OF THE 
 
 U N I VERS ITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 L962F2 
 
Return this book on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. A 
 charge is made on all overdue 
 books. 
 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
 27214 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 The Absurd Repentance 
 The Vintage of Dreams 
 The Florentine Chair 
 Aubrey Ellison 
 Quicksilver and Flame 
 The Marble Sphinx 
 Poems 
 New Poems 
 Gallio 
 
 The Oxford Book of French Verse 
 The Rose-Winged Hours 
 Ronsard 
 
LIBRARY mil' MU fl 
 OF THE ’ ' ‘ j , 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUM#* 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ST. JOHN LUCAS 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 METHUEN & CO. 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. 
 LONDON 
 
First Published . . September 23rd igog 
 
 Second Edition . , November /909 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 PART I 
 
 I 
 
 T HE valley was already in darkness, but a faint twilight 
 hung about the great curve of the moor, and a long 
 rift of yellow sky still shone where the sun had set. Immense 
 and inky squadrons of cloud were driving heavily from the 
 north, and large drops of rain began to patter crisply on the 
 shrivelled leaves of the brambles and the tawny bracken. 
 The wind had the unfamiliar sharpness of early autumn, 
 and there was a tonic fragrance in the smell of the earth that 
 was moist at last after two almost rainless months. A few 
 ^ lights gleamed from the cottages below the hills, and the 
 v, whistle of the homing shepherd set the farmyard dogs barking, 
 i From the meadows there came the drowsy sound of lowing 
 j kine, and the sheep were bleating noisily in the folds. 
 
 A few minutes before the yellow gleam in the west was 
 J wholly devoured by the advancing night, any one in the 
 || village who had chanced to be looking up to the shoulder of 
 'T the moor might have seen a human figure that was silhouetted 
 > against the pallor of the sky. This figure stood for a time on 
 
 f the horizon, as if its object was to be visible to some one 
 __ waiting in the darkness below ; then, employing the homely 
 " process of placing a thumb in either corner of its mouth, it 
 ^ emitted three shrill whistles, flapped something that might 
 ‘ __ have been mistaken in the dusk for a pair of wings, and began 
 to descend towards the valley. Seen from behind, it had the 
 '£ aspect of a yellow triangle bisected exactly with a black line. 
 ^ Unless you had been only a few yards away, you would 
 scarcely have realised the figure to be that of a small girl 
 
 A 
 
 ! 078980 
 
2 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 carrying a basket, the yellow triangle to be a real, grown-up 
 mackintosh which had been abbreviated, and the black line 
 a very long pigtail. 
 
 It is possible that she had heard an answer to her signal, 
 for she descended the hillside quickly, her strong shoes 
 crunching amongst the stones of the path, and occasionally 
 sticking in the wet earth and emerging with an uncanny 
 gurgle. She did not seem depressed by the difficulty of her 
 way, but sang softly to herself as she went. Before she had 
 gone far, however, a sudden deluge of rain began to drive 
 heavily across the face of the hill, and the big drops pattered 
 on her yellow garment like arrows on the armour of some hero 
 of old wars. The valley was blotted out in an instant • she 
 glanced around her, and knew, though she could not see it, 
 that she was near a hovel which was almost in ruins. She 
 tucked her pigtail inside the mackintosh and ran like a 
 chamois towards shelter. 
 
 The hovel had been built, for purposes long since, forgotten, 
 in a disused gravel pit, and leant against the scarped side of 
 the hill with the weary languor of extreme antiquity. The 
 little girl reached the quarry in a very short time, and was 
 making for the draughty entrance to the building when, 
 rather to her astonishment, she discovered that she was not 
 the sole intruder in that usually lonely place. A boy about 
 her own age was walking solemnly to and fro amongst the 
 plentiful pools of rain which lay on the muddy ground. 
 
 The little girl was in no way embarrassed by his presence, 
 but stood well in the shelter of the doorway and shook her 
 mackintosh. Then, without speaking, she watched the dim 
 figure of the boy, who continued his absurd goose-step in 
 the slime without taking the least notice of her. Perhaps 
 this ungallant treatment roused her curiosity ; for at length, 
 when he was near her, she remarked briefly, ‘ You ’ll get wet.’ 
 
 The boy halted, and stood in front of her. 
 
 ‘ I shan’t ; I am,’ he said presently. Though his voice 
 was gentle, the curt sentences could scarcely be regarded 
 even by a garrulous person as a conversational opening. 
 The girl, however, was equal to the occasion. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 3 
 
 4 Then you 'll get wetter/ she said decidedly. The boy 
 waited there for a moment, as if he were uncertain whether 
 her remark implied an invitation to take shelter which it 
 would be rude to refuse. Then he turned, and began to walk 
 away. When he had made a couple of steps, however, he 
 slipped and almost fell headlong into a puddle, but saved 
 himself by dropping backwards on to the palms of his hands. 
 The little girl watched him. 
 
 4 Now, you are wetter,' she said, with critical calm. 
 
 The boy laughed suddenly and softly as he picked himself 
 up, and came to stand in the doorway. He could see nothing 
 of her but a gleaming yellow mackintosh, and two large dark 
 eyes set in a blurred white oval. 
 
 4 Who are you ? ' he asked, as he wrung the rain out of his 
 cap. The little girl stared fixedly at him, and lowered her 
 voice to a thrilling whisper. 
 
 4 I 'm a witch from over the moors/ she answered. 4 And 
 that 's why I know who you are. I know quite well. You 're 
 the little boy who 's the son of the man that 's ' — she spoke 
 with slow emphasis — 4 that 's the Apostle of Respectability.' 
 
 4 No, I 'm not. My father 's a doctor,' said the boy. 
 
 4 My father 's a wizard,' said the little girl, 4 and so he knows 
 everything, and he says that your father is the Apostle of 
 Respectability. So he is, even if you don't know it.' 
 
 4 Oh ! ' said the boy. He thought for a moment. 4 I 
 wonder why your father the wizard said that,' he murmured. 
 
 4 He said it because it is true,' replied the girl, with 
 appalling finality. The boy did not seem to hear her, and 
 continued to think. 
 
 4 I expect it 's because he always wears a top-hat,' he said 
 at length. Then he cried, all in a breath, 4 I know who 
 you are now, and I know who your father is ; he isn't a 
 wizard, and I 've a good mind to tell you what my father 
 calls him.' As this threat was followed by a cold silence, 
 he added, 4 He calls him a Bohemian.' 
 
 This word seemed to impress the little girl. 4 What 's that ? ' 
 she asked suspiciously. 
 
 4 I don't know,' the boy answered. 
 
4 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 The girl changed the subject. ‘ Why were you walking up 
 and down in the rain ? ' she asked. 
 
 The boy was silent. After a while he spoke in a lower 
 voice. 
 
 ‘ You wouldn't understand if I told you/ he said. He 
 saw her eyes flash in the darkness. 
 
 ‘ Witches understand everything/ she retorted, and the 
 yellow mackintosh crackled with indignation. 
 
 4 I like the feel of rain on my face/ explained the boy, 
 quite humbly. ‘ It 's as if cold fingers were stroking you.' 
 
 The girl meditated profoundly on this speech. 
 
 ‘ So do 1/ she said at length. Then she added pensively, 
 ‘ You aren't like many boys.' 
 
 ‘ That 's what my father says,' remarked the boy rather 
 mournfully. 
 
 ‘ Oh, the Apostle ' began the little girl. But the boy 
 
 went on speaking. 
 
 ‘ And that 's why I 'm going to school, to get dike other 
 boys, and I 'm going to-morrow, and it 's just beastly.' He 
 spoke without heat, and in the tone of one who was solemnly 
 certain of what he affirmed. ‘ There won't be this kind of 
 thing at school,' he added, with a gesture in the direction 
 of the puddles. Apparently they seemed to him the symbols 
 of his vanishing freedom. He took a few steps, as if to enjoy 
 the squelching sound that is the attribute of excessively damp 
 shoes. 
 
 ‘ I expect school will be fun,' said the little girl. 
 
 ‘ This is much funnier,' said the boy, and his arm swept 
 up towards the moor. The wind sang in the stunted haw- 
 thorns that fringed the edge of the quarry, and his eyes glowed. 
 
 ‘ It 's all alive to-night,' he said. 
 
 ‘ It 's all alive always,' said the girl. 
 
 The boy nodded solemnly. ‘ But it goes to sleep in summer, 
 sometimes,' he said. ‘ In winter it can't sleep, and has to 
 go on and on. That 's why it groans. It 's thinking of all 
 the strange places it has to go to.' 
 
 The little girl had a flash of perception. 
 
 ‘ Like a boy going to school,' she suggested. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 5 
 
 Her companion kicked a stone. 4 Yes, that ’s it,’ he said. 
 
 The little girl seemed to be thinking. 4 I should like to be 
 a wind/ she said sedately ; 4 I should like to be a wind that 
 could guide itself and go to Japan and the Falls of Niagara 
 and the North Pole and places like that. I mean to go to all 
 the countries that are blue and yellow and purple/ 
 
 4 Blue and yellow and purple ? * cried the boy. 
 
 4 On the map/ she explained. 4 But my father says it ’s 
 no use going anywhere unless you come back with an en- 
 chanted carpet folded up inside your head. Then you can go 
 back whenever you want to. And he says that very few 
 people’s heads are big enough to hold enchanted carpets/ 
 
 4 My father doesn’t say that kind of thing,’ remarked the 
 boy solemnly. 
 
 4 Does he tell you stories about Greece, and teach you to 
 model in clay, and sing you Spanish songs, and play the 
 guitar and make salads ? ’ she inquired. 
 
 The boy seemed quite overwhelmed by this volley of 
 questions. His jaw dropped. 4 No,’ he answered feebly. 
 
 The girl shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 4 He doesn’t seem much of a father,’ she said with disdain. 
 
 4 Look here ’ began the boy ; but before he could formu- 
 
 late a rebuke they heard the sound of a voice at the edge of 
 the quarry, and the girl ran from his side. 
 
 4 Here I am, daddy,’ she cried, 4 and I ’ve found a boy, and 
 he hasn’t been taught to make salads, and I don’t know his 
 name, and he ’s going away to school, and he ’s the son of the 
 Apostle of Re-spect-a-bil-i-ty. So I want to take him home 
 with us/ 
 
 4 My dear,’ said a man’s voice, 4 try not to behave like a 
 female tornado. You seem utterly deficient in any sense of 
 shame. I ’ve wandered all over the hill, looking for you in 
 all the rabbit holes and empty nutshells, and now you whirl 
 down on me like a charge of Amazons and frighten me out of 
 my aged wits. Produce your boy that I may slaughter him.’ 
 
 4 He won’t really slaughter you,’ said the girl to the boy, 
 who could just see an enormous man towering between him 
 and the scudding clouds. 
 
6 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ‘ Never believe a woman/ said the enormous man. * Tell 
 me your name before you die, young victim/ 
 
 ‘ Denis Yorke/ said the boy. 
 
 ‘ Son of the doctor/ explained the little girl, ‘ the man with 
 
 the pale brown whiskers that you call the Apostle ' 
 
 Her father cut the sentence short with an immense gesture. 
 
 ‘ He is rather an unusual boy/ she added, in the voice of an 
 old lady of eighty. 
 
 * He is an artist/ said her father ; 1 a musician. With his 
 own hands he played the Battle of Prague, by request of the 
 Vicar's wife, at that carnival of crime called the village 
 concert. He also played the Maiden's Prayer, by request of 
 the Vicar's daughter. So he shall die. No, he shall live. 
 
 I forgot that I passed by his house one evening and heard him 
 playing Handel.' He purred a few notes in a soft baritone. 
 
 ‘ Heaven deliver us ! ' he cried suddenly, 4 if we aren't 
 beginning to talk music on a cold hillside at seven o'clock 
 of a damp evening. Good-bye, Mr. Denis. Rosalind, make 
 a bow to the gentleman and decamp. The frogs are chanting 
 in the marshes, and the gaunt spectre of rheumatism stalks 
 us privily.' 
 
 ‘ I shan't say good-bye to him/ announced the little girl 
 suddenly, 4 unless he promises to come and see me. He is 
 to come, isn't he, daddy ? If he 's a musician he ought to 
 hear you sing.' 
 
 4 The voice of the tyrant is heard on the hill/ warbled the 
 immense man. 4 You hear what it says, Mr. Denis. You 
 can come and revel in polite conversation, a bun, and a grand 
 piano, if you care for such follies after your first term at 
 school. Don't forget the Handel, and turn a deaf ear, on all 
 occasions but this, to the prayers of maidens. Good-bye.' 
 He wagged his head, which seemed to Denis to strike the stars. 
 
 4 Good-bye,' said the little girl. Then she added im- 
 periously, 4 You 're to like school.' 
 
 4 I shan't,' said Denis. To his surprise and annoyance, 
 she placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him swiftly 
 and emphatically on both cheeks. Then she ran after her 
 father. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 7 
 
 1 I gave him two, daddy ! ’ Denis heard her say in a voice 
 shrill with triumph. The large man groaned musically as 
 they disappeared into the night. 
 
 When the sound of their voices had died away, Denis 
 stood in a pool of rain, shivering gently, and meditated. The 
 immense man was obviously a kindly lunatic, though he had 
 a voice so soft and tunable that it made you feel calm and 
 happy from the moist lining of your cap to the damp soles of 
 your boots ; the little girl was more difficult to classify ; she 
 seemed, without saying anything in particular, to make you 
 feel that she understood what you felt yourself although you 
 couldn’t say it. He wondered if there were many little girls 
 in the world who could give you this sensation. Heretofore 
 his idea of the species had been drawn from a small cousin 
 who, in company with her truly ghastly mother, had stayed 
 at his father’s house for two black days in the previous year, — 
 a child who wore very long buttoned boots on her thin legs, 
 drawled plaintively, and spent most of her time in hotels on 
 the Continent. The owner of the pigtail seemed an improve- 
 ment on this languid but impish old woman of twelve. 
 
 The few words, too, that the immense lunatic had said 
 about music expressed everything which he himself had dimly 
 felt. Although the martial strains of the Battle of Prague 
 lured a gleam into the dull eyes of the Vicar’s wife (a lineal 
 descendant, my dears, of the Black Prince), although the 
 arpeggii of the Maiden’s Prayer fell like consoling showers on 
 the gentle soul of the Vicar’s daughter (who meant to marry 
 the baby-faced curate, but didn’t ; and we all agreed that he 
 behaved abominably), Denis was always conscious that these 
 great works of art said less to him than the lightest airs that 
 haunted the moor. They were full of indoor sounds, — 
 rattlings of pots and plates and quacking voices, but in Handel 
 he could hear the hills that echoed, and the laughter of valleys 
 that were joyous with much corn. Only a few days before, 
 he had found an old book of music by a foreigner called 
 Beethoven, and though the notes were too swift and too 
 difficult for his faltering fingers, he was able to play certain 
 chords which sent a strange, pleasant shiver down the nape 
 
8 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 of his neck. He wondered if the immense man knew of 
 them. 
 
 As a rule he was dumb and dreary as an Early Victorian 
 statue when he encountered strangers, but to-night he had 
 felt different, though he had only spoken a few words. What 
 was it in the little girl which had made him tell her that 
 the moor was alive ? He knew that he would not have said 
 such a thing to any one else, — to his father, for instance. 
 He knew also that he had tried to say something that he 
 really felt, and not something that was expected of him. 
 It almost seemed as if you went about the world with your 
 pockets full of counters, — all but one, and that was a very 
 distant pocket, narrow and hard to find, but full of gold, — 
 and you gave the counters to people who passed them back 
 to you ; but the gold you groped for when you met certain 
 people, and they kept it, and gave you strange gold of their 
 own in return. Not that the lunatic and the little girl had 
 given him any gold, but he felt that they had it somewhere 
 about them. 
 
 The rain had ceased, and in the dark spaces of sky beyond 
 the scudding clouds a few stars were visible. As he looked up 
 at the black slope of the moor the oppression that had haunted 
 him all day became heavier. It seemed to him that to-morrow 
 he would be forced to become a new person, with all sorts of 
 dreadful unknown responsibilities, and the thought made his 
 heart sink. He had always been a lonely child — for to be 
 motherless is to suffer the supreme initiation into solitude — 
 and loneliness either teaches its votaries to become precocious 
 egotists, or, with the finer natures, develops the imaginative 
 powers to a pathetically early maturity. It had followed the 
 latter course with Denis ; bereft of a mother who would have 
 sympathised with him by instinct, and lacking companions of 
 his own age to put him into ponds, and lead him into mischief, 
 and generally to jostle and obtriturate him, body and soul, 
 he had found refuge in fairylands of his own devising ; or 
 rather, he had made his home a fairyland, where the trees 
 and hills and ancient rocks understood him when he talked, 
 and themselves spoke a language simpler and more sonorous 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 9 
 
 than English ; where the wind was a flying god with vast 
 and shadowy wings, and the moor itself a lazy, benevolent 
 monster that allowed men to walk over it as longshore folk 
 walk on a stranded whale. To the possessor of this Paradise 
 the artificial persons who were called the Vicar and the Vicar’s 
 wife seemed pale and intruding shadows ; George the shepherd 
 and Jake the hedger were nearer reality, being gnarled and 
 rugged, and in some dim way sharing the antique honour of 
 the earth ; but even they never attained the great invariable 
 dignity of the stones in Wanbury Circle, or the eloquence 
 of certain melancholy pines and cross-grained hawthorns. 
 Sometimes he felt as if he had been living in intimate com- 
 munion with these things for a thousand years ; and when he 
 had first heard that he was to go away to school the words 
 seemed quite without meaning ; his soul was rooted to the 
 place as securely as the base of one of those immortal 
 monoliths, and when his father spoke of public school life 
 he listened politely but incredulously, as one listens to the 
 recital of some preposterous nightmare. 
 
 He took a kind of angry pleasure in the general discomfort 
 of things ; damp clothes, sodden boots, chilly fingers and a 
 wailing wind seemed appropriate in their dreariness to his 
 dejected soul. Presently he struck a match, and inspected 
 the glistening raindrops on his coat. Then he turned once 
 more to stare across the dark incline of the uplands. The 
 moon came swimming into his view from behind a huge 
 fortress of cloud, so that he could see the row of ancient 
 hawthorns that mocked him with their twisted limbs. The 
 smell of the wet brambles seemed like a soft hand that 
 clutched his throat. He hid a silver pencil-case in a corner 
 of the hut as a pledge to Nature in general of his return, and 
 began to stumble down the path that led to the village. If 
 only, he thought, he could contrive for once to talk to his 
 father as the little girl talked to the immense man ! 
 
IO 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 II 
 
 A T the foot of the hill he heard the signboard of the 
 village inn clanging in the wind like a body that hung in 
 chains, and saw the whitewashed gables stare at him like twin 
 ghosts through a row of lean Scotch firs. As he came down 
 the road, however, the noise of the swinging sign was drowned 
 by the less mournful, if less romantic music that was expressed 
 from a concertina played with all the crescendo effects of 
 which that disastrous instrument is capable. It came along 
 the road to him, volleying discords, and the rhythm that it 
 followed made Denis think that its player was alternately 
 taking immensely long and ridiculously short steps, varied 
 by an occasional wild lurch towards the hedgerow. But 
 very soon the legs of the concertina came in sight, moving 
 steadily amongst the moonlit pools of the road. Apparently 
 it was only the music that staggered. 
 
