting her part for a minute. 
 
 ' Well, they don't act as if they did ; they're 
 amusing themselves only.' 
 
 ' And maybe they're amusing me. But I 
 know what you say's right. I suppose I 
 shall be sorry some day, but I may as well 
 enjoy myself while I have the chance. If 
 what you say's true, and nobody cares for 
 me, why should I trouble ? ' 
 
 ' I care,' said Dick ; ' I care tremendously.' 
 
 * And there may be one or two besides. 
 There's your friend, Mr. Eustace ; he's very 
 kind ; he's coming to-morrow evening to 
 take me out to ' 
 
 Dick got angry. ' He shall do no such 
 thing, Connie. Look here, promise me you
 
 232 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 won't go with him or with any of them. It 
 will end badly. I say you must not go with 
 him. He's playing the fool with you.' 
 
 ' And what are you doing, Dick ? ' she 
 asked, quietly. 
 
 ' It's quite time we both of us made a 
 complete change in our ways, Connie,' he 
 said, after a pause, ' a real, total change. I 
 think I shall chuck art and go abroad some- 
 where where the life is honester and healthier 
 and simpler. Would you like to go too, with 
 me?' 
 
 'Yes,' said Connie, eagerly. 
 
 ' What ! far away to some out-of-the-world 
 settlement where there are no theatres, and 
 no shops, and no excitement '^ ' 
 
 ' I should be with you,' said Connie. 
 
 He put his arm round her affectionately. 
 The boatman discreetly turned towards the
 
 CHAP. XI CHELSEA TO WESTMINSTER 233 
 
 bows, and pushed instead of pulling at the 
 oars. 
 
 ' We will be married at once — as soon as it 
 can be arranged — within a fortnight, Connie,' 
 he said ; ' and it must be kept secret. I don't 
 want my people, I don't want any one, to 
 know yet. I wish to show you to them 
 after you have had a few years' change from 
 your present surroundings. After a while 
 we'll come back, and then I'll take you to 
 them. We'll face the world together and 
 defy it — and win.' He found that Connie was 
 sobbing. ' My poor girl, what is it ? ' he asked. 
 'I'm not worth it,' she said; 'you don't 
 know me. I'm a bad lot.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know what you mean. Think of 
 the future, not of the past.' 
 
 ' You don't know half, or you would not 
 keep your arm round me now.'
 
 234 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ' I tell you I do,' said Dick ; ' and all that 
 is going to be forgotten, and all the future is 
 going to be different and bright.' 
 
 Triumph, gratitude, shame, affection for 
 the man were all surging in Connie's breast. 
 She said nothing, but stared over the edge 
 of the boat at the black water. There was a 
 flash of light and a pulsing on the river. A 
 little steamer passed and threw bright rose 
 hues from her port-light on the girl. Then 
 they had the dark river and the starlight 
 once more to themselves. 
 
 Dick was drawn to Connie with some- 
 thing more than the affection of a protector. 
 She knew the symptoms of tone and manner, 
 and was well pleased with the change. 
 
 ' It's not only to reform me, but do you 
 love me for myself, Dick ? ' she whispered. 
 
 ' Yes, Connie, for ever,' he answered ; and
 
 CHAP. XI CHELSEA TO WESTMINSTER 235 
 
 SO their troth was pHghted, and Dick's 
 destiny decided. 
 
 But even then, as the boat dropped down 
 on the tide, and they sat together hand in 
 hand, their thoughts were not all of each 
 other. There was a picture of a desperate 
 man before Connie's eyes — of a sweet-hearted, 
 unstained, and unstalnable girl before Dick's. 
 She was thinking with fear of Robert Strong 
 — he with a strange regret of Margaret 
 Longfield.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 HOLY MATRIMONY 
 
 A FORTNIGHT later Dick and Connie were 
 married at a registry office in London. In 
 three days they were to sail for America. In 
 the meantime he had paid a hurried visit to 
 Farinder, and told them his intention of 
 making a break in his present life, and 
 roughing it in the west for a year or two. 
 Humphry was neither altogether surprised 
 nor displeased ; he believed this would be 
 the best means of clearing his atmosphere 
 and removing his discontent, and that he 
 would return to his work in a healthier frame
 
 CHAP. XII HOL V MA TRIMONY 237 
 
 of mind. The old man was sadly dis- 
 appointed. Margaret Longfield was anxious, 
 but said nothing. Dick avoided her, she 
 thought ; it was not a happy visit. 
 