 The concertina and the legs stopped at the same moment 
 when they were close to Denis, and a voice with a most 
 unfamiliar cadence said to him very cheerfully : 
 
 4 How-a-many maile to anywhaire ? ’ 
 
 Denis halted, stared, and was about to make some sort of 
 reply, when the door of the Black Horse flew open like a trap 
 in a pantomime, and a large figure appeared in the flood of 
 light that streamed through the doorway. 
 
 ‘ You come back again ! ' said the figure with appalling 
 eloquence. ‘ You come back again, you parlyvoo, and I 'll 
 break every blasted bone in your blasted carcase. Go to hell ; 
 
 d’ ye hear ? Go to hell, or I 11 set the dogs on you, 
 
 you , of an alien immigrant. Yes, you come back 
 
 again ! 9 
 
 The sincerity of the last invitation was emphasised by a 
 loud bang of the door, and the landlord returned to the bar- 
 parlour, breathing all the fire and brimstone of outraged 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 n 
 
 respectability. The glow of light from the porch had enabled 
 Denis to inspect the object of this rather vivid rhetoric. He 
 was a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy, obviously Italian, and 
 clad almost in rags. A large concertina hung from his 
 shoulders by a broad and greasy leather strap. He grinned 
 from ear to ear when the landlord addressed him. 
 
 4 He mean I not to come back/ he explained to Denis when 
 the door was shut, and squeezed the concertina till all its 
 notes snarled discordant defiance. 4 How many-a maile to 
 anywhaire ? * he repeated. 
 
 4 Oh ! ’ shrieked Denis, instead of replying, for it seemed 
 to him that a dwarf with tiny sinewy arms had caught him by 
 the leg and was trying to drag him down to subterranean 
 dungeons. He put down a hand to free himself, and felt 
 something small and furry which bit him smartly in the 
 fleshy part of the thumb. The musician gurgled with intense 
 delight. 
 
 4 It is my monkey/ he explained, 4 name Ognissanti/ He 
 gave a little whistle like the note of a bullfinch, and the 
 monkey ran up his leg, crawled over the concertina, and 
 sprang to his shoulder, where it sat nestling against his 
 cheek and whining softly. The boy produced an enormous 
 handkerchief, which had once been yellow, and wrapped it 
 carefully round the little beast. 
 
 4 Rain make him freddo/ he said ; 4 then he snizz, same as 
 us/ And he imitated the act of sneezing several times with 
 great realism. 
 
 Denis found him interesting. 4 Do you walk about playing 
 that ? * he asked, pointing to the concertina. 
 
 4 I play il violino/ the artist answered with a certain pride, 
 4 what you call fideel. But not in Ingleland, in Roma alone. 
 I am a Roman/ 
 
 4 Oh ! ’ said Denis politely, 4 do you know the Pope ? 9 
 
 4 He is my father/ replied the Italian promptly. Denis 
 thrilled : adventure had indeed overwhelmed him to-night. 
 
 4 You shall give me some money/ continued the affable 
 stranger, 4 and I will tell him to say prayers for you. Then 
 you go to heaven/ 
 
12 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Denis felt dimly that this was an anticlimax, and was 
 uncertain of the efficacy of purchased prayer. ‘ Where are 
 you going now ? ’ he asked, as his cold fingers chased two 
 pennies about a pocket. 
 
 ' Don't know,' answered the boy with immense cheerfulness. 
 'Far off from that filth of Satan and his dogs.' And he 
 shook his fists, which he did not clench in the manner of 
 Englishmen, at the drawn blinds of the Black Horse. 
 
 ‘ But don’t you know where you ’re going to sleep ? * 
 cried Denis. 
 
 The stranger grinned. ‘ Know that,’ he answered : 
 
 4 somewhaire under the moon, like you, lee tie signorino.’ 
 
 He held out a dirty, persuasive paw, this Roman of Rome, 
 and his teeth gleamed in the moonlight. When Denis 
 presented him with his two moist pennies he took off his 
 hat with a flourish and bowed. The gesture, Denis felt, 
 would have been cheap at a guinea. 
 
 ' Haven’t you any friends ? ’ he asked. 
 
 With smiles and shrugs the Italian answered that his 
 partner in art was awaiting him in a town on the further side 
 of the moor. Also the wife of his partner. He was on his 
 way to join them. 
 
 Some words that his father had spoken came into the mind 
 of Denis as he stood looking at this fascinating adventurer. 
 * Kindness to another , my dear boy , is one of life's most profitable 
 investments .’ Golden words indeed ! He decided to put 
 them into practice. 
 
 ‘ I live near here,’ he said ; 4 if you come with me my father 
 will let you sleep at his house. And if you are really the son 
 of the Pope,’ he added, rather doubtfully, ‘ he will ask you 
 to have dinner with him.’ 
 
 He was surprised that the Italian did not seem very much 
 impressed with this invitation. ' No, no,’ said the stranger, 
 
 ' he will have beasts of dogs.’ And he imitated the growls 
 of an angry bull-terrier so cleverly that Denis clapped his 
 hands and Ognissanti whined poignantly. Denis assured 
 him there were no dogs, and that his father was very kind. 
 Only the other day he had made a beautiful speech about the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 13 
 
 poor people in workhouses. But the Italian shook his head 
 violently. 
 
 1 Wild beasts of dogs ! ' he reiterated. * See ! ’ He 
 pulled up his trouser and displayed a rather fat leg. * Eaten 
 all over/ he explained ; but it was too dark for Denis to see 
 the scars. 
 
 ‘ I mean it, really/ pleaded Denis, his heart wounded by 
 visions of the former adventures of the leg. 4 Do come ! 
 There 'll be food, and a violin, and comfortable chairs, and 
 he 's a doctor and you can show him where the dogs bit you, 
 and — and a warm fire,' he concluded. His own teeth were 
 chattering with cold. 
 
 This picture of a domestic heaven seemed to captivate the 
 stranger. He meditated. 
 
 ‘ How far to the next place ? ' he demanded abruptly. 
 
 ‘ Five miles,' said Denis ; ‘ and it 's across the moors, and 
 you 're certain to lose your way. And there 'll be dogs, big 
 sheep-dogs with different coloured eyes.' 
 
 The stranger made up his mind. * I come with you, 
 gentleman,' he said, * but when the father see me he will be 
 same as the filth of Satan in there,' and he pointed to the 
 Black Horse. 
 
 Denis protested. ‘ You don't know my father,' he said. 
 
 The Italian only gurgled in a rather irritating manner. 
 
 ‘ You see ! ' he said. 
 
 A walk of a few minutes brought them to the Red House. 
 As they went under the dripping trees that flanked the short 
 drive, the stranger, who had become suddenly shy, kept on 
 glancing warily around him, and when they stood under the 
 lamp that overhung the front door, Denis realised with 
 amazement that the son of the Pope was wearing an expression 
 of abject fear. 
 
 ‘ I wait here,' he said, but Denis opened the door quietly, 
 and managed to lure him inside the house, Ognissanti, con- 
 certina and all. He removed his hat, which pleased Denis, 
 and began to stroke the monkey, who was terrified by the 
 sudden light. 
 
14 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ' I 'll go and tell my father,* said Denis : 1 wait here.* 
 He went towards the study. When he looked back, it seemed 
 to him that the Italian and Ognissanti were positively 
 clinging to each other for protection against some imminent 
 unknown terror. He smiled. How surprised they would be 
 when his father came to talk to them ! 
 
 He knocked at the study door. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 15 
 
 III 
 
 W HILST Denis was engaged, probably for the first 
 time in his life, in receiving friends on his own ac- 
 count, Dr. Wilmot Yorke and Mr. Gabriel Searle were discuss- 
 ing him over teacups in the Red House. Wilmot Yorke was a 
 gaunt person of five-and-fifty, with a stubborn jaw and rather 
 large, anxious eyes. He looked like a man whose contemplation 
 of his own blameless past was spoiled by a habit of regarding 
 the future as an impenetrable wall with many loose coping- 
 stones that would presently fall and pulverise him. Searle, 
 on the contrary, appeared to be dreamily resigned to all the 
 shocks and arrows of fate. He had a bruised rose-leaf air 
 which fluttered the kind hearts of various ladies to whom he 
 read Tennyson. It was whispered that some great sorrow 
 had darkened the skies of his youth. He was rector of a 
 small village about seven miles from the doctor's door, and 
 had a reputation for satire amongst his parishioners. 
 
 ‘ I never had the good fortune to attend a public school,' 
 said Wilmot Yorke, * and I have regretted it all my life.' 
 
 Mr. Searle lit a cigarette over the lamp, and then fell back 
 in his chair with a little sigh of contentment. 
 
 ‘ Why ? ' he asked. 
 
 * Why ! * repeated Dr. Yorke, almost indignantly. ‘ Why ! 
 Because it sets a stamp on a man ; polishes him up, rubs off 
 his angles, gives him friends who aren't all aiming at the same 
 kind of career as himself. I never made a friend till I walked 
 the hospitals. And friends in one's own profession, — it 's 
 never the same. Look at yourself ! The fellows you liked 
 at Oxford you like still.' Dr. Yorke clasped and unclasped 
 his bony hands. Mr. Searle smiled ; he had a peculiarly 
 slow smile that unkind persons compared with the dawn of a 
 rainy day in winter. 
 
 * There is only one reason why a man should go to a public 
 
1 6 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 school/ he said softly, * and that is — if he has done so he will 
 be less likely to make a fool of himself when his son, in due 
 course, is sent to the same kind of place. You, my dear 
 Yorke, are exactly the parent to make a boy's life a burden 
 to him with your indiscretions. You are slightly irascible, 
 deeply sentimental, wise about other people's bodies and as 
 thick-headed as possible about their minds. On the first 
 occasion when Denis catches a cold you will send sensible and 
 abominably impertinent letters to the housemaster and the 
 school doctor. On the first occasion when Denis gets into a 
 scrape you will write to the headmaster, the housemaster, 
 and the sixth form, explaining that your profound knowledge 
 of his temperament makes you quite certain that the whole 
 affair is a horrible piece of injustice, that he is the scapegoat 
 and the stalking-horse of a gang of evil-minded monsters. 
 When Denis is expelled — when Denis is expelled you will 
 ruin his future chances in life by writing frantic letters to 
 the Guardian , and the Times , and the British Medical Journal 
 and the two Houses of Parliament. If you don’t commit all 
 these crimes, at any rate you will bully the boy about dry 
 boots and greatcoats and holy and unholy thoughts, — 
 things to which he will consider the least allusion indecent, — 
 and you 'll probably keep him short of pocket-money to teach 
 him the virtues of economy. You 'll do all this because you 
 are passionately fond of him, and he will become more and 
 more estranged from you, and because he 's a good boy he '11 
 hate himself for it, and be perfectly miserable, all through 
 your kindness. That,' concluded Mr. Searle, in his most 
 placid accents, ‘ is what will happen unless you learn to treat 
 him with infinite tact, in-fin-ite tact.’ 
 
 Wilmot Yorke scarcely listened to the conclusion of his 
 friend's remarks. The reference to a possibility of Denis — 
 of his boy — being expelled from school was too fantastic 
 even to amuse him. 
 
 ‘ I don't think your warning is as necessary as you seem to 
 imagine, Searle,' he said shortly. ‘ Denis and I understand 
 each other thoroughly. We 're more like brothers than 
 father and son. I trust him and he trusts me/ 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 1 7 
 
 1 If he trusts a sentimentalist with a fiery temper he 's 
 a young ass ! ' said Mr. Searle flippantly. 4 But you don't 
 know him • he has a very strange temperament, and you 
 don't think about temperament. Nor does he know you ; 
 but he will very soon begin to learn. You 've talked to him 
 sentimentally about all the virtues, and though, as far as I 
 can see, you haven't made a prig of him as yet, you 've given 
 him an enormously high standard as regards honour and 
 kindness and all that.' 
 
 * Well,' said Wilmot Yorke. ‘ Isn't that right ? ' 
 
 * Quite right,' said Searle ; * but it 's all — it 's all theory, 
 conventional theory.' He waved an elegant hand. Dr. 
 Yorke leant forward and looked at him severely. 
 
 * You 're talking philosophy that is beyond me,' he said. 
 
 4 I don't profess to follow you.' 
 
 ‘ Well, put it this way,' said Searle. ‘ When he goes into 
 the world, — into the unjust, illogical, but, on the whole, 
 bracing world of a school, he will find a different standard 
 altogether ■ a workaday, practical, eminently decent stan- 
 dard, but one which will seem quite inconsistent with your 
 sentimental ideals. His first contact with life will be like 
 touching the handles of an electric battery. This, after a 
 while, will make him — we won't say suspicious — but interested 
 in your conventional theory. Then you 'll have to face a hard 
 fact. He will discover that you are inconsistent.' 
 
 ‘ But I 'm not,' said the astounded Dr. Yorke. Searle 
 flung his cigarette end into the fire. 
 
 ‘ Of course you are,' he said gaily. ‘ Every one with ideals 
 is inconsistent, and the man whose ideals are conventional is 
 the worst sinner of all. Conventional ideals are founded on 
 catchwords and built up with ignorance. That is why 
 they 're so lofty and empty, and tumble down like card houses 
 when the great wind of reality blows through them. But all 
 I want to say, really, is this. Denis thinks that you 're 
 perfect because you have preached perfection at him with 
 a horrid kind of romantic fervour. Take care that he dis- 
 covers your imperfection gradually. As I said, he has a 
 peculiar temperament.' 
 
 B 
 
i8 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Dr. Yorke shook his head hopelessly. ‘ I can't make out 
 whether you are talking about Denis or about me,' he said. 
 * I Ve taught the boy to be good, I hope. Goodness seems 
 to me an eternal truth.' 
 
 ‘ Of course it is, of course,' said Searle. ‘ But like all 
 eternal truths, it has many false and fleeting aspects. It 
 roams the world in every disguise. Now have you taught 
 him to recognise goodness in its various aspects ? Aren't 
 you sending him into the world armed with a cut-and-dried 
 formula instead of an open mind ? ' 
 
 Dr. Yorke was almost goaded into epigram. ‘ It seems 
 to me,' he said, ‘ that the open mind is curiously receptive 
 of all that is evil. To me good is good and bad is bad.' 
 
 The effect of this portentous utterance was that Searle 
 dropped the subject of ideals as one drops hot iron. 
 
 ‘ Denis will keep up his music at school, I hope,' he said. 
 
 ‘Yes,' answered Yorke. ‘ But it will not be allowed to 
 engross him so completely. He has grown much tpo fond of 
 it lately. It was difficult to make him go out : he went to 
 the piano the moment his lessons were over. School will 
 alter that, and it will alter his solitary habits. When he does 
 go out, he likes to spend whole days on the moor by himself, 
 doing nothing. Cricket and football are what he wants. 
 And friends of his own age, of course. He hasn't any at 
 present. Boys don't interest him.' 
 
 ‘ He hasn't had much chance here,' said Searle. 
 
 ‘ There are the young Challoners,' said Wilmot Yorke. 
 ‘ At one time they were always asking him to go there, but he 
 never cared about it. I was very much vexed that he was so 
 shy, for they would have done him no end of good. They 're 
 real boys * no dreaminess about them ; they ride, and swim, 
 and run all day with the beagles, and keep dogs and ferrets. 
 I hope Denis will get to know them better at school.' 
 
 ‘ Oh, they 're pleasant young barbarians,' Searle agreed, 
 without enthusiasm. Then his thin face puckered into a 
 mildly malicious smile. ‘ I met Bob Challoner to-day,' he 
 said. ‘ He seemed to be rather amused by something that 
 you said to him.' 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 19 
 
 ‘ What was it ? * asked Dr. Yorke with dull suspicion. 
 
 ‘ Something about seeing that Denis wore warm clothing 
 for football/ answered Searle. ‘ From the peculiarly medi- 
 tative and innocent smile that he wore when he spoke of 
 it, I imagine that our young friend Bob will not forget your 
 command/ 
 
 ‘ Bob is a capital boy — a capital boy/ declared Wilmot 
 Yorke emphatically. ‘ He is thoroughly manly, and manliness 
 is what Denis has to learn/ 
 
 ‘ Your idea of manliness consists in keeping ferrets and 
 playing cricket and being religious by rule/ said Searle with 
 sudden warmth, ‘ but there is a finer kind, and Denis has it. 
 
 I confess that the robustious, thoughtless, jostle-through- 
 life-without-worrying temperament, though it produces 
 hundreds of eminently respectable and athletic curates, 
 seems to me rather apt to make a virtue of its own solidity, 
 as a rhinoceros might make a virtue of his hide. I have a 
 foolish preference for the mind which is not absolutely alien 
 from thought and finds a joy in reverie ; I believe, in spite 
 of modernity, that the founder of an idea is greater than the 
 man who starts a soup-kitchen or endows a public library. 
 
 But then ’ his voice regained its habitual softness, and he 
 
 spoke with just the slightest hint of a lisp. ‘ But then I was 
 up at Magdalen in the late seventies/ It was this particular 
 intonation that caused Searle’s bishop, an exceedingly plain 
 man from Cambridge, to yearn secretly for some modern 
 equivalent to the authority of Torquemada. 
 
 ‘ The thing is to combine the two/ said Wilmot Yorke. 
 Whether he referred to the blending of soup-kitchens and 
 free libraries, or to some spiritual union of virtues, remains 
 unknown, for at that moment there was a knock at the door, 
 and Denis entered. His coat was glistening with rain, and 
 the doctor at once became bad-tempered and fatherly and 
 fussy. Denis submitted meekly to a tirade, and shook hands 
 with Gabriel Searle, whom he rather liked. Searle noticed 
 that his eyes were shining, and that he seemed unusually 
 restless whilst his father delivered an exhortation. 
 
 * I 'm very sorry/ he said, rather breathlessly : ' I would 
 
20 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 have come in before, — yes, father, I 'll go and change now, 
 — but I met some people on the hill, in the old quarry where 
 the man hanged himself. Mr. Searle, do you know the girl 
 with the pigtail ? ' 
 
 Mr. Searle knew her. * He means Duroy's little daughter,' 
 he explained to Wilmot Yorke. 4 I have seen her about with 
 him, and if she 's as good as she looks, she must be a pigtailed 
 angel. She has the nicest black eyes that I ever saw.' 
 
 ‘ I don't know her,' said Wilmot Yorke, ‘ but her father is 
 the type of man that I particularly dislike.' 
 
 * Oh, but he was there too ! ' cried Denis, ‘ and he 's 
 splendid, just like a big brown bear, — and knows music. 
 And then, coming through the village, I met a poor Italian 
 boy who hasn't got a home, and he plays the concertina, but 
 really the violin, and says he 's the son of the Pope. So I 
 brought him here to supper.' He paused, astonished by his 
 father's eyebrows. ‘ You don't mind, do you ? ' he asked, 
 his voice dropping suddenly. ‘ I knew you would hate to 
 think of him out there all night in the wet.' 
 
 There was a brief silence, and then Searle laughed. 
 
 * Now then, Yorke ! ' he said, and rubbed his hands 
 together. 
 
 Dr. Yorke rose quickly. 
 
 ‘ Denis,' he said, ‘ are you telling a foolish lie ? ' 
 
 Denis flushed painfully. ‘ No,' he said ; ‘he 's out there, 
 in the hall, near the umbrella-stand. I thought I 'd better 
 leave him there. You see, he 's got his monkey with him.' 
 