 Dick had kept his intended marriage 
 secret, but on the day before it took place he 
 called on Robert Strong with the intention 
 of telling him. He felt sure of his warm 
 sympathy, his complete approval of the step 
 which he had taken, and this he could feel of 
 no other. He longed for the confidence of a 
 friend, now that he was leaving home and 
 breaking with his old associations ; but, un- 
 happily for him. Strong was not at home, 
 and he had to satisfy his desire for comrade- 
 ship in a letter. 
 
 It was a disappointment to Connie not to 
 be married in a church. Whenever the 
 thought of marriage had entered her head
 
 238 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 she had pictured herself clothed in white, 
 wreathed with orange blossom ; the Wedding 
 March had sounded for her as she walked 
 down the church ; slippers and rice had 
 followed her carriage ; for in her wedding 
 picture the husband she had seen had not 
 been a poor man. But she had a good 
 reason for not pressing Dick to acknowledge 
 their marriage openly, and for making no 
 objection to their immediate departure from 
 England. She was fond of him in her way, 
 and she understood that he was making a 
 sacrifice in marrying her. She was not 
 entirely without conscience, and her relation- 
 ship with Strong was a trouble to her, less 
 on Strong's account than Dick's. She 
 knew Strong to be his valued friend ; 
 she trembled to think of what might 
 happen if her secret were known, and
 
 CHAP. XII HOLY MATRIMONY 239 
 
 for this she was glad they were going 
 away. 
 
 On the day of the wedding they went to a 
 village in Surrey, Brighton and other places 
 which Connie suggested having been rejected 
 by Dick, who was fearful of meeting acquaint- 
 ances. It was a pretty little hiding-place in 
 the woodland ; the old-fashioned gabled inn 
 was set in a garden which sloped on one side 
 to the open fields, and had the curve of a 
 little stream for its boundary. It was an 
 ideal nook for romantic young lovers, not for 
 this pair, though for a day or two Connie 
 was prepared to approve the seclusion. 
 
 An elderly couple, with a mutual interest 
 in deep-sea fishermen and botanical speci- 
 mens, were the only other visitors at the inn. 
 At dinner they were attracted by the young 
 people, and were confirmed in their opinion
 
 240 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 that they were newly married by hearing 
 Dick ask Connie if she knew anything about 
 cookery. After dinner the lady spoke to 
 Connie with the affectionate interest which 
 matrons give to brides, and Connie responded 
 modestly. Dick was well pleased with her ; 
 for once she was simply dressed in white ; 
 her figure, her dark eyes and hair had never 
 looked so attractive, he thought, and he 
 expressed his appreciation. 
 
 They went into the garden, and sat in a 
 summer-house at the edge of the brook. 
 The blue May day had passed through a 
 golden evening to rosy twilight ; the scent of 
 the meadows and of the garden was in the 
 air ; a thrush still sang for them. Dick and 
 Connie sat hand in hand ; they played the 
 part of lovers very well. 
 
 Dick fancied that he had married Connie
 
 CHAP. XII HOLY MATRIMONY 241 
 
 to save her, but without doubt if she had 
 been plain instead of handsome he would 
 not have done so. Her attractions as a 
 young woman had as much to do with his 
 decision as his own quixotic nature and his 
 spirit of defiance. There was no true love 
 between them ; the love-light had never been 
 in their eyes. He was drawn to her ; but it 
 was not by love, for love is impossible when 
 there is not a solid basis of comradeship ; 
 nor by passion, for passion is impossible 
 when the bond is not between soul and soul. 
 Sex and sentiment were aping the parts of 
 passion and comradeship, a disguise which is 
 always found out before long. For the clasp 
 of hands, the touch of lips, what are these 
 in themselves ? But when they are an 
 expression, an answer, from the soul of 
 one beloved, what are they not } What 
 
 VOL. I R
 
 242 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 wealth could the world give in exchange for 
 them ? 
 