 4 His monkey ! ' said Dr. Yorke, as if the mere mention of 
 that luckless beast was proof that the visitor stood beyond 
 the pale of decency ; 4 his monkey ! the young rascal ! ' He 
 made for the door, followed by Denis and Gabriel Searle. 
 The last gentleman's face was extraordinarily sphinx-like, and 
 the corners of his lips were drawn down into two heavy creases. 
 
 The Italian grinned as this procession approached him, and 
 bowed magnificently. Dr. Yorke walked heavily past him 
 to the hall door, flung it open, looked at the intruder, and 
 pointed meaningly to the darkness. The Italian stared 
 straight in his eyes, and his body stiffened like an extended 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 21 
 
 steel spring. Then he turned to Denis and smiled quite 
 merrily and triumphantly. A moment later he had slipped 
 swiftly through the doorway and was gliding down the drive. 
 
 ‘ Young rogue ! ' said the doctor. ‘ Never do that again, 
 Denis/ He slammed the door. Searle looked at Denis, 
 and saw two burning eyes in a white face, and lips that strove 
 to shape themselves to speech. The boy was staring up at 
 his father as if he were some prodigy in a museum. 
 
 ‘ But he was hungry ! ' he gasped out suddenly, * and cold 
 
 — and wet. You can't — you couldn't ' Words seemed 
 
 to choke him ; but he kept his eyes on his father's face. 
 Dr. Yorke turned on him with swift anger. 
 
 ‘ Go up at once and change,' he said harshly. But as 
 Denis reached the foot of the staircase he called in his usual 
 tone, ‘ And don't forget about your socks.' 
 
 Denis gasped again, and climbed the stairs in a dazed 
 kind of way. The remark about socks, coming after this 
 event, made him feel as if he had been stabbed to the heart 
 and then fed with wedding-cake. As he looked again at his 
 father he remembered the purple-faced publican who had 
 vociferated obscenity from the threshold of the Black Horse. 
 ‘ Come again , and I 'll break every blasted bone in your blasted 
 carcase ! ' Was this what his father would have said, felt 
 like saying ? 
 
 Mr. Searle, who was staying for the night at the Red House, 
 retired into the study directly after dinner for the purpose of 
 finishing a review of a dull theological book for a duller 
 theological paper. Dr. Yorke and Denis sat in the dining- 
 room, and the boy listened to his father while he discoursed, 
 rather vaguely, on the duties and privileges of the new life. 
 At school, Denis was told, there were good boys and bad boys, 
 and his task was to imitate the good boys ; to do what they 
 did ; to shun the things that they avoided. A new life in 
 which he would be a new creature, that was the text of the 
 sermon. His heart sank as he thought of the unknown place, 
 where every one and everything would conspire to make him 
 into a stranger from the self that he had evolved in the lonely 
 happiness of his childhood ; he was himself, he felt dimly ; 
 
22 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 how could he imitate other boys ? Or why, if he couldn't 
 be himself any longer, should he be obliged to become like 
 Bob Challoner, whom his father mentioned with approval 
 as a type for him to copy ? Bob Challoner hated music, 
 and was unmoved by the brooding mystery of moorland, and 
 hardly knew a spring flower by name, and never heard voices 
 in the wind, and regarded birds not as friends, but as targets 
 for his abominable catapult. Denis did not think of himself 
 as in the least degree superior to Bob Challoner, he only 
 knew that he was quite different. Bob was happy, and so 
 was he ; but no one required Bob to give up his catapults 
 in order to find a rarer joy in Beethoven's sonatas, why, 
 therefore, should he himself be expected to submit to the 
 reverse ? Manliness, said Dr. Yorke, was the thing to strive 
 for, but he drew a picture of manliness that made it seem to 
 Denis an insensate carnival of fisticuffs, shouts, everlasting 
 action, — ‘ always be doing something , Denis ; never moon 
 about ' ; — and hecatombs of slain beasts and birds. Denis 
 listened in patient silence until the lecture ended. 
 
 ‘ Will all the country round the school be out of bounds ? ' 
 he asked, ‘ and are there any hills ? ' 
 
 Dr. Yorke was inclined to be irritated by questions that he 
 considered irrelevant. 
 
 ‘ You mustn't expect to get much time to loaf,' he answered. 
 
 ‘ I want you to go in for cricket and football keenly, and 
 grow up strong and well, and be popular with the masters 
 and the other boys.' He paused for a moment. ‘ Always 
 remember that is what mother would have wished,' he said, 
 with real but strangely awkward emotion. ' Always remem- 
 ber that she is watching you, Denis.' 
 
 Denis thought of his mother. She had died when he was 
 four, and he had only vague memories of her gentle voice and 
 dreamy eyes. Would she really have cared whether he 
 became an enthusiast for football ? He hungered to believe 
 that she was watching him always ; but years ago he had 
 decided that she could see him no longer. . . . He would 
 have known ; he would so surely have known. He sat in 
 silence, twisting his fingers uneasily, and looking uncom- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 23 
 
 fortable. He was already acutely sensitive to sound, and the 
 thrill in Dr. Yorke’s voice when he spoke of his dead wife 
 always seemed faintly ostentatious. Denis felt this without 
 actually formulating it into thought ; it was many years later 
 that he learnt how often perfectly sincere people with limited 
 minds unconsciously mimic the theatrical methods of the 
 posturer when they speak of anything that affects them deeply. 
 
 Both father and son were relieved when Gabriel Searle 
 finished his religious journalism and returned to join them. 
 Searle perceived at once that the seance had been a limited 
 success: Dr. Yorke was fidgeting with fire-irons, and Denis 
 had blank eyes. It occurred to him then that there were 
 latent possibilities in the boy of an obstinacy beyond that 
 of all mules, but he did not expound this theory to his host. 
 He refused, indeed, to talk, and insisted on Denis playing a 
 duet with him. He was an excellent musician, and made the 
 duet a success in spite of Denis, who seemed listless and out 
 of form. Dr. Yorke beat time incorrectly with his fingers 
 and stared at the fire. 
 
 4 Bedtime, Denis/ he said when the music was ended. 
 Denis came to him and raised his face for the usual good-night 
 kiss, but he said gruffly and hastily, 4 We must shake hands 
 in future, my boy/ Denis looked at him oddly for a moment, 
 then shook hands with him and Searle, and went out quickly. 
 Dr. Yorke rose with a fine air of unconcern, and met Searle’s 
 eyes. Searle smiled his lazy, semi-satirical smile. 
 
 4 Is it really necessary, — that kind of thing ? * he asked. 
 
 From the open window of his bedroom Denis looked out on 
 the calm and friendly stars that shone above the dark shoulder 
 of the moor, and felt a certain consolation in the thought 
 that they at any rate would survive from the life that he was 
 leaving. The night was clear ; the great battalions of cloud 
 had rolled away, and a soft wind breathed the comforting 
 fragrance of damp earth from the hills. He leant out of the 
 window, straining his eyes towards the dim horizon, and 
 wondered where the irresponsible feet of the Italian had 
 
24 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 carried Ognissanti and the concertina. He was haunted by 
 the memory of the brief drama that had been enacted in the 
 hall, and strove to forget it in imagining the details of the 
 wanderer's life for the next few days, — how he would sleep 
 in the straw of some sequestered grange, and be wakened by 
 the earliest twitter of birds, and walk on in the broadening 
 sunlight whilst the grass was still bright with a million dew- 
 drops, and drink milk at some hospitable farm for the price 
 of a song. Before dinner — perhaps because he himself had a 
 notable hunger — he had pitied all vagabonds, thinking of 
 them as poor outcasts in darkness ; but now he began to 
 wonder whether, after all, they were really so unfortunate as 
 he had imagined. To be up with the sun and to walk where 
 you pleased in the shining, singing world, carrying music — 
 like the immortal lady of Banbury Cross — wherever you went, 
 heedless of clocks and watches and all the other instruments 
 in the torture-chamber of routine, — was this, at any rate 
 when you were young, really a life of misery ? The Italian 
 had seemed sufficiently happy in spite of the rain and the 
 scars on his legs ; but it was not only his happiness that 
 made him interesting ; he seemed to be tingling all over with 
 some odd kind of power that was manifested in every gleam 
 in his eyes and every movement of his limbs < he seemed 
 so extraordinarily alive ! Beside him, Denis thought, his 
 father, and Mr. Searle, and every one whom he had ever met, 
 seemed like agreeable statues. What was this mysterious 
 liveliness ? Did it come from being a vagabond, free as the 
 thistledown that sails in the summer wind ? Why did it 
 seem so interesting ? What was there in the Italian's eyes 
 that he had seen in the eyes of certain beasts and birds, — 
 a keen yet kind sort of wisdom that somehow you felt, never 
 really thought , — something never seen in his father’s eyes, 
 which were hard and bright like lake water after a fall of 
 snow, or in those of Mr. Searle, which had the dull and dreamy 
 gaze of the stone angels in church. Could some people be 
 more real than others ? That seemed ridiculous. 
 
 The thought of eyes in general reminded him of a pair of 
 very large dark ones that he had lately seen, and he realised 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 25 
 
 with a little quiver of astonishment that the girl with the 
 pigtail also had this strange, newly discovered attribute 5 it 
 seemed as if she must always feel like a person in an adventure, 
 as if she were as different from vicars’ wives and daughters 
 as a young tiger is different from an ancient and sleepy cat. 
 And her father was in some queer way like her ; he would 
 have made friends with the Italian boy at once, and not 
 turned him out of his house ; and though he was so big he had 
 bright eyes that seemed to enjoy everything in the world. 
 He realised now why his father disliked the enormous man. 
 They were so absolutely different, — as opposite to each other 
 as black to white, — yet how, why ? He could not define 
 the difference, he could only feel absolutely certain that it 
 existed and was insuperable. The phrase quoted by the 
 little girl — ‘ Apostle of Respectability ’ — was, he believed, 
 connected in some way with it ; the curt exit of the Italian 
 from the front door was caused by the same kind of feeling 
 that made his father dislike the enormous man. Yet he knew 
 that the enormous man would not dislike his father, though 
 he might laugh at him. Was the enormous man, then, 
 the better and kinder of the two ? And why did people whom 
 his father disliked attract him and seem like friends to him 
 at once ? Was the world made up of two kinds of people ? 
 Why did the Vicar’s wife, who was good and pious, always 
 look as if she had eaten a sour apple, and always say unkind 
 things about every one ? The enormous man neither looked 
 nor spoke in that way, yet he was, one knew, not nearly 
 so good and pious as the Vicar’s wife. 
 
 People like his father and the Vicar’s wife, he concluded 
 — he did not know what a step he had made on the ladder 
 of philosophy in classing them together — such people made 
 rules about good and bad, and were better than any one when 
 the rules worked all right, but when anything happened to 
 which the rules didn’t apply they were rather at a loss what 
 to do. That was why his father had been so queer about the 
 Italian. His father was really awfully kind, but had no rule 
 made about Italians, and so he became angry and turned him 
 out. Denis tried to be satisfied with this explanation, yet 
 
26 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 the fact remained to trouble him that his father had been mean 
 where another person — the enormous man, for example— 
 would have been generous. 
 
 Denis had been brought up with great religious strictness and 
 said his prayers every night. But if Dr. Yorke could have 
 heard his prayer on that evening he would have been some- 
 what astonished. ‘ O God/ Denis prayed, ‘ grant that I 
 may forget that father turned out that boy, because I don't 
 want to remember that father did a thing like that, for Christ’s 
 sake, Amen.’ He did not, as Dr. Yorke had commanded him, 
 invoke a blessing on his school life. When he rose to his feet 
 he stood staring at his corded box for some time, and then 
 he turned to the window for a last look at the tranquil night. 
 The dim outline of the hill was like the face of a friend whom 
 he would behold no more. As his glance rested on it he 
 thought of the Italian, not with pity, but with an aching envy, 
 and when he blew out the light his eyes were smarting with 
 rebellious tears. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 2 7 
 
 IV 
 
 T HE great and famous school which Denis was destined 
 to adorn was built on a lonely heath about five-and- 
 twenty miles from London, and the dome of its chapel was a 
 noteworthy landmark. The aesthetic stranger, approaching 
 from the south, might become enthusiastic over the long 
 fa$ade with Ionic porticoes that flanked the playing-fields, 
 but his admiration would probably be more restrained when 
 he entered the large quadrangle and gazed on its four sides 
 of penitential yellow brick and its insignificant cloisters to 
 right and left of the chapel. Outside the quadrangle were 
 scattered various useful buildings that offended the eye ; 
 new boarding-houses and a sanatorium, — also in yellow 
 brick, a racquet-court and a water-tower ; gymnasiums, and 
 a pink memorial to a departed headmaster that vaguely 
 suggested vestry-meetings. The architecture of the school 
 certainly did not blend into a whole that the most short- 
 sighted optimist could have pronounced to be lyrical ; the 
 yellow bricks were dreadfully suggestive of a prison or a 
 lunatic asylum, — a suggestion that was not dispelled by the 
 formidable chevaux-de-frise which bristled over the gateways, 
 or the heavy bars that guarded the external windows, — and 
 meditative undergraduates, however greatly they had loved 
 their life at school, were apt to regret that the place had no 
 grey cloisters or ancient oriels which would serve as a fair 
 frame to their memories of it. 
 
 Hither, on the afternoon which followed the Italian 
 adventure, came Dr. Yorke and Denis in a weather-worn 
 vehicle, and entered the ponderous and marble jaws of the 
 lodge gates. Denis knew enough Latin to be able to translate 
 the Sursum Corda that was carved on a white stone tablet 
 above the doors, but at that moment he felt quite unable to 
 obey its monition. A few boys, strangers like himself, were 
 
28 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 standing about the lodge, and stared at him as he went by. 
 One of them read the name on his box in a clear voice for the 
 benefit of the others, which annoyed Denis. He walked across 
 the quadrangle with his father, who was nervous and talked 
 at random, towards the headmaster's house, and as they 
 entered that dreadful presence he felt an extraordinary desire 
 to be lying dead, on the moor, amongst the pools of water in 
 the old quarry, — anywhere away from the big, book-lined 
 room that was the antechamber and dread threshold of the 
 new life. Yet he was able to notice an amazing collection of 
 walking-sticks in the hall, and to look at them with something 
 of the surprise that we feel when a dentist talks to us of his 
 children, or admits that he has had toothache. The head- 
 master, a spare clean-shaven man of forty, with the dark 
 imperious face and lean jaw of a Roman tribune, did not 
 prove very terrifying. He was horribly harassed by parents, 
 gave Dr. Yorke three minutes, and hardly glanced at Denis. 
 The housemaster seemed more formidable, — a thick-set 
 personage with a heavy moustache and eyes that reminded 
 Denis of pickled walnuts. He sat in a room that was decor- 
 ated with a great number of stuffed birds — wild geese and 
 penguins and great northern divers and cormorants — and 
 talked to Dr. Yorke in a high-pitched voice. His name 
 was Lister, and he seemed to Denis more fantastic than 
 any one he had ever heard of. He had a queer habit of 
 wagging his head suddenly as if he were tormented by 
 invisible flies. 
 
 4 Delicate ! delicate ! 9 he said, looking at Denis as if he 
 were a specimen of the Great Auk ; 4 look here, my person, 
 that 's all very fine, but it won't do in my house. Boys who 
 sneeze in dormitory get the cane. Boys who snuffle in form 
 go down ten places and write out the lesson. Understand 
 that, my person.' He fixed Denis with the pickled walnuts, 
 and called him ‘ my person ' twenty times in the course of 
 the interview. Dr. Yorke could not make him out at all, but 
 Denis was not sure that he wasn't really kind. The anxious 
 parent expressed a hope that Mr. Lister would look after his 
 boy with especial care, and Mr. Lister barked like a dog. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 29 
 
 * I look after them all with especial care/ he said, 1 the 
 young scoundrels ! A lot of thanks I get for it from them ! 
 I Ve been a master for twenty years, and I assure you that 
 boys are black beasts, destitute of any spark of honour and 
 decency and gratitude. Oh ! your boy 11 be just the same, 
 just the same. It 's in the system. Bow-wow ! 1 
 
 He wagged his bald head and almost chased them from 
 the room. As they walked across the quadrangle Dr. Yorke 
 wore an expression of astonishment blended with mistrust. 
 He always felt secretly offended when he encountered an 
 original personality, and he had scarcely expected such an 
 event to happen on that particular day. 
 
 Fortunately for Denis, his father would never run any risk 
 of missing a train, so the final scene between them was brief. 
 An exhortation in which his soul and his underclothing were 
 curiously mingled, a strongly affectionate hand-clasp, a 
 waving umbrella — and then Denis found himself walking 
 slowly back to the lodge with a horrible sensation in the pit 
 of his stomach. He drifted across the quadrangle, feeling 
 absolutely alone in the world, but not at all inclined to 
 mingle with the little throng of new boys who were awaiting 
 the hour of the entrance examination. Beyond the chapel 
 he found a passage which led past the open doors of a huge 
 dining-hall to the terrace, where he sat down on a low wall 
 on the edge of the playing-field. The September sunshine 
 brought a little comfort to his soul, and some birds in the 
 high elms were singing in much the same way as the birds 
 in the garden at home. In a small enclosure in front of the 
 headmaster's house some late roses were blooming. Pre- 
 sently three boys came on to the ground and began to kick 
 a football about in a desultory manner. They had returned 
 to school a day before the term began in order to look after 
 small brothers who were new to the place. 
 
 Denis had watched them for nearly half an hour when he 
 heard a sound of steps on the gravel behind him, and, looking 
 round, saw a boy of about his own age who was dressed with 
 extreme neatness, and had a long nose and rather supercilious, 
 light blue eyes. About twenty yards behind him was a very 
 
30 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 different kind of person, — a knock-kneed, bony creature in 
 clothes that were a size too small, with a fat face and a lower 
 jaw that fell away deplorably. He was shambling quickly 
 along the terrace, and obviously intended to overtake the 
 supercilious boy. 
 
 The latter gentleman sat down by Denis and looked at him 
 critically. 4 You 're new, aren't you ? ' he said easily. 4 So 
 am I. What 's your name ? ' When Denis had answered 
 this question, he said, 4 Mine 's Ellerton-Davidson. I was 
 captain of Teazle's.' This was a private school notorious 
 for athletics and aristocracy. Denis had never heard of it. 
 At this moment the bony monster came up to them, and stood 
 leering at the late captain of Teazle's. He had a dreadful 
 smile which displayed all his teeth and most of his gums, 
 but in spite of it Denis thought that he seemed extremely 
 good-natured. 
 
 4 Hullo, Reggie,' he said. Master Ellerton-Davidson looked 
 up at him with an air of extreme surprise. 
 
 4 Hullo, Toad,' he replied. 4 Didn't know you were coming 
 here. You might have got a new suit.' He said this with 
 distinct asperity, but the monster only chuckled. There was 
 silence for a moment, and then Master Ellerton-Davidson 
 turned to look at the football and began to whistle. The 
 monster stood near him, grinning painfully, and shifting from 
 one foot to the other. 
 
 4 I say,' he said at length, 4 what house are you in, Reggie ? ' 
 
 The supercilious youth ceased whistling for a moment. 
 4 You 'll soon be able to find out,' he said without looking 
 round, and recommenced his tune. The monster's grin 
 became ghastly. 
 
 4 All right, you needn't be so sidey,' he protested. 
 
 Master Ellerton-Davidson swung round suddenly. 
 
 4 Good-bye, Toad,' he said : 4 this man and I want to talk. 
 I know him at home. Good- bye.' 
 
 The Toad still lingered. 
 
 4 S'pose that was why you asked him his name ? ' he said. 
 
 Master Ellerton-Davidson glared at him with cold male- 
 volence. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 3i 
 
 * Look here, are you going ? ’ he demanded. ' Face the 
 other way and continue the motion. Good-bye ; sorry you 
 can't stay • bring your music next time. You aren’t wanted 
 here. You stink.’ 
 
 Denis listened to this tirade with much amazement, and 
 fully expected to see the ground strewn with fragments of 
 the supercilious youth. To his great surprise, however, the 
 poor monster wilted visibly. He made a piteous attempt 
 to grin, and glanced timidly at Denis. 
 
 ‘ Or right, or right,’ he muttered thickly, and shambled 
 away disconsolately. 
 
 ‘ Why did you send him away ? ’ asked Denis. ‘ He 
 seemed all right.’ 
 
 Master Ellerton-Davidson elevated his slender nose. 
 
 ‘He 's a mouldy beast,’ he said. ‘ He was at Teazle’s. 
 We all barred him like anything. I ’m jolly sick that he ’s 
 come here, but he won’t get me to go about with him. He 
 wants kicking every day of his life, and I expect he ’ll get it.’ 
 
 ‘ Why, what ’s the matter with him ? ’ asked Denis. 
 
 ‘ He ’s mad,’ said Ellerton-Davidson venomously. 
 
 ‘ Well, he can’t help that,’ said Denis. 
 
 4 He ’s a great hulking swine,’ continued the other, ' and 
 he ’s no earthly good at games, and a filthy rotter. He eats 
 the tails of sardines. I hate his shiny grinning face. I 
 used to kick him at Teazle’s, and now I suppose that he thinks 
 I ’m his equal. I ’ll soon let him know all about that.’ 
 
 It seemed to Denis that either Master Ellerton-Davidson 
 was extraordinarily brave, or the monster remarkably good- 
 tempered, for one blow from the bony fist of the latter would 
 have spoilt that supercilious nose for ever. Yet the Toad 
 had seemed thoroughly cowed ! 
 
 * What ’s his real name ? ’ he asked. 
 
 ‘ His name ’s Madden,’ said Ellerton-Davidson, ‘ and I 
 wish he was dead. What school do you come from ? ’ 
 
 His manner changed when he heard that Denis had never 
 been to school and never played cricket and football. He 
 became Olympian in his condescension. 
 
 ‘ You ’ll be sorry for that now you ’re here,’ he said. 4 1 
 
32 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 shall get my house badge this term, I expect. It 's no end 
 of a score to come with a reputation/ 
 
 Denis agreed meekly. The self-confidence of this new 
 acquaintance filled him with wonder. He could think of no 
 appropriate remark, and sat staring across the field. Pre- 
 sently he realised that the three boys had ceased to kick the 
 football and were coming towards them. Their approach 
 brought a note of awe into Ellerton-Davidson's voice. 
 
 ‘ That big man 's in the Fifteen/ he said : 4 do you see the 
 silver wings on his cap ? My brother was in the Fifteen 
 when he was here. If they speak to us, you see if they don't 
 know his name/ 
 
 Denis hoped devoutly that the three heroes would not speak 
 to them, but in vain ; the boys came directly towards the 
 place where they sat. When they were near Denis recognised 
 one of them. It was Bob Challoner, Dr. Yorke's ideal of 
 boyhood. 
 
 ‘ Two new governors,' he heard one of them say, and 
 marvelled at the unfamiliar term ; ‘ let 's go and look at them/ 
 They sauntered up to the small boys, and one of them, a 
 sturdy, red-haired creature with weasel eyes, asked the 
 supercilious youth his name. 
 
 ‘ Ellerton-Davidson,' replied that personage, not without 
 pride. The red-haired boy regarded him fixedly for some 
 moments. 
 
 * Hell, my little friend,’ he said at length, with great 
 unction, ‘ hell is full of Ellerton-Davidsons. And yours ? ' 
 he added, turning abruptly to Denis. But he made no com- 
 ment on the answer, possibly because his supply of humour 
 was exhausted. Bob Challoner said something to the tall 
 boy with the silver badge on his cap which sounded like 
 ‘ know him at home, bit of a smug,' but he took no further 
 notice of Denis. Meanwhile the red-haired creature re- 
 directed his attention to Ellerton-Davidson. 
 
 * Can you play the rough yet noble game that is known as 
 footer, my little man ? ' he asked. 
 
 1 Just a bit,' said Ellerton-Davidson. * I was captain 
 of Teazle’s for two years/ 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 33 
 
 The tall boy looked interested, but the red-haired person 
 only said curtly, 1 Well, you won't be captain here.' Then he 
 lurched violently into the tall boy, who thumped him fiercely 
 on the back so that he dropped the ball which he carried. 
 All three made a rush for the ball, and the tall boy sent it 
 soaring magnificently amongst the elms. The trio linked 
 arms and walked slowly towards it. Ellerton-Davidson 
 watched them depart with an air of fine indifference, but it 
 seemed to Denis that his nose had suddenly become less 
 supercilious. 
 
 ‘ That man kicks quite decently,' he said. ‘ I wish I 'd 
 asked them to leave us the pill to hoof about. But then, of 
 course, you don't know how to. Let 's go and have a look 
 at the bath.' 
 
 They walked together to the swimming bath, which was 
 green and stagnant after two months' disuse. Then the 
 great bell at the lodge clanged warning of the hour of the 
 entrance examination, and they ran back to the quadrangle, 
 where they found other new boys trooping into the Big School. 
 A master in cap and gown began to read a list of names as 
 soon as the clock struck the hour, and variously pitched 
 squeaks of ‘ Here, sir,' rose around Denis. One boy, he 
 noticed, who had carefully plastered hair, a brown suit, and 
 a signet -ring on his little finger, contented himself with 
 shouting ‘ Here.' His own name came last on the list, and 
 the unfamiliar sound of the monosyllable so startled him that 
 the master had repeated it and glared down the room before 
 he answered. 
 
 A paper of printed questions was set before each boy 
 Ellerton-Davidson crinkled his nose at it, finished each 
 question with a sigh of relief, and looked thoroughly injured 
 as he read the next one ; but Denis found it fairly easy, and 
 had done all that he could some time before the end of the 
 allotted hour. As he wrote, however, it seemed to him that 
 a kind of second self was thinking out the answers, whilst 
 his real self remained aloof, acutely sensitive to every sound 
 and sight of this staggering new existence, yet all the while 
 gasping for breath in such unfamiliar air. 
 
 c 
 
34 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 He glanced at the other new boys. They seemed to be no 
 more affected by the change that was being worked in their 
 lives than were cows that had been driven from one meadow 
 to another. A small red-faced boy near him was obviously 
 eating sweets which were, as obviously, peppermints ; an- 
 other was reading the lists of names that were painted on 
 boards above the entrance to Big School ; a third was going 
 to sleep. How contented they seemed ! It was impossible 
 that any of them had a little voice inside him that kept on 
 saying something like, ‘ This time yesterday — this time yester- 
 day — I was on the moor — free, free, free ! ’ Their tranquil 
 faces wore no hint of a heavy pain that grew and grew as they 
 looked at the grim walls and ugly rows of ink-stained desks. 
 They had never heard voices in the wind, and they had 
 never been wonderfully alive, like the Italian and the owner 
 of the pigtail. His thoughts went veering off to the previous 
 day, and then came back to reality with a sickening thump. 
 Yet it was hardly reality ; it still seemed a sinister kind of 
 dream. Even now, he felt, it might be just possible to wake 
 up in the Red House. 
 
 The big clock near the door ticked on with a dry indifference 
 to all that was youthful and eager and irregular ; the long 
 shafts of sunlight that slanted through the open doorway 
 became gradually thinner. It was half-past five ; there was 
 still half an hour before the time fixed for handing in papers, 
 and Denis put down his pen and leant back against the desk. 
 As he did so he became aware that some one was staring 
 steadily at him, and next moment his eyes met those of a 
 rather tall, thin boy with a pale, plain face and a remarkably 
 high forehead. This person was sitting in the front row of 
 the desks on the opposite side of the gangway. He was 
 engaged, apparently, in the pleasing task of devouring a 
 wooden penholder, and Denis observed that he, at any rate, 
 did not share the tranquillity of the others ; his eyes were 
 mutinous, and his mouth was set in a thin line ; yet there 
 was something attractive in his ugly, irregular features ; he 
 seemed strangely out of place in his present surroundings, 
 and made the boys sitting near him look even younger and 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 35 
 
 more stolid than before. Denis decided that he looked wise 
 with the wisdom of age, and wondered what kind of things 
 he had written on his paper, and what would happen if he 
 turned out to be a man who had disguised himself as a boy, 
 because he wanted to come to a public school to learn 
 grammar and play games. Not that Denis could imagine 
 any sensible man doing such a thing even by way of an 
 adventure, yet the long sinewy neck of the unknown looked 
 absolutely preposterous in its low collar, and an incipient 
 moustache contributed still further to his venerable aspect. 
 
 The master, who had a pink face and black-rimmed spec- 
 tacles, came slowly down the gangway with his hands clasped 
 behind him, and stared from boy to boy with mild interest. 
 Certainly he didn’t look nearly as wise as the unknown with 
 the absurd neck. Presently his eyes fell on Denis and his 
 idle pen. He sauntered up to him. 
 
 ‘ What is your name, pweese ? ’ he demanded. He had 
 a peculiar lisp, and his eyes dilated and contracted oddly 
 behind his strong glasses. 
 
 ‘ Denis Yorke/ answered Denis. 
 
 ‘ The surname is sufficient, Yorke/ said the master, and 
 some one giggled. He glared about him nervously, and then 
 asked Denis if he had finished his paper. Denis answered 
 that he had done all he could. 
 
 ‘ Then you may go, Yorke/ said the master, and proceeded 
 on his majestic way. All the boys instantly began to write 
 with tremendous energy. They had not realised that liberty 
 was so near. Denis gave up his paper and went out into the 
 quadrangle, rather reluctantly, for the face opposite had 
 begun to interest him. 
 
 A group of boys in variously striped caps reclined on 
 the grass not far from the door, this being their method of 
 asserting the fact that the official school term had not yet 
 begun. When Denis came down the path near them they 
 all turned to stare at him, and one of them called out, ‘ I 
 say, do come and talk to us ! * Denis felt that he could have 
 denied himself the privilege of their conversation with 
 equanimity, but they were sitting close to the path, and he 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 36 
 
 was obliged to halt in front of them. He satisfied their 
 curiosity as to his name, and was about to turn away towards 
 the lodge, when one of them, a huge, burly, fat-faced boy 
 like an overgrown cherub, asked him, ‘ Whose house are you 
 going in ? 9 
 
 ‘ Mr. Lister’s/ Denis answered. 
 
 ‘ I am very glad to hear it,’ said the burly person, with 
 profound feeling, * for I am a humble member of the Christian 
 brotherhood of Lister’s. I trust, Yorke, that you will be 
 worthy of the privilege. Other houses care for football, 
 and cricket — I think that is the name of the sport — but we 
 go in, my dear young friend, for the beauty of holiness. 
 Dalrymple’s or Seaton’s may be Cock House ; we are content 
 to be good.’ 
 
 The other boys laughed immoderately at this, watching 
 Denis narrowly all the time ; but the speaker preserved his 
 gravity. 
 
 ‘ Do you sing, Yorke ? ’ he said. 
 
 Denis replied that he did, a little, and the burly person 
 nodded approval. 
 
 ‘ We love the voice of praise,’ he said, * in Lister’s ; of 
 course we bar all profane songs. But that will not matter 
 to you, Yorke, for you already have the appearance and 
 loveliness of a dear little angel.’ 
 
 The chorus laughed again, and one of its members, a small 
 manikin with a very tall collar, kicked the burly youth. 
 ' Dry up, Toby,’ he said ; ‘ don’t corrupt the young and 
 innocent.’ 
 
 ‘ Corrupt ! ’ cried the burly youth, as if his heart were 
 rent in twain. * Corrupt ! Ah, Sarah, Sarah, how little 
 you know me ! ’ 
 
 At this moment a diversion was created by the appearance 
 of another figure in the doorway of Big School, and Denis, 
 turning, recognised the lanky boy whose face had interested 
 him. He looked older, wiser, and more ridiculously lanky 
 than ever. Evidently he interested the group of boys also : 
 they sat up and stared at him as if he were a portent in the 
 sun. ‘ Can’t be a new governor ; must be a new governor’s 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 37 
 
 governor. 1 ‘ What is it ? Who let it loose ? ' 4 Go and 
 
 chain it up, Toby, it 's one of your extra specials/ ‘ Oh, 
 I say, what a horrid man ! ' The person who was the object 
 of all this criticism strode down the path towards the group. 
 He did not look at them, and merely glanced at Denis. When 
 he was nearly past them, however, the boy who had been 
 called Toby addressed him in melting accents. 
 
 4 Don't cut us all like that,' he pleaded ; ‘ we want to get 
 to know you. Come and ask me my name. Don't think 
 that we are sidey because we sit on the grass. It 's because 
 we 're poor in spirit, and meek. For of such is the kingdom 
 of heaven.' 
 
 The new boy did not appear to be flattered by this invita- 
 tion, but he halted and stood looking at them with strangely 
 sombre eyes. 
 
 ‘ My name 's Lenwood,' he said briefly. 
 
 * And what name could be nicer ? ' asked the burly youth, 
 turning confidentially to his friends. ‘ I have heard of you 
 already, Lenwood,' he continued ; ‘ but why, having won a 
 classical scholarship at this famous school, do you condescend 
 to sit amongst the base herd at an ordinary, vulgar entrance 
 exam. ? Explain me this, Lenwood, explain me this.' 
 
 ‘ To see what French and mathematics I know,*' said 
 Lenwood. 
 
 ‘ And how old are you, Lenwood ? ' asked his ques- 
 tioner. 
 
 Lenwood looked as if he ' ere not going to reply, but he 
 changed his mind and said ‘ Sixteen.’ The manikin in the 
 collar stared at him. 
 
 4 And what the devil do you mean, sir, by coming to school 
 as late as that ? ' he asked, with a malevolent glare. 
 
 Lenwood met his eye. 
 
 ‘ That is just what I 'm wondering,' he said, ‘ as it seems 
 to give little fools like you the chance to cheek me.' 
 
 This calm retort gave huge delight to every one in the group 
 except the manikin, although each felt it secretly to be 
 anarchical. The manikin was furious. 
 
 * Sir,' he almost shrieked, * you 're insolent ! you 're only 
 
38 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 a new governor. You mustn’t say things like that. I ’ve 
 been here two years.’ 
 
 1 I dare say you have/ said the new boy ; ‘ and I ’ve 
 passed into the Lower Fifth. In about a year I ’ll be in the 
 Sixth, and then you shall fag for me.’ 
 
 The faces of the manikin’s friends were torn between utter 
 consternation and deep amusement. The burly youth rolled 
 on the grass and moaned with delight. 
 
 ‘ O Lenwood, Lenwood ! ’ he said at length, sitting up. 
 
 * Let me embrace you : you are perfect. I only wish that I 
 were a permanent ornament of the Lower School, like Sarah, 
 so that I might fag for you too. But that would make Sarah 
 jealous. I only want to tell you one thing, Lenwood — if 
 you don’t mind — don’t alter the house too suddenly ; leave 
 us our little joys, and don’t interfere with our religions. 
 Of course very soon you ’ll be running the school, and then 
 the house won’t matter. Do promise to be kind to us, 
 Lenwood.’ 
 
 The pathos in his voice made his friends quake in helpless 
 paroxysms of mirth, and Denis smiled. The burly youth 
 looked at Denis and then turned to Lenwood. 
 
 ‘ I am afraid that your little friend is laughing at you, 
 Lenwood,’ he said gravely. 
 
 Lenwood glanced for a moment at Denis. 
 
 ‘ He ’s not my friend,’ he said brusquely, and then he began 
 to walk with deliberate steps towards the lodge. The group 
 hurled pleasantries after him, but he took absolutely no 
 notice of them. Denis took advantage of this fusillade to 
 move away. 
 
 So the gaunt new boy was not less interesting than he had 
 seemed when he devoured a penholder and stared about 
 Big School with those great, discontented eyes. Denis was 
 aghast at his courage in making a retort to the mockery of 
 the group on the grass, though he felt with a certain fore- 
 boding that the end of the episode was not yet. He felt also 
 an absurd irritation at the rather contemptuous glance that 
 Lenwood had bestowed on him, and the clear, cutting words 
 that had denied their acquaintance. Every one and every- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 39 
 
 thing seemed to emphasise his loneliness : this self-confident 
 stranger despised him because he stood in awkward silence * 
 the gay laughter of the others and their irresponsible, idiotic 
 chatter seemed like voices from a world in which he had been 
 forced to live, where a language was current that he would 
 never be able to acquire, and the solid, stolid creatures who 
 wrote papers around him in Big School were calm with some 
 wisdom that was denied him. 
 
 He passed the lodge doors, and went down one of the two 
 avenues of horse-chestnut which led to the main road. He 
 had not gone far before he saw a long figure walking slowly 
 in the same direction, and realised that it was Lenwood. 
 He halted, doubtful whether to overtake him and incur the 
 risk of another contemptuous glance, or to avoid him 
 altogether by crossing the grass to the other avenue. Eventu- 
 ally he took the former course, and followed Lenwood. 
 Lenwood walked very slowly ; his head was bent down, his 
 shoulders were hunched up, and as Denis came near he 
 realised that the boy was deeply engrossed in a book. Denis 
 felt that he should never dare to speak first, and plodded past 
 him with a great air of indifference. Lenwood looked up 
 vaguely, recognised him, stared for a moment, and then said, 
 ‘ Hullo ! ’ 
 
 Denis halted abruptly, and echoed the word as if it were 
 one to which he was quite unaccustomed. Lenwood closed 
 his book. 
 
 ‘ You got away from those asses, then ? ’ he said, without 
 smiling. ‘ Whose house are you going into ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Lister’s,' said Denis. He had already discovered that a 
 polite prefix to the master’s name was not essential. 
 
 ‘ So am I,’ said the lanky boy. In books about school life 
 that Denis had read, and grown weary of reading, such a 
 statement was invariably followed by some such remark 
 as ‘ How ripping, let ’s be chums.’ Lenwood, however, 
 looked extremely unlike saying anything of the kind. He 
 tucked his book firmly into his right armpit, thrust his hands 
 deeply into his trouser-pockets, and remarked : 
 
 ‘ Well, I hope you ’ll like it. I shan’t.’ 
 
40 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ' Oh, won't you ? ’ cried Denis with extreme interest. 
 
 Lenwood looked hard at him as if he were trying to under- 
 stand what that particular intonation implied. Then he 
 smiled in a way that reminded Denis of Mr. Gabriel Searle, 
 and said : 'You ’ve seen some of them already. They seem 
 bright specimens. Very soon I shall have to smack the head 
 of that little beast they call Sarah/ 
 
 ' You answered them back pretty well/ said Denis. 
 
 Lenwood made no response to this tribute. Instead, he 
 stared hard at Denis with his queer eyes, and asked him an 
 amazing question. 
 
 ' Are you a worm ? * he said. 
 