 From the change in her manner, which 
 he had already noticed, Dick was hopeful 
 that in the course of a year or two Connie 
 would be a wife whom he could exhibit 
 without apprehension. He was thinking of 
 this when she asked him how long they were 
 likely to be away from England. 
 
 ' I should think a couple of years, at the 
 outside,' he answered. 
 
 ' And then you'll take me to your folks ? 
 You won't be ashamed of me ? ' 
 ' No, proud.' 
 
 ' What a lark it will be ! I wonder what 
 my Uncle Humphry will think about it. 
 Shall I have to call him uncle .-^ And when 
 we come back I'm to be a lady — pals with 
 your lady friends, Miss Longfield and the
 
 CHAP. XII HOL V MA TRIMONY 243 
 
 Irish princess. You won't be ashamed of 
 me before them ? ' 
 
 'What nonsense! of course not,' repHed 
 Dick, with a tone of vexation in his voice, 
 which Connie noticed. 
 
 ' I'm jealous,' she said. ' I beHeve you 
 used to be in love with one of them. I'll 
 be even with her when I find out which of 
 'em it was.' 
 
 The subject was unpleasant to Dick ; he 
 was provokingly silent. 
 
 * After all,' observed Connie, ' it's you 
 ought to be the jealous one, not me ; and 
 you don't seem to mind. I don't believe 
 you love me.' 
 
 ' Yes, I do, Connie ; that's why I take you 
 as .you are.' 
 
 ' No,' she continued, with some excite- 
 ment, ' you don't, or it would make you mad
 
 244 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 to think of it — to think what's been between 
 me and others, friends of your own.' 
 
 ' Don't, don't, Connie,' said Dick, pained. 
 ' I. told you it was best to forget everything 
 in the past. I forgive you utterly. It was 
 to save you from all this that I married you.' 
 
 ' If that's the only reason, then I wish 
 you'd let it alone,' said Connie. She was 
 indignant at his ready forgiveness. 
 
 ' For goodness' sake be sensible, Connie,' 
 Dick replied ; ' of course I would not have 
 married you if I had not loved you. Come, 
 kiss and be friends.' 
 
 Connie made peace very prettily, re- 
 covered, and laughed. 
 
 'And so I'm your wife, Dick, your wife; 
 how funny it sounds ! Till death us do part 
 I'm to love and honour and obey. I wish 
 we'd been married in a church too. I can't
 
 CHAP. XII HOL V MA TRIMONY 245 
 
 scarcely believe it's my own finger with this 
 wedding ring on it ; and you were a dear to 
 buy me this keeper when you said we should 
 want all our cash for necessaries. Oh, I 
 wish we hadn't to go on Thursday. No, 
 Dick, I won't be stupid any more and say 
 things. We'll only think about each other 
 now. Yes, I want another ; I shall make 
 you too proud for anything, but you do kiss 
 nicely.' 
 
 The twilight slipped into night. Connie 
 went to her room ; Dick lighted a cigar and 
 walked up and down the garden. Presently 
 he went in ; the sitting-room was empty. A 
 minute afterwards he heard a rapid stride 
 on the path ; the door opened and Strong 
 entered. He was deadly pale. When he 
 saw Dick he was so agitated that he could 
 not speak. Dick was utterly astonished.
 
 246 • THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 * Strong ! ' he cried. ' What on earth ' 
 
 ' Thank God, I've found you,' said Strong. 
 'What's the matter?' Dick asked. 'Sit 
 
 down ; you're ill. I'll get you some brandy.' 
 ' I've come for my wife,' said Strong. 
 
 * Your wife ! ' 
 
 * For Connie. She's my wife if she's 
 any one's. I've come for her.' 
 
 * What the devil are you talking about ? ^ 
 cried Dick. * Either you're a raving mad- 
 man or you're a hopeless idiot.' 
 
 Strong forced himself to be calm. 
 
 ' Has she — has Connie told you any- 
 thing ? Did you know she knew me ? ' 
 
 ' No, I don't believe she does. You're 
 mad. Strong.' 
 