 Denis was completely bewildered. After waiting for a 
 moment Lenwood went on : 'As you don't know what it is, 
 you probably are. Do you like reading books, and going 
 for long walks and catching bugs and collecting ferns better 
 than cricket and football and gymnasium ? Because if you 
 do you ’re a worm, and worms never do any good in a place 
 like this. Reading ’s worst of all ; I read/ He tapped the 
 book under his arm. ' You see if they don’t all think me a 
 worm,’ he said, with a kind of pride. ' I read poetry by the 
 acre. I mean to write it when I ’ve read enough to really 
 know how it ’s done.’ 
 
 ' I do like reading,’ said Denis, ' and I ’ve never played 
 cricket and football. I like music best of all, though.’ 
 
 ' Music ? ’ said Lenwood. ' Oh, you ’re a worm, all 
 right.’ He produced his book. ' I want to finish this thing 
 before the bell goes for tea,’ he said, and strolled away, 
 leaving Denis alone in the middle of the avenue. 
 
 Denis emerged from this brief conversation in a condition 
 of blank bewilderment. Lenwood was far more amazing 
 than Ellerton-Davidson ; for though he had all the super- 
 cilious youth’s self-esteem, he seemed to know that he would 
 be judged and condemned by his fellows from some extra- 
 ordinary standpoint, and to rejoice in the knowledge. Denis 
 wandered back to the lodge with a sense that this day of 
 surprising and fantastic conversation ought to end at once ; 
 that he could not bear to wait so many more hours for the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 4i 
 
 silence and peace of the night. He was absolutely tired out ; 
 immense and aching vistas of life seemed to he between the 
 present hour and the cool morning when he had left the Red 
 House, and his heart grew heavier and heavier. 
 
 The bell for tea sounded at last, and he went amid a 
 chattering crowd of new boys into the great hall. Lenwood 
 sat beside him, but read his book — a Tennyson — the whole 
 time, to the huge disgust of Ellerton-Davidson and other 
 conventional persons. The Toad sat on his other side, and 
 talked about the entrance examination with his mouth full 
 of bread and butter. The food seemed coarse and tasteless, 
 but had it consisted of manna and dates in argosy transferred 
 from Fez, or any other confectioner's Paradise, its glories 
 would have been completely wasted on Denis. 
 
 The Toad continued to mumble his theories on grammar. 
 Ellerton-Davidson held forth on his own cricket-average. 
 And this was the hour when the sun was setting over the 
 divine duskiness of the moorland ! 
 
42 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 V 
 
 T IRED though he was, for the first part of the night 
 his sleep was a painful masquerade in which Lenwood, 
 the immense man, the Italian and the monkey — now grown 
 to human size — danced and drifted across a quadrangle as 
 large as the world, and glared at him with eyes that were 
 like pickled walnuts. Towards morning he fell into the deep, 
 unhaunted slumber of utter weariness, and did not wake 
 until the dormitory servant had violently rattled the rings 
 of his cubicle curtain. He sat up in bed, dismally conscious 
 of the strangeness of his surroundings. A bell was ringing, 
 and in the dormitory there was a sound of splashing water 
 and rather sleepy voices. He put on his trousers and slippers 
 and went to the basins that stood in a row down the long 
 dingy room. A grey light filtered in through the windows, 
 and the atmosphere was stuffy and nauseating. 
 
 Outside his cubicle — which was called a compartment — 
 he found Ellerton-Davidson stripped to the waist and 
 washing his aristocratic features with purple soap. Near 
 him the Toad, who had neglected to supply himself with the 
 minor luxuries of the toilet, was expostulating to deaf ears. 
 
 ‘ I must wash, you know/ he said. 
 
 ‘ Then you can scrub yourself all over with your nailbrush/ 
 said Ellerton-Davidson, ‘ for I 'm not going to lend you 
 my soap. Go and ask the matron to give you a piece of 
 yellow cheese/ He turned his back on the Toad and began 
 to dry himself. 
 
 The Toad smiled a craftily stupid smile, put out a long 
 arm, snatched the purple soap, and crowed triumphantly. 
 Ellerton-Davidson turned, realised what had happened, and 
 without a moment's hesitation walked up to the Toad and 
 smacked him as hard as he could on the bare back with his 
 flat hand. The sound of the blow and the Toad's yell of 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 43 
 
 anguish echoed simultaneously down the dormitory. The 
 poor monster dropped the soap and stood there feebly ; his 
 face was as scarlet as the neat five-fingered impression on his 
 flesh, and his thick lips were trembling. 
 
 * P'raps that 'll teach you to touch my things,' said 
 Ellerton-Davidson, and some of the boys laughed. Denis 
 felt sick at heart, and loathed Ellerton-Davidson. 
 
 * Would you like another ? ' asked that gentleman, who 
 was obviously flattered by the laughter of the spectators. 
 But just then a hand took hold of each of his ears and he was 
 propelled rapidly down the dormitory for some yards. Len- 
 wood, after watching the scene vaguely, had suddenly become 
 active. 
 
 ‘ Here 's some soap,' he said curtly to the Toad. ‘ As soon 
 as you 're dry I advise you to kick that little fool till he 's 
 the colour of your back.' 
 
 The Toad grinned. * Thanks awfully,' he said, ‘ but I 
 don’t mind him. Only his way. We were at a private 
 school together, you know. Known him for ages.’ He began 
 to wash himself vigorously, a ridiculous figure, with his bent 
 knees and trailing braces. He reminded Denis of a poor 
 creature who had lived in the village at home; a gentle, 
 witless thing who was much harassed by the school-children, 
 whose mockery he was supposed by the villagers to enjoy. 
 The poor Toad ! Had he, too, been sent to school in order 
 to learn manliness, and was this the way to teach him ? 
 
 Yet, when they went together for a walk on the heath, 
 Denis found the Toad wellnigh intolerable. He, too, had 
 read romances which depicted public schools as athletic 
 paradises full of strong, silent boys whose immense virtues 
 only became obvious, quite accidentally, in the penultimate 
 chapter, or of romantic villains who roamed the world at 
 night in disguise and smoked cigars in secret chambers. He 
 was quite convinced that he was going to have a delightful 
 time at school ; he chuckled as he boasted of his entrance 
 papers — for, like many other idiots, he knew a great deal of 
 grammar and syntax — and was certain that he would pass 
 into the Upper School and evade fagging, which office, he 
 
44 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 appeared to imagine, consisted in cooking omelettes ; he was 
 gluttonous to the last degree, and his laughter was like the 
 braying of many congregated asses. The horrible likeness 
 to the village ‘ natural ’ grew more intense every moment, 
 and Denis listened to his empty vauntings in silent depression. 
 He felt more and more sorry for the Toad, yet why ? The 
 Toad was infinitely pleased with himself ; it never occurred 
 to him that there was any possibility of other boys treating 
 him with the method of Ellerton-Davidson. He had not 
 noticed the peculiar note in the laughter of the new boys 
 during the episode of the soap, — the note that told even the 
 inexperienced Denis that they had recognised an inferiority 
 of spirit in him, and that they would not forget it. 
 
 When the walk was over, Denis began to wonder if he would 
 ever make any friends at school. The Toad and Ellerton- 
 Davidson were hopeless, he knew ; he had nothing to say to 
 them ; they reduced him to an abject condition of mental 
 emptiness. Other boys that he met seemed sensible enough, 
 but after a little while they regarded him with a queer kind of 
 scrutiny that made him shrink. It was obvious that they 
 found him strange ; as strange, perhaps, as the Toad seemed 
 to him ; and though he did not realise it, they had no 
 attributes that aroused his sympathy. In spite of their 
 physical difference, they all seemed as much alike as an army 
 of tin soldiers, disliking work, interested in games, but still 
 more interested in their outward and visible rewards, and 
 thoroughly contemptuous of anything that did not exactly 
 harmonise with their hard and fast theory of life. None of 
 them were vivid and vital, — with a twinge of homesickness 
 he remembered the little girl with the pigtail, — none, except 
 Lenwood ; he alone had some peculiar quality that made him 
 attractive ; it was power, independence, strength to be 
 himself in any circumstance. But Lenwood was so old and 
 wise that friendship with him would be impossible. He 
 moved in a mysterious atmosphere of his own. 
 
 The School returned that evening ; the class-rooms round 
 the quadrangle were full of light and noise and moving 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 45 
 
 figures ; and when the form lists were read in Big School by 
 the headmaster, Denis was able to look at the complete 
 assembled population of his new world, from the superb and 
 indolent figures on the Sixth Form benches, with their 
 moustaches and fancy waistcoats, to the small but self- 
 possessed persons who were his seniors by a term. He 
 himself, he found, was placed in the lowest form of the 
 Middle School ; Lenwood, as he had prophesied, was in the 
 Lower Fifth — a piece of presumption in a new boy, even if he 
 was sixteen ; and the Toad was in the form immediately 
 superior to that of Denis, and said ‘ Here, sir/ when his name 
 was read out, to the immense joy of the school. Denis 
 listened carefully to the long sequence of names, some of 
 which sounded extraordinarily bizarre. He noticed that there 
 were six Smiths, five Walkers, and four Jacksons. 
 
 After Lists came Evening Prayers. Denis had already 
 visited the chapel with his father ; on that occasion Dr. 
 Yorke had moved about uneasily, as was his custom when he 
 was trying to formulate in words some deep emotion, and 
 finally, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder, had said, 
 
 4 My dear boy, let this be the true centre of your school life.' 
 Denis had felt terribly uncomfortable ; he heard the thrill in 
 his father's voice, and felt himself a traitor because there was 
 no echo to it in his own heart. He remembered the words 
 as he sat in chapel that evening, and tried to imagine that he 
 would be able to obey them ; but as he looked round him he 
 felt as if they must always seem to him totally unconnected 
 with anything real : the glaring gas-lights, the crowded 
 
 careless faces above the pews, the masters who leant forward 
 to count the rows of boys — everything made the service 
 seem like a lesson that had to be got through, an unimportant 
 interlude in the whirling, sounding life that reigned all day 
 long. How could one commune with one's own heart when 
 a hundred eyes seemed to be fixed on one from the tiers of 
 pews that rose directly opposite ? It was the spirit of 
 worldly authority, and not of heavenly peace, that seemed 
 to brood over the place ; and if every one behaved admirably, 
 it was perhaps less from reverence for God than from fear 
 
46 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 of the headmaster. The familiar words of the prayers 
 brought no comfort to Denis, but only a wild longing that 
 when he took his fingers from his eyes, he might see that old 
 church where he had knelt every Sunday since he could 
 remember ; where, as in another village church that a great 
 soul loved — and left for Rome — the breath of the morning 
 was damp and the worshippers few. Now that they were 
 removed from that humble, whitewashed aisle into this vivid, 
 frescoed octagon, the words seemed to lose most of their mean- 
 ing and all their comfort. The hymn alone seemed real ; it 
 was a favourite with the school, and they sang it forte until 
 the last verse, which was rendered forte-fortissimo. It made 
 Denis feel better, but set him wondering. Why should a 
 hymn make one feel better than prayer ? He thought of his 
 father ; his father would certainly be shocked at such an 
 idea, but it was the truth. It was not merely the music, 
 and the joyful unison of voices : the words had something to 
 do with it 
 
 Time , like an ever-rolling stream, 
 
 Bears all its sons away. 
 
 They fly forgotten, as a dream 
 Dies at the opening day. 
 
 That seemed to set your heart free ; it opened vistas beyond 
 the dominion of headmasters ; it made you feel as if you 
 were travelling steadily across a great green plain towards 
 a vast and magnificent sunrise. 
 
 A thousand ages in Thy sight 
 Are like an evening gone : 
 
 Short as the watch that ends the night 
 Before the rising sun. 
 
 That, too, said one quite ordinary thing, and instantly con- 
 jured up before your eyes a series of immense and marvellous 
 visions, and, like music, sent strange shivers down the nape 
 of your neck. Yes, he had felt this with music, but never so 
 acutely, so deliciously. Why was this ? Had you to be 
 unhappy in order to feel it ? He realised suddenly that the 
 last two days had been almost unendurable : but now he 
 was strong, and the future seemed less blank and dreary. 
 He felt tranquil, almost happy. If words and music could 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 47 
 
 do this for you, he thought, there was a remedy for everything. 
 Was that why Lenwood seemed so strong ? Was that why 
 he carried a book about with him wherever he went ? 
 
 But while a prefect with a deep bass voice read the lesson 
 for the day, he thought again of his father, and his new 
 courage wavered a little as he realised how strangely his 
 thoughts had wandered on his first night in chapel. His 
 father would have frowned, he felt, if he had known that. 
 The hymn had no divine suggestion : it had only seemed to 
 conjure him away from his present environment, and to set 
 him amid the waste places of the earth, where he could feel 
 the fingers of the wind that caressed his brow, and could see 
 the hills grow purple beneath the splendour of dawn. Was 
 this wrong ? How could it be wrong if it took away the 
 gnawing pain that had oppressed him for so many hours ? 
 Yet he knew that if he told the whole truth about his sensa- 
 tions to his father, he would be condemned as profane ; and 
 of course his father knew what was good and what was evil ; 
 he was old ; he had thought about it ; he had made rules. 
 Rules ! They seemed to be the chief things in life ; other 
 people drew them up, and one obeyed them, at school, at 
 home, everywhere. But if they made one miserable, were 
 they right ? There was the Italian adventure, — wasn't 
 that the result of one of his father's rules ? Denis felt that 
 his brain was beginning to whirl round and round inside his 
 skull. He had never thought so much about things before. 
 He went out of chapel trying to convince himself that it was 
 the holiness of the place that had brought him comfort, and 
 not the queer vision of plains and hills. But as he looked 
 beyond the noise and the lights of the quadrangle to the 
 tranquil host of the stars, he felt again the same strange sense 
 of mingled ecstasy and hope, a conviction that he was living 
 splendidly in a larger world than an English public school. 
 What did it mean ? Did other boys feel like that ? He 
 doubted it gravely, but at the moment he almost felt a 
 strange joy in his loneliness. 
 
 He did not confide his sensations to any other of the new 
 boys, and this reticence, perhaps, was fortunate. The night 
 brought him the much-needed oblivion of healthy sleep. 
 
48 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 VI 
 
 T HE first few weeks of the term passed away, the dis- 
 quieting novelty of its routine grew to be less of a 
 bewilderment, and gradually Denis became, to all outward 
 appearance, only a rather insignificant unit in that noisy 
 concourse of fortuitous atoms. If he had none of the qualities 
 that excite boyish admiration, at any rate he was handi- 
 capped by no obvious eccentricity ; the only person who 
 detected any originality in him was the music-master, a kind, 
 irascible, bearded German ; but bitter experience had taught 
 this hierophant of the art that new boys with an enthusiasm 
 for music were apt to lose it as soon as they became keen about 
 football. At present Denis was in no danger ; he shared the 
 vain toils of a mob of other neophytes as ignorant as himself 
 of this great mystery, — an irresponsible, seething mass of 
 embryo athletes that was known to the school as hoips, 
 this uncouth term being a contemptuous abbreviation of 
 o l iroXXoi Nor did he distinguish himself in work suf- 
 ficiently to arouse the fury of the veterans in his form, who 
 had gently drifted thither at the rate of one remove in a 
 year ; he was quick at learning, but his natural aptitude was 
 handicapped by the strangeness of the system. In form, 
 when he was on the point of answering something correctly, 
 a boy below him would make grotesque and passionate 
 gestures, the master would pass the question on to him, and 
 Denis would go down a place with his knowledge unuttered ; 
 or he would become really interested in what seemed to him 
 the vital and essential part of some piece of work, to find, 
 when the hour came for hearing the lesson, that less importance 
 was attached to it than to the insignificant context. It took 
 him some time to learn to be punctual ; on the first morning 
 of term he entered Big School at fifteen and a quarter 
 minutes past nine, and was horrified to find that he had to 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 49 
 
 stand at the end of a long row of boys in the middle of the 
 room until the master had given him a copy. What would 
 his father say, he thought, if he knew that his school life had 
 begun with an imposition ? His throat grew dry and his 
 face burned, and the sight of other new boys in the same 
 distressing situation did not comfort him in the least. He 
 confessed his shame in the first letter that he wrote home, 
 and Dr. Yorke improved the occasion when he answered 
 it. Dr. Yorke also began to discuss the horrible event very 
 solemnly with Gabriel Searle, and was annoyed when that 
 wicked person refused to console him with serious attention. 
 
 Denis, of course, soon made many acquaintances, but the 
 weeks went on without bringing to light any one whom he 
 could really regard as a friend. There were certain boys in 
 his house or his form with whom he went for walks on Sundays, 
 or tramped the quadrangle after chapel because there was a 
 reign of terror in their form-rooms, but after a month had 
 passed he was still spiritually, though never actually, alone ; 
 he had found no one except Lenwood whom he wished to 
 see continually. Lenwood, as a matter of fact, seemed almost 
 to have forgotten his existence ; he never spoke to Denis 
 when they happened to meet in the quadrangle, and always 
 went about with an old boy in the Lower Fifth, a shy, clever, 
 awkward Scot named M'Curdy. In the house Lenwood 
 had a book in front of his nose except when it was forcibly 
 removed by Philistine seniors. He was unpopular, but the 
 small gang of tormentors who made life hideous to new boys 
 when there were no prefects near did not waste their energies 
 on him. They had tested him once ; the red-haired, weasel- 
 eyed boy, whom Denis had seen on the day of the entrance 
 examination, had poured a basin of dirty water on the book 
 that he was reading, and Lenwood had sent him spinning, 
 a dizzy vision of redness, broken crockery, and flying limbs, 
 into a fireplace that was fortunately without flame. Thence- 
 forward the tormentors were content to jeer at him in loud 
 asides, and the new boys murmured amongst themselves at 
 his pride. The Olympians of the house, too, disliked him, 
 and treated him with a mock deference, which he returned 
 
 D 
 
50 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 until they lost their tempers and called him an insolent young 
 swine. He would smile vaguely and retire into one of his 
 wretched books. Certainly he was a thoroughly irritating 
 object — to every one except one insignificant, dark-eyed, 
 pale-faced boy whose existence he seemed to ignore. The 
 short scene when various fragments of earthenware had been 
 incorporated in the person of the red-haired boy confirmed 
 Denis in his impression of Lenwood as a kind of walking 
 volcano, usually quiescent, but terrible and flamboyant in 
 eruption. 
 
 If the tormentors found Lenwood dangerous, they had the 
 consolation of discovering an easy victim in the Toad. That 
 unfortunate was marked down as a prey very early in the 
 term, but for a week or two he was permitted to remain in a 
 fool's paradise of his own. The poor wretch had been so 
 bullied and derided at his private school that he rashly 
 imagined himself to be popular in his new environment 
 merely because he was not kicked. Consequently he assumed 
 ridiculous airs, wore his insane grin at all inappropriate 
 seasons, and actually began to patronise other new boys. 
 His illusions were soon shattered. One evening, after chapel, 
 the tormentors were grouped round the dormitory fire, intent 
 on iniquity, when the Toad entered. The red-haired boy, 
 whose name was Verney, but whom every one who dared 
 called Scrunch, was in the middle of the group. The Toad 
 grinned toothily at them and sauntered up the dormitory. 
 He had only gone a few yards when Verney said : 
 
 ‘ Hullo, there 's my old friend Madden. Come here. 
 Madden, my little lad. You 're the man we wanted to see.’ 
 
 His voice was genial, and the Toad turned. 
 
 ‘ Hullo ! ' he said. His grin contracted as he met their eyes. 
 He had seen that particular expression in boys' faces before. 
 
 ‘ Madden,' said Verney, ‘ I hear that you 're very good at 
 footer.’ This was humour on the part of the red-haired boy, 
 for the fantastic shapes assumed by the Toad on the football 
 field were already notorious. The Toad himself was quite 
 convinced that he was a superb athlete, but he thought that 
 a modest reply would meet the present occasion. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Si 
 
 ‘ No, I ’m not/ he said, leering. 4 No, I ’m not. I ’m 
 a crock/ 
 
 The inscrutable mind of boys ! Crock was a word which 
 had no place in the school vocabulary ; if any one, from 
 physical weakness or for some other reason, did not earn 
 distinction on the football field, he was invariably labelled 
 a slacker. A mighty shout of mirth went up from the tor- 
 mentors, and the Toad stood in front of them with a sinking 
 heart, wondering if his popularity were quite as universal 
 as he had supposed. Then it occurred to him that he must 
 have said something really funny, and his face brightened. 
 
 4 I am, really/ he said : 4 an utter crock. But I hope to 
 get my badge this term all the same. I ’m bigger than 
 Ellerton-Davidson, and he ’s been played for the house/ 
 
 His aspirations seemed to amuse the tormentors even more 
 than his modesty. When there was a lull in the laughter 
 Verney addressed him. 
 
 4 You Ye a broken-down old cab-horse, that ’s what you 
 
 are/ he said. 4 Go to your stable.’ 
 
 4 He-he/ said the Toad. Verney advanced suddenly 
 towards him. 
 
 4 Do you hear ? ’ he said in menacing accents. 4 Go away, 
 you ’ 
 
 The Toad obeyed quickly, and as he went Verney ran after 
 him, leapt on his back, and compelled him to carry him up 
 and down the dormitory. The Toad still tried to believe that 
 this was only another result of his popularity. 
 
 4 Oh, I say, shut up, Scrunch ! ’ he mumbled. 
 
 Verney thumped his head with his fists. 4 How dare you 
 call me that ! ’ he shouted. Then he slipped down from the 
 Toad’s back, and accelerated his progress towards his com- 
 partment with a tremendous kick. 4 I ’ll teach you, Mr. 
 Madden ! ’ he shouted. The unhappy Toad heard the 
 approving comments of the group at the fire, and his com- 
 placent illusions vanished like smoke in the wind. 4 A filthy 
 man ! ’ they said ; 4 a loathsome person ! ’ The adjective 
 was shrieked in falsetto. 
 
 Denis escaped their attentions ; partly because he was so 
 
52 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 quiet and insignificant, partly because his wanderings on the 
 hills had made him active, though not strong, so that he 
 developed a certain talent for gymnastics, and was chosen as a 
 member of the rather mediocre team that represented the 
 house. Lister's prided itself on its football, and was airily 
 indifferent to other forms of athletics, — even cricket was 
 esteemed vastly inferior to the winter game ; still, a new boy 
 who represented his house in any way was not wholly despic- 
 able, and Denis, if his character by any chance was weighed 
 in critical balances, was allowed to be ‘ a decent little man.' 
 Every one, of course, was a man ; as men they wore their 
 caps far down over their brows lest they should be accused of 
 ‘ side ’ ; and as men they went to be birched by the head- 
 master. 
 
 He soon learnt the name of every one in the house, from 
 Arbuthnot, the mighty captain, the hero of heroes, who had 
 been in the Fifteen for years and was immense and lazy and 
 kind, to the small and squalid boy who ate three r cornered 
 jam-tarts in his bed, and was therefore beaten, though but 
 gently, by the prefects. Except for the gang of tormentors 
 (who were about seventeen years old and good at football), 
 they were pleasant creatures, all speaking the same peculiar 
 language with the same intonation, all immensely serious 
 about their own right of precedence over others, and all 
 apparently thinking of the same thing at the same moment. 
 One or two of the older boys, it is true, had special interests : 
 J ames, who had his Thirty cap and used appalling language, 
 was president of the Natural Science Society, and on one 
 occasion had domesticated a new and prolific species of 
 beetle in the dormitory ; Wilkinson the prefect painted 
 flamboyant water-colours of sunsets over blasted heaths ; 
 but these deviations, though regarded as amiable follies in 
 the great, were sins in the small. Conform, — conform or be 
 kicked, — that was the motto which should have been added 
 by way of postscript to the inspiring words on the tablet 
 over the lodge gates. The pariahs who by sickness or any 
 other adversity had perpetual leave to abstain from football 
 were generally regarded as worms and no men, and the boy 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 53 
 
 who aired his ideas on subjects not immediately relative to 
 school life was voted a smug, and suffered accordingly. 
 Lenwood was universally suspected of possessing a holy 
 mind, because some one looked into a volume of Gibbon that 
 he had been reading, and found that it contained an account 
 of the early Christians. ‘ Lenwood ’s a hopeless rotter : he 
 reads pi books all day long,’ was the verdict of the school, — 
 an assumption that should have caused the great author of 
 the Decline and Fall to writhe in his coffin. 
 
 Denis conformed, with interior reservations. Behind the 
 transitory pageants of his school life brooded the steadfast 
 shadow of all that had been real to his childhood, — the 
 immense and immutable upland, the sigh of the evening wind 
 in the parched grasses, and the passionate colour of vast 
 sunsets. At the most uninspiring moments of a lesson, or as 
 he lay drowsily in bed at night whilst the prefects talked of 
 football round the dormitory fire, the memory of those evenings 
 would return to him ; he would be haunted by visions of 
 fiery skies, and his heart would ache with some indefinable 
 yearning. He became afraid of these recurring obsessions ; 
 whilst they lasted he was the prey of an ecstasy that was 
 almost painful, and when they had gone his life at school 
 seemed grey and noisy and thronged with meaningless, 
 depressing duties. Sometimes he felt that these thrilling 
 periods of obsession were the only moments when he really 
 lived ; sometimes he was racked with dim anger because he 
 could not be like other boys, who lived entirely for the moment 
 and were not made excited or miserable by the phantoms 
 of their own imaginations. He would watch their faces 
 during work, trying to discover in them the hint of some 
 secret like his own ; but the quest was fruitless, and he made 
 no confidences. Perhaps he had some dread of laughter 
 from the profane, but his silence was chiefly due to the 
 fact that it was impossible to express this haunting emotion 
 in words. Yet it seemed to crave for expression } if he 
 could have some friend to whom he could describe all the 
 things that thrilled him with their memory, the moor, the 
 wind, the trees, the tiny flowers that grew close to the sweet- 
 
54 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 smelling earth, the bleating of lambs in March twilight — if 
 he could have recited all this quite slowly, he would ease his 
 mind of an intolerable and aching burden. Yet even then 
 he would only express the outward aspect of the things them- 
 selves, and not their united effect on him, which was no more 
 translatable into words than the thought of a new colour. 
 
 Towards the end of term something happened to which he 
 looked back in after-life as one of the most significant events 
 in his own secret history. Tennyson died ; and Mr. Lister, 
 who as a rule read only books that treated of ornithology, 
 was inspired to take down the works of the dead poet from 
 his shelves. Having read some pages, he decided that the 
 house should be awakened to the fact that there were other 
 kinds of literature than the lurid works of adventure in its 
 library, and therefore he gave orders that every one should 
 assemble in the dormitory after evening chapel. Great 
 curiosity prevailed amongst the boys when the order was 
 known, for Mr. Lister most rarely harangued the house ; 
 but curiosity changed to dismay when he opened a stout 
 green volume and proceeded to read The Ode on the Death 
 of the Duke of Wellington. The House listened to him more in 
 sorrow than in anger, though one or two of the prefects 
 seemed mildly interested. But, of course, it is a point of 
 honour with prefects to be gentle with the housemaster. 
 Mr. Lister, not content with delivering the whole of the Ode, 
 finished his entertainment with Crossing the Bar, which made 
 the red-haired boy called Scrunch dissolve into silent giggles. 
 Then he shut the book with a snap, said good-night to the 
 house, wagged his head, and marched away to his stuffed 
 birds. 
 
 Mr. Lister was not an accomplished reader ; he gave you 
 an uneasy impression that he wanted to say ‘ my person * 
 at the end of each sentence ; but to one of his audience his 
 voice was as the blended accents of Apollo and the Nine. 
 Hitherto Denis had thought that the type of all poetry was 
 to be found in The Lay of the Last Minstrel and Martnion ; 
 but now he realised that there was another kind, — a kind 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 55 
 
 which set great visions rolling before your eyes, and brought 
 a friendly comfort into your heart, and boomed and rever- 
 berated in your ears like thunder in the hills. What was the 
 magic of this arrangement of ordinary words ? Why should 
 an ode on a defunct soldier bring a small boy in Lower-Middle 
 Two this infinite sense of consolation ? Did it have this 
 effect on every one ? He looked round him as Mr. Lister 
 departed ; almost every face wore an expression of enormous 
 relief : the Toad was grinning, and the great Arbuthnot 
 began to talk about an imminent house-match. 
 
 Suddenly Denis realised that some one was staring at him. 
 He looked round and found Lenwood watching him with 
 an expression of amused interest. The lanky boy sauntered 
 towards him and said in an undertone : 4 If you 're seen 
 looking like that when poetry is being read you 'll be kicked 
 for a certainty. The old ass reads awfully badly, doesn't 
 he ? But it was rather keen of him. Did you see all their 
 faces ? ' 
 
 Denis did not answer. He was conscious of an extra- 
 ordinary joy that Lenwood was talking to him so familiarly, 
 as if they shared a secret that the rest of the house ignored 
 profanely. 
 
 4 Is there a lot more like that ? ' he asked. 
 
 Lenwood stared at him again with his ironical eyes, and 
 nodded. 
 
 4 Lots,' he said, 4 and any amount that 's better. Tenny- 
 son 's too sugary, generally, for my taste.’ 
 
 4 Compartments, please ! ’ bellowed Arbuthnot. The house 
 began to drift up the dormitory. Lenwood and Denis walked 
 together towards their adjacent cubicles. 
 
 4 Where can I get it ? ' Denis demanded. 4 Is it in the 
 school library ? ’ 
 
 4 Some of it,’ Lenwood answered ; 4 not half enough.' 
 
 He looked meditatively at Denis. 4 I suppose you eat 
 filthy sticky stodge all day ? ’ he said. 
 
 Denis denied the accusation. He had no passion for sweet 
 things, and very little pocket-money. Lenwood halted by 
 the curtain of his compartment. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 56 
 
 ‘ If you don’t/ he said, ‘ and if you ’ll swear by all your 
 gods to take the most awful care of it, I don’t mind lend- 
 ing you some. I ’ve got any amount.’ 
 
 Denis was about to thank him when Arbuthnot roared 
 from the end of the dormitory : ‘You, sir ! what ’s your 
 name ? Yorke ! Will you do me the personal and particular 
 favour of going to your compartment ! ’ 
 
 Denis fled. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 57 
 
 VII 
 
 DAY or two later his new interest in life was abruptly 
 
 arrested by a severe chill, that sent him to the 
 Sanatorium with a throbbing head and an abnormal tempera- 
 ture. His spectral appearance rather scared the doctor, 
 who feared pneumonia, and put him in a room by himself. 
 There was another bed in the room, but it was untenanted, 
 and there were Arundel Society prints on the walls of early 
 Italian pictures with fantastic rockeries, and queer people 
 in red tights, and excessively lean greyhounds. Denis 
 stared at them for hours with feverish eyes, and grew to 
 loathe them heartily. His head seemed to become hotter 
 and hotter, and the only method by which he managed to 
 forget the pain that hung about him like fire was to invent 
 long stories where the people that he knew figured in scenes 
 familiar to his childhood. The great art in this kind of 
 invention was to avoid an end ; if the story ended you 
 had nothing to think of but an aching brow until the next 
 one began, and you had to fall half asleep before they would 
 start. Often the characters would get out of control and do 
 the most impossible things, and then you awoke and felt 
 wretched. The great thing was to keep them all moving 
 quietly and tranquilly through pleasant scenes. 
 
 He was thoroughly ill for about a week, and then his 
 temperature became normal, the Arundel prints seemed less 
 offensive to his soul, and be began to develop an immense 
 hunger. The matron, a hard-working, narrow-minded woman 
 with a sentimental soul and a bitter tongue, discovered that 
 he liked reading, brought him Thackeray's Book of Snobs 
 from the Sanatorium library, and from her own a mawkish 
 story about a pious infant who scored heavily off the wicked 
 and died young. But Denis was bored ; footmen and social 
 
58 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 satire did not interest him, and he hated the holiness of the 
 matron's child-hero. It was more jolly to stare at the stripes 
 of the window blinds, whilst you tried to remember certain 
 lines of the Wellington Ode. 
 
 Mr. Lister had sent a boy every day to inquire about his 
 condition, but did not appear in person until Denis was 
 convalescent. He sat at the foot of the bed and pummelled 
 Denis gently, informing him that he had no excuse for falling 
 ill, and that he was a disgrace to the House, like every other 
 boy in it. Denis suggested Arbuthnot as an exception ; 
 Mr. Lister barked loudly, and denounced that great man as 
 an apostle of indolence. ‘ Twelve stone six of sloth and 
 vanity, my person/ he said. But Denis was beginning to 
 understand Mr. Lister, and had seen a photograph which 
 showed the housemaster and the captain of the house 
 sitting on a rock in Scotland with pipes in their mouths and 
 shining salmon lying at their feet. Denis longed to ask 
 him for the loan of his Tennyson, but was too shy. 
 
 A more terrifying visitor invaded his solitude next day * 
 the headmaster paid a surprise visit to the Sanatorium, 
 looked into the room where Denis lay, and entered, followed 
 by the doctor. He only stayed for a few moments, and 
 Denis found his presence less of an ordeal than he would have 
 imagined it. The headmaster seemed personally interested 
 in his recovery, asked him some apparently inconsequent 
 questions which, as Denis realised afterwards, obliged the 
 boy to give hints as to whether he was happy or unhappy at 
 school, and spoke to the doctor about the Arundel prints, 
 which he did not seem to appreciate. Denis noticed that he 
 said ‘ ain’t ’ just like the people on the moor at home, but 
 this peculiarity did not in the least impair his majesty ; 
 Denis felt that, in his way, he was almost as wonderful as 
 Lenwood ; he gave you the same impression of immense 
 strength, and he had the same look of sombre authority in his 
 eyes. Altogether a terrific person, radiating power, very 
 much alive indeed. Not many of the other masters were 
 like that. His form-master, a mild youth whose chief 
 scholastic qualification had been a hockey blue at Cambridge, 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 59 
 
 seemed to him the silliest of all silly sheep. His mouth 
 never would shut properly. 
 
 Through his open door Denis heard every day the voices 
 of boys who came to see convalescent friends ; sometimes 
 they looked into his room, then withdrew, and when this 
 happened he felt rather bitterly that he was without friends ; 
 no one cared to come and see him. Yet he was not sure that 
 there was any one whom he would welcome ; he was content 
 to lie at peace, thinking of great open spaces and weaving 
 interminable fictions. His mind had the tranquil clearness 
 that comes with recovery from illness ; it was good to rest 
 with no responsibilities to trouble one ; to hear the rush of 
 feet outside in the early morning, and then to go to sleep again ; 
 to watch the firelight in the evening, and to enjoy a peace 
 unknown in noisy form-rooms. There was one person, of 
 course, whom he would like to see ; but that was impossible ; 
 he hardly knew him. They had spoken to each other once 
 during the two months that had passed since he came to 
 school. 
 
 So that when Lenwood came into his room one Saturday 
 afternoon he gasped with astonishment, and felt far more 
 shy than he had been in the presence of the headmaster. 
 The tall boy came to the bedside with his peculiarly de- 
 liberate tread, thumped down a lot of books on the feet 
 of the convalescent, and remarked : 
 
 4 Hullo ! I 've brought you these. I ought to have brought 
 them before, but I forgot all about it/ Which statement, 
 of course, meant, ‘ I forgot all about you ' ; but Denis was 
 too full of amazement to care. ‘ Here 's some Browning, 
 which you won't understand, although people who say it 's 
 really difficult are idiots. Here 's Keats ; p'raps you 'll 
 be able to manage some of his short things. The tip is to 
 sing them to yourself inside until you know them by heart. 
 Here 's a thing called the Golden Treasury which is just 
 packed with good stuff ! I don't suppose you 'll care about 
 any of it ; still I said I 'd lend it to you, and I 've done it. 
 What 's this ? ' 
 
 He picked up the pious work that the matron had lent to 
 
6o 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Denis and glanced through it. Presently he began to laugh, 
 and his laughter was scornful. At this inauspicious moment 
 the matron entered the room, and walked up to Lenwood. 
 Her chatelaine jangled angrily, and there was rage in her 
 eye. Lenwood glanced at her, and then continued to be 
 amused by her book. This kind of treatment did not add 
 to the matron's tranquillity. 
 
 4 What is your name, please ? ' she asked. 
 
 Lenwood looked at her again with a surprised air, and 
 answered. 
 
 4 I suppose you know the rules of the Sanatorium ? ' she 
 said. 4 What do you mean by coming straight upstairs 
 without asking leave ? I shall report you to your house- 
 master.' 
 
 Denis felt thoroughly disgusted. Here at last was a 
 chance to talk to Lenwood, and this miserable matron was 
 going to spoil it all. Lenwood, of course, began to look sulky, 
 and didn't trouble to explain that he had got leave from the 
 doctor, whom he met at the door setting out to play golf. 
 
 4 Very well, Miss Bowman,’ he said, 4 I 'll go.' He turned 
 to Denis : 4 How can you read such appalling tosh ? ' he 
 asked. 
 
 This was too much for Miss Bowman, who recognised her 
 book. 
 
 4 You 're a very impertinent boy,' she said. 4 You knew 
 that I lent it to him. I shall certainly report you for 
 insolence.' 
 
 Lenwood smiled slowly. 
 
 4 I didn't know it was your book,' he said, 4 but I think 
 just the same of it, anyhow. It 's sanctimonious humbug. 
 I bet that the creature who wrote it turns out that kind of 
 thing by the dozen, and drinks like a fish and swears like a 
 fishwife. Good-bye, Yorke,' he added, and walked out 
 deliberately. The matron was completely overwhelmed. 
 
 4 And he 's a new boy ! ' she ejaculated. 4 I never ! Upon 
 my soul ! ' Her criticisms were cut short by the sudden 
 reappearance of Lenwood. He put his head in at the door 
 and looked at Denis. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 61 
 
 ‘ Are you better ? * he asked curtly. Then he fled, and 
 Miss Bowman followed him with her chatelaine clanking like 
 the weapons of a pursuing army. 
 
 Denis was too greatly astonished by this visit to think 
 of looking at the books that lay on his bed ; he could only 
 meditate on this marvellous Lenwood, who seemed superior 
 to every one ; who had discomfited even the matron ; whose 
 departure was not a retreat, but a victorious and voluntary 
 withdrawal with all the honours of war. It is possible that 
 if he could have seen the fate of Lenwood as he went down the 
 passage he might have realised that his divinity was not 
 always and completely master of the situation. Some boys 
 in the next room, who were supposed to be extremely unwell, 
 had observed the entrance of the bearer of books, and one of 
 them, called Tellier, lurked by the doorway until he returned, 
 and almost felled him to the earth with a heavy bolster. 
 Tellier, of course, was happily unconscious of the matron’s 
 presence ; he only heard the rattle of her chatelaine after 
 the blow fell ; but the next ten minutes yielded him more 
 than enough of her society. 
 