 * No,' said Strong, * I thought not from 
 your letter. I knew you were honourable. 
 She's deceived you, Mr. Malory. If you
 
 CHAP. XII HOL V MA TRIMONY 247 
 
 knew what she'd been to me you wouldn't 
 have married her. Go and ask her.' 
 
 It was Dick's turn to be agitated. 'Go 
 on,' he said ; ' if you've anything more to say, 
 out with it.' 
 
 ' She's as much my wife,' cried Strong, 
 passionately, ' as if she'd been to church with 
 me. I wanted her to marry me. She 
 would not ; but it came to the same thing — 
 she lived with me. After that what differ- 
 ence does it make whether or not you go to 
 church or a registry office ? She's your wife 
 by law, but she's nothing to you, — nothing 
 unless you love her better than I do, and by 
 God I know you don't. She's my girl.' 
 
 A terrible expression came into Dick's 
 eyes. 
 
 ' I know by your letter why you married 
 her,' Strong continued ; 'and if you'd known
 
 248 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 you wouldn't. It's my business to save her, 
 not yours. She's nothing to you, she's 
 everything to me. It won't break your 
 heart to lose her. It will kill me.' 
 
 * If you consider her your wife you might 
 have looked after her a bit better,' said Dick. 
 
 ' Damn you,' said Strong. ' What chance 
 had I when gentlemen as you call yourselves 
 were playing the fool with her? I don't 
 blame her, not one bit. Think of the 
 temptation of a girl in our class being petted 
 and admired and entertained by men in 
 yours. What chance have we ? You're not 
 satisfied with robbing us of our rights and 
 grinding us down, you come and take the 
 pick of our women, and spoil them and turn 
 them into harlots when you get the chance, 
 and then some of you are for reforming them 
 and marrying them. If you wanted to re-
 
 CHAP. XII HOLY MATRIMONY 249 
 
 form a woman by marrying her, why the 
 devil didn't you marry one of your own 
 class ? — there are plenty to choose from 
 who want as much reforming as any in 
 ours.' 
 
 Dick was far too seriously impressed by 
 the terrible situation in which he found him- 
 self to heed Strong's abuse. Indeed he was 
 perfectly calm ; he could make allowance for 
 and understand Strong's wrath. He knew 
 that what he had said of his relationship to 
 Connie was true. 
 
 ' It's no use making a noise,' he said ; ' it's 
 too serious. I fancy you're speaking the 
 truth. We'll see ; I'll call her.' 
 
 At the same moment Connie came into 
 the room. She had loosened her hair, and it 
 fell in great masses on her shoulders. When 
 she saw Strong she gave a cry ; she felt
 
 250 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 giddy for a moment, but she did not faint nor 
 entirely lose her self-possession. 
 
 ' Connie, I have come for you,' said 
 Strong. 
 
 She looked at Dick piteously. 
 
 * If what he says is true you'd better go 
 with him,' said Dick. 
 
 ' I told you. You said — you said you'd 
 forgive me everything,' said Connie. 
 
 ' Then it's true ? ' 
 
 Connie hid her face in the cushion of the 
 sofa and sobbed. 
 
 Strong's manhood melted away at the 
 sight of her. ' Connie dearest, I don't blame 
 you. I love you as much as ever. It's not 
 too late ; come with me. You are my wife,' 
 he whispered ; but she took no heed. 
 
 ' It's about time this infernal scene came 
 to an end,' said Dick. ' Connie, you'd better
 
 CHAP. XII HOL V MA TRIMONY 251 
 
 go to your room. Here, give me your arm ; 
 
 I'll take you up. We'll talk in the garden, 
 
 Strong.' 
 
 Connie rose and went to her room by 
 
 herself. Dick and Strong went out. 
 
 'Now,' said Dick, 'let's have no more 
 
 nonsense and abuse. It's bad enough for 
 
 you, but it's a hundred times worse for me. 
 
 It seems to me my life is just about wrecked.' 
 ' You don't know what she has been and 
 
 is to me,' replied Strong ; 'how I worked for 
 
 her, how she loved me, or seemed to. And 
 
 if it hadn't been for the temptations she got 
 
 into among your friends, she'd have married 
 
 me.' 
 
 ' How long was she with you ? ' 
 
 * Two months — until almost the other day.' 
 
 ' What am I to do '^. ' said Dick, thinking 
 
 aloud.
 
 252 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 ' Oh, sir,' cried Strong, ' do you love her 
 or not? It all depends on that. If you 
 love her as I do, you might do more for her 
 than I, and I could almost give her up to 
 you, though it killed me. But if you don't — 
 if you only married her for other reasons — 
 Do you love her truly ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Dick, ' I detest the very 
 thought of her, and I scorn myself for being 
 such a fool as to attempt to reform her or 
 reform anything in this accursed world.' 
 
 ' Then she's my wife, not yours.' 
 
 Gradually the talk grew calmer. These 
 men had been true friends ; there was sym- 
 pathy between their natures ; the surface 
 antagonism wore off; a common sorrow 
 reunited them ; each perceived the pain at 
 the other's heart, the need for brotherhood. 
 They paced the garden, talking earnestly till
 
 CHAP. XII HOLY MATRIMONY 253 
 
 the night was late. Strong was the more 
 hopeful of the two ; he believed so fully in 
 the power of his own love that he did not 
 despair of influencing Connie for good. 
 Dick's heart was hardened ; he hardly cared 
 what became of himself or Connie ; he 
 determined to have nothing more to do with 
 her. He saw that Strong loved her 
 desperately, and he would not have come 
 between him and her even if he had cared 
 more for her ; but now she had no longer 
 any attraction for him ; she repelled him, 
 and he felt she had ruined him. 
 
 Connie remained in her room in a state of 
 miserable suspense. She saw by the way 
 Dick had looked at her that there was little 
 hope of beguiling him, but she did not 
 entirely give up the game as lost. After 
 a while she could bear the uncertainty no
 
 254 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 longer. She opened the window, and as the 
 men's figures drew near she called to Dick. 
 
 ' Come to me, just one moment,' she said ; 
 ' I must speak to you.' 
 
 ' Don't,' whispered Strong ; ' she'll conquer 
 you ; you won't be able to resist her.' 
 
 * I'm going,' he answered, ' but it's only 
 to say good-bye to her for ever.' 
 
 When he was inside the door Connie 
 flung her arms round him. ' Dick, don't 
 give me up ; I love you only. You said 
 you'd forgive me everything.' 
 
 'Well, if it's any consolation to you, I'll 
 forgive you, or try to,' said he. 
 
 ' Stay with me, Dick. I'm your wife, 
 your real wife, and always must be. Send 
 him away ; I'll be true to you.' 
 
 Even then, when the attraction which she 
 had previously had for him had ceased, he
 
 CHAP. XII HOL V MA TRIMONY 255 
 
 was not entirely unmoved ; he could not 
 
 speak harshly. 
 
 ' You are my husband,' she said. 
 
 ' Strong is your husband,' he answered ; 
 'I have come to say good-bye to you. You 
 are nothing — nothing to me any more.' 
 
 ' Is it because of Strong — because you 
 know he cares '^ Don't you love me ? ' 
 
 * No,' said Dick, ' I never loved you.' 
 
 Connie's eyes flashed. 'Here,' she said, 
 'take your ring. I won't have it.' 
 
 She went to the window and flung the 
 ring out into the garden ; then she threw 
 herself on to the bed and burst into tears. 
 
 'Good-bye,' Dick said. 'If you want to 
 make up a bit for the harm you have done, 
 go back to Strong and be a good wife to 
 him. I'm going abroad by myself You 
 won't hear of me again.'
 
 256 THE MARPLOT part i 
 
 Thus our young couple ended their 
 wedding-day. 
 
 Dick had a few more words with Strong. 
 He told him that he left Connie in his 
 hands ; he had done with her utterly. He 
 said that he would leave some money at his 
 bank for her use in case of need, and would 
 send him an address in America to which he 
 might write. They shook hands and parted 
 — Strong to keep watch beneath Connie's 
 window till morning ; Dick to walk to 
 London. Three days afterwards he sailed 
 for America. 
 
 END OF VOL. I 
 
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