 The result of this brief drama was that Tellier, who had 
 been the life and soul of the gay fellowship in the next room, 
 was separated from his kindred spirits and sent to occupy 
 the vacant bed near that of Denis. He came in at tea-time, 
 wrapped in a purple rug, wearing red morocco slippers, and 
 dropping a long trail of hairbrushes, soap and tooth powder 
 as he shuffled along the passage. He was a big boy about 
 seventeen ; Denis had noticed his jolly, florid face in chapel, 
 where he sat next but one to Lenwood. He grinned agreeably 
 at Denis as he dropped what was left of his load on the floor. 
 
 ‘ Hullo ! ’ he said. ‘ Mother Bowman has sent me in here. 
 Rather rough luck ; we had no end of a rag in that room. 
 Did you hear your friend dying on the stairs ? ’ 
 
 He kicked off his red morocco slippers and sat down cross- 
 legged on his bed. 
 
 ‘ You ’ve been pretty bad, haven’t you ? ’ he asked, and 
 without waiting for an answer, went on : 'I ’ve been in this 
 beastly hole for three weeks. That great lout J ackson kicked 
 
62 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 me in the stomach when we played Houston’s. I was sick 
 twenty-nine times. Rather rough not getting my thirty, 
 wasn’t it ? Funny joke. Patent. I ’m all right now, 
 though ; I took off my belly-band yesterday. By the way, 
 what ’s your name ? ’ When he heard the answer to this 
 question his face became amusingly penitent. 
 
 ‘ You ’re the man I ought to have asked to tea,’ he said. 
 4 I put it off day after day, and then I got smashed up. Don’t 
 you know some people called Duroy ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Oh ! ’ cried Denis, ‘ the little girl with the pigtail ’ 
 
 Tellier laughed. ‘ Her pater ’s my uncle,’ he explained. 
 ‘ I used to go and stay with them when they lived in France. 
 They told me to look out for you. You must come to tea as 
 soon as we ’re out of this. I’m in a study with old M'Curdy, 
 that Caledonian stern and wild. You know him, don’t you ? 
 He ’s a friend of Lenwood’s. Lenwood comes and talks 
 high art to him till my stomach aches.’ He sprang up and 
 began to look at the books on Denis’s bed. ‘Oh!, you ’re 
 a high artist too ! ’ he said. ‘ So am I in a sort of way. I 
 read French novels. I am French, you know, really, but 
 I ’ve lived in England all my life. My name ’s Tellier — 
 curious, isn’t it ? but they all call me Boosey because they 
 think I ’m mad.’ 
 
 Denis felt half inclined to share their opinion. The new- 
 comer rattled on inexhaustibly, and when a stolid nurse 
 brought in their tea he placed his hand on his heart and made 
 her a passionate declaration in French. One fact about him 
 was very soon obvious ; he was immensely popular. All 
 sorts and conditions of boys came to see him, from the great 
 Arbuthnot, whose increasing bulk was mocked unmercifully 
 by Tellier, to M'Curdy, the saturnine Scot with tranquil 
 eyes and a sense of humour. Perhaps if he had not been a 
 fine athlete his amazing volubility would have seemed less 
 attractive to the School, but he was in the Fifteen, and was 
 also a runner of notable swiftness. He did not, however, 
 seem very serious even with regard to athletics, and ex- 
 pounded his theory on the subject with great frankness. 
 
 ‘ Most men smug at footer just as smugs smug at work/ 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 63 
 
 he said : ‘ I play games because I like them. They make 
 me feel alive all over, — at least footer does, and running the 
 quarter. I loathe cricket ; it 's so solemn, — like drill. You 
 watch a fellow try to hit a ball five times, and then you walk 
 across a field and watch him again. Give me something where 
 you re going all the time and don't get cool.' 
 
 His social theories, too, were unconventional, if not exactly 
 novel. ‘ It 's utter piffle to suppose that men who are good 
 at games and get caps and things and think themselves gods 
 are any decenter than men who don't. Old Curds has been 
 here four years and is putrid at footer, — just plays for his 
 house, — and he 's far away the best man in the school. He 's 
 keen on the things that matter to him.' But these profound 
 utterances did not proceed frequently from the mouth of 
 Tellier ; usually he was occupied in singing ridiculous songs, 
 making up nonsensical stories, or imitating the masters, 
 for he was a superb mimic. Denis found inexhaustible joy 
 in watching him, and he treated Denis as an equal and a 
 friend. Is there any one with French blood in his veins 
 who is not secretly flattered when he finds a sympathetic 
 audience ? Denis was really appreciative ; he admired 
 Tellier's extraordinary vitality so greatly that even the 
 memory of Lenwood grew faint, and he talked to him without 
 the least self-consciousness. Here, thank goodness, was 
 another person who was very much alive. 
 
 Denis soon discovered that Tellier's popularity was due to 
 his enormous optimism ; he saw the jolly side of everything 
 and every one. 4 Curds is a glorious man ! ' he would say : 
 
 ‘ he 's so splendidly surly ! ' Or again, after a whimsical 
 altercation with the matron : ‘ Old Mother Bowman 's a 
 
 fearful rotter, but she does know how to be decent to cats. 
 She goes up to London and finds one that 's starving, and 
 brings it down here and fattens it till it dies.' And apropos 
 of his form-master : ‘ The Shark gives us marks with decimals, 
 and often forgets about the decimal point when he adds them 
 up. It 's just a fluke where one '11 be in the week's order. 
 Sporting, isn't it ? Glorious uncertainty. It makes Curds 
 and Lenwood so sick that they aren't fit to speak to on 
 
6 4 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Saturdays. Horrid old Shark ! He babbles in his beard 
 like a mad prophet. He 's the joy of my sad life/ And 
 when the Shark came to see him he nearly killed Denis by 
 asking the master artless questions as to the relative merits 
 of the decimal and fractional systems. The innocent Shark 
 informed him that he had a genius for irrelevancy, and added 
 that M'Curdy had been top of the Lower Fifth for the pre- 
 ceding week. 
 
 Denis was quite sad when he became well enough to go 
 downstairs and sit in the dingy room that was full of bored 
 and rather dreary boys. His contemporaries seemed to him 
 quite uninteresting, and he read assiduously until the joyful 
 moment when he might go upstairs and listen once more to 
 the inimitable Tellier. Tellier was not only gay, he was 
 sympathetic ; he actually realised that there was something 
 interesting about this little, insignificant new boy, and he 
 made Denis tell him about his early life, and the moor, and the 
 shepherds who dwelt in the valleys. 
 
 ‘ Do you believe in ghosts ? ' he would ask. ‘ I do : I 
 mean, in ghosts that you can't see, not in the ordinary story- 
 book kind of rot. That place of yours just gibbers with 
 ghosts, I know. You ought to see the stones at Karnak, 
 and Plouharnel, and those places. If you go and look at 
 them at sunset they make your hair stand on end. When I 
 come and stay with my uncle we 'll have enormous walks 
 all over your hills. But I don't know when I 'll come : I 
 hate going away from my old mater in the holidays. She 
 isn't really old, you know, she looks like my sister ; all the 
 men here swore she was when she came to Speech Day last 
 term. Old Curds fell violently in love with her ; his great 
 eyes beamed whenever he saw her. Curds's mater died when 
 he was a kid * rotten luck.' He would look very serious for 
 a moment, and then he would seize a light chair and attempt 
 to balance it on his nose or his chin. He would get it balanced, 
 and begin to count rapidly ; then the chair would fall with a 
 fearful crash on the iron end of the bed, and a nurse would 
 rush in. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! you again ? ' she would say, trying not to smile. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 65 
 
 * Ecce iterum Crispinus * Tellier would declaim, rolling his 
 eyes dramatically, and ruffling his tawny mane. It was 
 impossible to be angry with him ; when the doctor attempted 
 it Tellier answered him with a kind of broken-hearted courtesy 
 and wagged his head in despair at his own sins. Two minutes 
 later the doctor would be plunged in an eager argument 
 about the team for the next foreign match, or the futility of 
 approaching a green with a cleek when the distance allowed 
 the use of a lofter. Tellier contrived, by uttering poignant 
 and persuasive cries, to lure Miss Bowman's new cat, a shy 
 monster, into the room ; he then adorned it with an Eton 
 collar and a pair of braces belonging to Denis, and sent it off, 
 as he said, to promenade itself in the gay world. The cat, 
 bewildered by its unaccustomed finery, put in a very smart 
 level hundred to the other side of the quadrangle, and sought 
 sanctuary beneath the pulpit in chapel ; whence it emerged 
 an hour later during evening service, to the immense delight 
 of all beholders. 
 
 So that Denis went upstairs every evening in delicious 
 expectation of some new absurdity. In spite of his prowess 
 with pillows and chairs, Tellier was not allowed outside his 
 room, but left his bed at tea-time and sat in high state 
 before a fire warming hrs considerable calves and talking to 
 Arbuthnot, who generally came to see him before fifth lesson. 
 Denis would wait downstairs until Arbuthnot passed the door 
 on his way out, and then would go up to his room. 
 
 One afternoon he was making toast with some other small 
 boys about five o'clock when the doctor came in. He was a 
 tall young man with a fair moustache and a quiet manner, 
 and was very much liked by the School and the Sanatorium 
 staff. He sat on the table for a few minutes talking to the 
 boys, and presently spoke to Denis. 
 
 ‘ Yorke,' he said, ‘ you look quite w^ell. You may go away 
 from us the day after to-morrow, and mind you don't come 
 back.' 
 
 ‘ Oh ! thank you, sir,' said Denis, and knew that it was his 
 duty to feel as well as to look pleased. Yet his heart sank ; 
 when he was back in the inexorable round there would be 
 
 E 
 
66 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 no more quiet days of reading, and no more Tellier. He felt 
 limp and inert ; the prospect of monotonous activity depressed 
 him. Of course, once outside the Sanatorium, Tellier would 
 not speak to him ; Tellier would be a god who walked to 
 chapel arm-in-arm with the great Arbuthnot, — a person 
 entirely different from the amusing buffoon with whom he 
 had grown so intimate. Of course there was Lenwood ; 
 but Lenwood, in spite of his visit, still seemed horribly 
 remote, and Denis felt that he had nothing sensible to say 
 about the books to their lender. Only the short poems in 
 them had really delighted him — he had attempted to read 
 Sordello ! — especially one in the Keats, an Ode to Autumn 
 with a verse that took you back to the hills so quickly that 
 you gasped ; a verse that was full of twilight, and the noise 
 of full-grown lambs, and the soft wind of a luminous evening. 
 But Lenwood would probably laugh at him for liking it. 
 He wondered if Tellier would really ask him to tea in his 
 study. 
 
 The doctor had only just gone when a head and a very 
 broad pair of shoulders appeared in the doorway, and the 
 voice of the mighty Arbuthnot was heard inquiring if Yorke 
 was in the room. Denis let fall the piece of bread that he 
 was toasting and turned quickly. Arbuthnot beckoned to 
 him majestically. 
 
 ' I want to speak to you/ he said. Denis followed him out 
 into the passage. As soon as they were far enough away to 
 give the boys in the room no chance of hearing, Arbuthnot 
 said : 'You Ye still sleeping in Boosey’s room, aren’t you ? 
 Well, when you go up to-night, you ’re jolly well to be careful 
 not to wake him up if he ’s asleep. Don’t forget, whatever 
 you do/ 
 
 Denis nodded, looking very much astonished. 
 
 ' Is he bad again ? ’ he asked. 
 
 Arbuthnot hesitated a moment. Then he answered : 
 * No. He ’s had bad news from home. Go up as late as 
 they ’ll let you, and if the light ’s down don’t turn it up. Go 
 to bed in your clothes if you can’t undress quietly. Good- 
 night/ And the hero, who looked extremely gloomy, de- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 67 
 
 parted down the passage. Denis, on returning to his tea, 
 had to undergo a fusillade of question and comment. 
 
 ‘ What did he want you for, Yorke ? ' 4 Going to play for 
 
 the School on Saturday ? ’ * Sorry you Ye liked by the 
 
 captain of the Fifteen ! ' 
 
 But Denis refused stubbornly to gratify them. His heart 
 was heavy with apprehension. And yet, he thought, how 
 funny he should feel like that about a man whom he had only 
 known for a few days, a senior, a god ! He ate his toast, 
 which had a strong flavour of cinders, in silence, and so became 
 even more interesting to the curious throng of small boys. 
 
 When, at last, he went upstairs Tellier was not asleep. 
 He was lying on his back staring up at the gas-light ; his 
 face had a strangely swollen appearance, and there were 
 great red rims round his eyes. For a moment Denis hardly 
 recognised him, and felt the beginning of a thrill of relief 
 because he had found a stranger in Tellier's place. Then he 
 went to his own bedside and began to undress noiselessly. 
 
 Tellier never moved, but continued to stare at the light 
 with those dry, dull eyes. Denis undressed with his back 
 turned towards him. He had put on his nightshirt when 
 Tellier suddenly began speaking in a voice that seemed to 
 belong to some one else. Denis shivered, and dared not 
 turn round. 
 
 * Don't think me a beast for not speaking to you, Yorke,' 
 he said. He paused, trying to find his ordinary voice. ‘ The 
 fact is, I 've had awfully bad news. That 's why.' 
 
 Denis turned towards him, but did not speak. After a 
 moment Tellier's lips moved again. 
 
 ‘ My mater 's dead,' he said. ‘ I got the telegram just 
 before Arbuthnot came.' 
 
 Denis stood there, looking stupidly at him. He had a 
 picture of Tellier's mother in his head, — a picture drawn 
 from the few things that Tellier had told him about her. 
 She was young-looking, and gay and awfully alive like her 
 son, and hated being away from him, and her eyes were dark 
 and true like the eyes of the little girl her niece. And Tellier 
 worshipped her. He was a creature apart at school, a kind 
 
68 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 of glorious, irresponsible vagabond whom every one liked 
 but no one really understood. She had understood him, and 
 God had killed her and left Tellier alone with that look in his 
 eyes, — like a wounded animal, — oh, so like some poor beast 
 hurt to death ! It was horrible. He tried to speak. 
 
 4 P'raps it 's not true, — the telegram,' he said, and then 
 hated himself, for Tellier writhed, and uttered the croaking 
 semblance of a laugh. 
 
 4 People don't telegraph like that unless it 's true,' he said. 
 4 I know it ’s true. I feel it. I wish to God I was dead too.' 
 
 Denis went to Tellier 's bedside and stood there trying to 
 think of some words of comfort. He could find none, and 
 Tellier did not seem to realise that he was near. 
 
 4 I am so awfully sorry, Tellier.' He blurted out the 
 sentence in a queer, rattling voice. Tellier moved his head 
 and looked at him for a moment. 
 
 4 Thanks,' he said. 4 Turn the light down a bit, would 
 you ? ’ 
 
 Denis obeyed, and crawled into bed feeling utterly miser- 
 able. But though he shut his eyes and covered his head 
 with the clothes, he could see nothing but that bruised, 
 distorted face. It was impossible to sleep with that so near 
 you. 
 
 After he had lain there for an hour that seemed to him 
 longer than the most tedious night of waking, he ventured 
 to turn over in bed and look. ... In the dim light he could 
 just see Tellier lying in exactly the same position, and staring, 
 staring at the small blue flame. At the same moment he 
 heard the sound of whispers in the corridor, and presently 
 the door creaked. Tellier instantly shut his eyes. The 
 doctor entered, treading very softly, followed by Miss Bow- 
 man, who held her chatelaine in her hand to prevent it from 
 jangling. 
 
 The doctor came on tiptoe to Tellier’s bed, and bent over it. 
 
 4 Thank Heaven, he 's asleep,' he said, very quietly. 
 
 But Denis knew better. At intervals in the night he 
 looked at that motionless figure, hoping on each occasion 
 to find that the dreadful eyes were closed at last, but hoping 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 69 
 
 in vain ; and when he awoke after a few hours of unrefreshing 
 sleep, he saw that Tellier was still staring at the gas-bracket, 
 though some one had turned out the flame. 
 
 Tellier did not speak until the doctor came in on his morning 
 round, and then he said harshly and abruptly : 'I’m going 
 home to-day. Will you send round to the house for my 
 bag ? ’ 
 
 The doctor put his hand on his shoulder. 
 
 ‘ My dear old boy,’ he said, ‘ it ’s impossible. We can’t 
 let you go. Of course, we knew that you would want to, and 
 I talked about it to the headmaster and Mr. Hinton last 
 night. But you aren’t fit to travel yet.’ He paused, for 
 Tellier was sitting up in bed ; his eyes were blazing, and he 
 gesticulated like a madman. 
 
 ‘ I ’m going,’ he said. ‘ No one will stop me, and I ’ll kill 
 any one who tries. You don’t know what She was, — what 
 friends we were. I ’ll see her ! She may not be dead ; it 
 may be all a mistake, people do make mistakes like that. 
 She can’t be dead, — she was as strong as I am ; we used to 
 play tennis together all day. I tell you I will go ; I ’ll go if 
 I have to set fire to your damned Sanatorium to get out of it. 
 Beasts, beasts, to try and stop me ! ’ The doctor attempted 
 to reason with him, and then went away in despair. 
 
 He continued to rave until the matron came in. With 
 rather more tact than usual, she contrived to soothe him with 
 promises that the doctor would have another consultation 
 with the headmaster at once, and that she would order a 
 cab to be ready to catch the mid-day express to London. 
 Eventually it was decided that he should go. He said nothing 
 on hearing of the decision, and dressed and packed his bag 
 in absolute silence. The doctor and Denis saw him off at 
 the Sanatorium gate, but he said good-bye to neither of them. 
 Arbuthnot came running to the gate just as the cab started ; 
 Tellier did not even look at him, but sat staring straight 
 ahead with frozen eyes. 
 
 Thus miserably ended a delightful occasion, and Denis 
 plunged once more into the giddy vortex of alternate work 
 and games. But he could not forget Tellier’s face. 
 
70 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 VIII 
 
 W HEN Denis came home for the holidays after his first 
 term at school, Dr. Yorke met him at the little 
 station that was five miles from their house. As the train 
 slowed down, Denis saw him standing on the platform, and 
 felt a momentary sensation of surprise. How often during 
 the term he had thought of his father until he seemed actually 
 to see his face ! — at first with a bitter yearning, for it was 
 inevitably part of all the dear, homely things that he had 
 left, and latterly with a calmer sense of deep affection. Yet 
 when he really saw his father at last, that face seemed in 
 some way different from his dreams of it, not more stern, 
 not less friendly, but greyer, dimmer, less alive. 
 
 Dr. Yorke shook his son's hand and appeared pleased to 
 see him, but evidently he did not think that the occasion was 
 so extraordinarily important as it seemed to Denis. After 
 their first greetings were finished, he said : 
 
 ‘ Have you brought the parcels ? You would get my letter 
 by the last post yesterday.' 
 
 Then the exalted heart of Denis descended as a plummet 
 sinks in deep seas. His face became scarlet. 
 
 ‘ The parcels ? ' he said. 
 
 Dr. Yorke spoke with a little note of impatience. 
 
 ‘ Oh, my dear boy, are you as bad as ever at remembering 
 things ? Do you mean to say you 've forgotten them ? I 
 underlined every word about them. You must have got the 
 letter.' 
 
 Denis stood there looking the image of misery ; all the 
 long-expected joy of his homecoming was shattered in one 
 dreadful instant. For this is what had happened. On the 
 previous evening, as he was going out of the house with 
 Lenwood to hear the Lists read in Big School, the porter 
 met him and gave him a letter with his father's writing on 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 7 1 
 
 the envelope. At that moment the clock struck the hour, 
 and Lenwood, who was anxious not to miss any part of the 
 term's order, exhorted him to run. He thrust the letter in 
 his pocket, and obeyed. When they reached Big School the 
 headmaster had already begun to speak ; there was no time 
 for his letter then, and directly afterwards he had a dozen 
 different things to do before chapel. The awful result of all 
 this excitement was that he actually forgot all about the 
 letter in his pocket. That fatal document contained in- 
 structions for him to inquire about some parcels which were 
 presumably lying in the office at the nearest junction. 
 
 It was an unforgivable offence, he felt, and yet what very 
 bad luck ! It was mainly because he was so keen to see his 
 father that he had left his letter unread, but he could not 
 explain this ; he felt that his father wouldn't understand. 
 
 4 I got the letter all right,' he said, 4 but I 'm afraid I didn't 
 read it.' Then he added, with the lack of tact that is a 
 malady most incident to nervous and truthful boys, r I 
 was rather busy last night.’ This sounded extremely feeble, 
 and it would certainly have been better if he had explained 
 that his soul was lost in a whirlwind of excitement at the 
 thought of returning home. Dr Yorke stared at him in blank 
 amazement. 
 
 4 You never opened my letter ! ' he said. 4 Denis, you can't 
 be speaking the truth ? ' Denis had never in his life told him 
 a lie, but Dr. Yorke seemed still to live in expectation. The 
 boy groped in his pockets and produced the unopened letter. 
 
 4 Here it is,' he said. 4 I 'm very sorry.' 
 
 Dr. Yorke frowned. 
 
 4 It 's not much use being sorry, Denis,' he said, with one 
 of his sudden flashes of bad temper ; 4 and I must say that if 
 this is the way you treat your father's letters, I 'll take very 
 good care — I '11 not take the trouble to write as often as I 
 have done.' Indignation had an effect on Dr. Yorke 
 contrary to that which it exerted on the Latin poet) it 
 marred his power of articulate utterance. 
 
 Formerly, Dr. Yorke's tirades against Denis had always 
 begun on a note of wounded self-pity. 4 No one could have 
 
72 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 been a kinder father to you than I 've been, and now you go 
 
 and * etc. On this occasion, however, he did not use 
 
 the familiar formula, and Denis, in the midst of his contrition, 
 was conscious of a sense of relief because it was neglected. 
 It was scarcely the kind of remark that one wished people to 
 overhear in a public place. 
 
 ‘ I particularly wanted those parcels/ said Dr. Yorke ; 
 and then, in the same injured voice, he went off into a long 
 and elaborate explanation of the reason why the parcels 
 were so necessary. Denis sat by his side in the cart, and felt 
 that this return was a dismal failure. What an idiot he had 
 been about that wretched letter ! Yet, if his father had ever 
 been at a public school on the last night of term, would he 
 not realise that there was some excuse ? 
 
 As they drove on, the well-known face of his beloved hills 
 became more and more clear. They at least were true to 
 his memory of them ; there was no hint of change in their 
 lonely comfort ; each detail that became plain had a 
 responsive thrill of recognition in his heart. The village was 
 in sight when his father broke the silence that followed his 
 lamentations over the parcels to ask Denis if he ‘ liked 
 school.' Denis answered with a rather unemphatic affirma- 
 tive. 
 
 4 Have you made many friends ? ’ asked Dr. Yorke. 
 
 ‘ No, not many/ said Denis. ‘ Hardly any. But there are 
 two fellows I like. Their names are Lenwood and Tellier. 
 I told you about them in my letters.' 
 
 ‘ That is one of the things I want to speak to you about,' 
 said his father. ‘ They may be nice fellows, but they are 
 both much older than you. I want you to find your friends 
 amongst the boys of your own age. I wrote to Mr. Lister 
 asking him to see about this, but, curiously enough, he hasn't 
 answered my letter.' 
 
 Denis had a vision of Mr. Lister carefully arranging all the 
 friendships in the house. ‘ Now, Yorke, my person, there 's 
 Ellerton-Davidson, just you go and be friends with him. 
 All very well, my young ruffian ; but boys who speak to people 
 older than themselves will write out the lesson.' He smiled 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 73 
 
 at this absurd idea. Dr. Yorke saw the smile and did not 
 understand it. 
 
 ‘ Age doesn't seem to matter much at school,' said Denis : 
 ‘ men not much older than I am, who are awfully good at 
 games, are friends with men in the Fifteen and the Sixth. 
 But Lenwood isn’t really a great friend ; he lends me books, 
 that ’s all. He ’s clever. Tellier and I were in the same 
 room at the Sanatorium, but I don’t suppose he ’ll speak to 
 me next term. He ’s in the Fifteen, and no end of a god.’ 
 
 ‘ No end of a what ? ’ asked Dr. Yorke. 
 
 * A god, — an important kind of person,’ explained Denis. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! ’ said Dr. Yorke. ‘ I don’t care much for that 
 expression, Denis. What sort of books does that other fellow 
 lend you ? ’ 
 
 4 Mostly poetry,’ said Denis. His father was silent for a 
 moment. 
 
 ‘ I don’t want you to read much of that kind of thing,’ 
 he said at length. ‘ Poetry is meant for older people ; it ’s 
 a consolation for them.’ Dr Yorke’s excursions amongst 
 poetry were limited to the verse in the Spectator. ‘ You have 
 your school work, and that ought to give you enough reading. 
 I expect that is why you don’t make friends, — because you ’re 
 always reading. One of the reasons why I sent you to school 
 is that I want you to meet nice fellows, who will be friends to 
 you all your life, — open, manly boys like Bob Challoner. Why, 
 men come and stay with Mr. Searle who were at school with 
 him five-and-twenty years ago. You can make friends if 
 you like ; you mustn’t sit apart and mope.’ 
 
 Denis felt chilled ; this was an unjust description of his 
 life at school, yet it had a tiny hint of truth. He was painfully 
 conscious of being a very disappointing kind of son. When 
 his father asked him questions about football, he replied 
 in a listless way that showed how little interest the game 
 possessed for him, and he did not think it worth while to 
 announce that he had become good at gymnastics : the 
 School attached no particular importance to that accomplish- 
 ment, and his father’s point of view seemed to be exactly that 
 of the School. Dimly he began to understand that Dr. 
 
74 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Yorke had a fixed idea that he was not entering whole- 
 heartedly into the spirit of his new life ; yet after all, though 
 he took no pleasure in the company of his contemporaries, 
 he had worked hard, had earned a certain distinction at play, 
 and had found a new and absorbing interest. Life was 
 becoming more and more interesting to him, and was not that 
 happiness? Yes, if you were happily interested in things, 
 was it fair to accuse you of moping sulkily ? He felt that he 
 might have explained all this to his father, but he shrank 
 from the effort. His father had got that idea into his head, 
 and to drive it out would need a force of which he did not at 
 that moment feel capable. As is the case with many hyper- 
 sensitive natures, a mental reverse of any kind made Denis 
 apathetic. 
 
 The drive ended in silence. Dr. Yorke's face wore a 
 worried expression which was out of all proportion to what he 
 really endured ; he assumed it (though he would have utterly 
 refused to believe this if any one had hinted of it)' because 
 he felt that Denis ‘ wanted a lesson ’ ; and Denis stared at 
 the hills with eyes that a casual observer might have called 
 obstinate. He was really angry with himself for being at 
 cross-purposes with his father, who, of course, loved him and 
 was anxious about him. That abominable letter — his own 
 folly — had spoiled everything. If that had never happened 
 he knew that he could have met his father with words which 
 Dr. Yorke would have thought perfectly appropriate, that 
 he could have been enthusiastic about school. Those detest- 
 able parcels ! Yet would the words, the enthusiasm, have 
 been sincere ? 
 
 In spite of this depressing incident, Denis felt a real pleasure 
 when he entered the Red House. It seemed smaller than he 
 had imagined, but its dark panelled rooms were very warm 
 and homely and peaceful after the noisy form-room and the 
 long bare dormitory. When he opened the piano he felt as 
 if he were shaking hands with an old friend ; the portraits 
 on the walls — mediocre works in the manner of Lawrence — 
 looked down on him benignantly, and the bust of a distin- 
 guished physician in a full-bottomed wig seemed thoroughly 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 75 
 
 pleased to meet him again. It was good to think that you 
 need do nothing for a month but play music, and walk on 
 the moor, and lie in a chair by the fire thinking your own 
 entrancing thoughts. At least, it would have been good if 
 it wasn't for what had happened to Tellier. That was like 
 poison in the wine of delightful dreams. You couldn't forget 
 that miserable, distorted face and those eyes, those eyes. . . . 
 
 Early in the following afternoon be began to ascend the 
 stony track that led upwards to the moor. The sky was 
 inky with the promise of snow, and the great wind of the north 
 hummed an Arctic song in his tingling ears. The sound 
 filled him with extraordinary delight ; he thrust his cap in 
 his pocket and ran bareheaded until he reached the old quarry 
 with its dilapidated hut. There, sheltered from the wind, 
 he paused. His face was flushed and his heart was beating 
 violently ; this, he thought, was to be alive at last, after 
 three months' existence as quite another sort of creature ; 
 this was freedom that one could feel in one's blood ; life that 
 seized one by the throat and became a fire that burned through 
 all one's limbs ! He began to walk rapidly to and fro across 
 the moist arena of the quarry, and as he did so he found a 
 strange pleasure in recalling every detail of the evening when 
 he had last visited it : the rain, the pools on the ground, the 
 little girl, and the heaviness of foreboding that weighed down 
 his heart. The future had seemed to him then like a black 
 and sinister mountain through which he would have to dig 
 his way unaided, — and yet how easy it had been, after all, 
 that subterranean journey ! Nothing had altered in this 
 haunt of peace, and he himself was there, unchanged, except 
 that his heart had grown wonderfully lighter. 
 
 He remembered the silver pencil-case that he had hidden 
 amongst the stones of the hut, and was able to find it after a 
 brief search. He stood looking at the tarnished metal for 
 some moments. After all, he had altered ; he would not do 
 such a childish thing now. Yet he felt a queer satisfaction 
 in its discovery ; as if he had performed a certain ritual that 
 was the official symbol of his return. He remained in the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 76 
 
 quarry for a long time ; at the bottom of his heart there 
 lurked an absurd hope that the little girl with the pigtail 
 would appear. If she came, he felt, the memory of that 
 term at school would become even more dim ; he would be 
 absolutely his old self again. Yet it was worth having gone 
 through the term when it was the cause of one’s meeting 
 Tellier. Poor Tellier ! But how jolly to think that he was 
 the little girl’s cousin ! 
 
 After a while he climbed past the gnarled thorn-trees that 
 sang like harps in the wind, and emerged on the grim level 
 of the moor. The force of the gale took away his breath ; 
 the great guns of the storm were beginning to thunder, and 
 flying squadrons of dark cloud with torn white edges rolled 
 southward like navies rent in some tremendous conflict. 
 The small dry flakes that were the heralds of a great snowfall 
 swooped at his face as if they were angry live things. Blink- 
 ing and staggering, he leant against the wind until his hair 
 seemed to sing like the thorn-trees. For a moment there 
 would be a lull, and then it was as if all the air in the world 
 came across the moor in a succession of gigantic volleys ; 
 a copper light glared angrily near the horizon, and disappeared 
 as the huge flakes began to swirl down, in curves, in zigzags, 
 in interlaced spirals, in lovely columns that wavered and 
 broke into a thousand dazzling flowers. 
 
 He struggled on in blind and breathless happiness for two 
 miles, and then he turned. This was the moment of moments ; 
 the wind set two gigantic hands against your back and 
 thrust you along till you felt as light and helpless as a snow- 
 flake, and you could hear all that it was singing far more 
 clearly than when you strove against it. Sometimes its 
 voice was high and shrill, and full of wailing, and I’s and E’s, 
 but to-day it boomed and bellowed, and shouted words like 
 the Greek that Denis was just beginning to learn, — Greek that, 
 even if you only knew the meaning of a few words, gave you 
 wonderful visions of hoary rocks and purple seas, and the 
 long line of cranes sharply silhouetted against the winter sky. 
 
 That was the kind of language talked by the wind ; a 
 tongue full of glorious thunder. And it told you tales of 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 77 
 
 Lapland witches who sailed at midnight in sieves across 
 a luminous and mystic sea, and of snow-pale princesses 
 enthroned in dazzling palaces of ice, — white princesses 
 crowned with diamonds, who drove in sleighs drawn by 
 mighty reindeer with bells on their harness that echoed down 
 the glaciers ; but the princesses were lonely, and pined away 
 because they could never find the path that led to the warm 
 world. 
 
 It was dark when he reached home. He was covered with 
 snow, extremely tired, and amazingly happy. When he had 
 shut the hall door his father came out of the study. 
 
 ‘ You must be mad to stay out on a night like this, Denis/ 
 he said. ‘ Where on earth have you been ? ' 
 
 Denis explained. 
 
 ‘ I ’m very anxious that you should have proper exercise/ 
 said his father ; ‘ but that doesn’t mean that I want you to 
 rush about in a snowstorm. I wish you would try and 
 cultivate a little commonsense. What were you doing on the 
 moor ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, thinking/ answered Denis. 
 
 * Thinking ! ’ echoed Dr. Yorke. ‘ Do you mean to tell 
 me that you go up there on a day like this to think ? ’ He 
 began to wonder if Denis had acquired a taste for cigarettes. 
 
 ‘ Is that true ? 9 he demanded, frowning. 
 
 ‘ Well, not exactly thinking/ said Denis ; ‘ making up sort 
 
 of stories. The wind up there ’ he paused. It was 
 
 hopeless to try and explain. He began to rub his boots on 
 the mat. 
 
 ‘ I wish you would try to be sensible, Denis/ said Dr. 
 Yorke, and went into the study. Denis continued the dream 
 of Lapland witches whilst he took off his boots. 
 
78 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 IX 
 
 O N Christmas Day his father gave him a cricket-bat, 
 and Gabriel Searle sent him Palgrave’s Golden 
 Treasury and Schubert's Klavier-Compositionen. As he sat 
 in church he looked about, I am afraid, for the little girl and 
 her enormous father, but in vain. On the way home he asked 
 Dr. Yorke why they were not there. 
 
 * For the very good reason/ said Dr. Yorke, ‘ or, rather, 
 for the very bad reason, that they are Roman Catholics.' 
 He acknowledged the greetings of a group of men at the 
 corner of the churchyard, and continued : 4 That 's partly 
 why I don't want you to see much of the little girl, however 
 nice she is. . . . Those people are never quite the same. 
 There 's always something underhand about them, — a sort 
 of cunning. Is that boy at school a Roman Catholic ? ' 
 
 1 Tellier ? ' said Denis. ' No, not that I know of. He goes 
 to chapel like every one else.' 
 
 1 Oh,’ said Dr. Yorke. ‘ Well, if ever you meet Mr. Duroy, 
 and he says anything about that kind of thing to you, you 're 
 to tell me at once.' And with this injunction Dr. Yorke 
 dropped the subject, and they went home to an Anglican 
 dinner of turkey and plum-pudding beneath walls that were 
 adorned with Protestant mistletoe and holly. 
 
 A day or two afterwards Denis received a note, written in 
 characters which rather resembled an irregular series of 
 old-fashioned croquet-hoops, inviting him to come to tea at 
 a cottage which was called Parnasse, and signed with the 
 name of Rosalind Duroy. There was a postscript which 
 said : 'Noel has written about how kind you were to him at 
 school,' and this made Denis laugh. Noel, of course, was 
 Tellier • as if he could be kind to Tellier, the universally 
 beloved, the god (as Dr. Yorke wouldn't have said), the friend 
 of Arbuthnot ! 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 79 
 
 Denis handed the letter to Dr. Yorke, who read it, frowned, 
 and remarked, ‘ I don't know that I want you to go, Denis.' 
 
 Denis began to look very much disappointed, and Gabriel 
 Searle, who was staying for a night at the Red House, smiled 
 wearily and took his part. 
 
 * My dear Yorke, they won't eat the boy,' he said. * I 
 never met any one less likely to proselytise than Duroy ; 
 he cares for nothing but art and polite conversation ; and I 
 don't think that nice little girl is going to lasso Denis with 
 her long pigtail and drag him down to perdition.' For Dr. 
 Yorke had confided his religious fears to Gabriel. 
 
 Wilmot Yorke grew rather red, fidgeted about the room, 
 and displaced furniture. Then he looked at Searle with a 
 worried smile and said : 1 I suppose it 's all right, though I 
 must say I don't like that type of man. He 's altogether too 
 florid, — too ebullient ; hasn't an atom of reserve. I 've 
 noticed amongst patients that people who haven't reserve 
 are always lacking in self-respect. Well, you can go this 
 time, Denis, but remember what I told you.' 
 
 * Oh, nonsense,' said Searle, rather impatiently ; ‘ it 's 
 
 good for Denis to go into society. They 're absolutely 
 delightful people.' He looked at Denis, who had apparently 
 fallen into a trance. Searle noticed again the firm lines 
 that invaded the boy's face when he was thinking, and 
 wondered what particular thought was at that moment 
 responsible for them. He leant forward. 
 
 * Denis, what are you dreaming of ? ' he asked quickly. 
 
 Denis looked up and smiled. 
 
 ‘ I was wondering what “ ebullient " means,' he answered. 
 Whatever it meant, he thought its actual sound seemed to 
 make it applicable to the people whom his father distrusted 
 and he liked. It would apply, he knew, to Tellier * yes, 
 Tellier certainly ebulled. Was it the grown-up way of 
 expressing the strange quality that always attracted him so 
 irresistibly — the quality that was not all vigour, not all 
 gaiety, not all independence, but a mixture of these with 
 something large and generous added ? He could not define 
 it, but when it was near he seemed actually to feel its presence 
 
8o 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 all round him. His father, apparently, felt it also, and 
 disliked the sensation extremely. 
 
 He had not to be in the hospitable precinct of Parnasse 
 for more than ten minutes in order to feel more bewildered 
 than ever by his father's attitude. How could any one 
 dislike these kindly people whose eyes were always smiling 
 at you, who talked jolly nonsense to each other, and made 
 you feel in a moment that you were a friend, and not a kind 
 of strange beast on probation in a dreary drawing-room ? 
 The little girl had run down the garden path to meet him, and 
 the big man had thrust his red face out of an upper window, 
 like a giant in a fairy tale, and shouted a tremendous welcome. 
 They had led him upstairs into a long attic where there was 
 a huge fire of logs, and a grand piano, and musical instruments 
 of all shapes and sizes, and a tapestry with knights in purple 
 armour rushing gloriously towards fire-breathing dragons 
 with red tongues, and pictures finished and unfinished, and a 
 white poodle with the temperament of an archangel, and 
 swords and books and meerschaum pipes, and majolica 
 drug-pots and a soul-entrancing odour of paint and tobacco. 
 For the first time in his life he enjoyed the sensation of being 
 a highly honoured guest ; he sat in a huge chair of carved 
 oak, lately the property, as Mr. Duroy informed him, of 
 the venerable and never-sufhciently-to-be-regretted Cardinal 
 Rospiglioso — a prince of the Church who had obviously 
 possessed, amongst other advantages, longer legs than 
 Denis, — and Rosalind curled up on a huge cushion at his 
 feet, whilst Mr. Duroy sat on the lid of the piano, and talked 
 to him with great waving of large plump hands. Oh ! you 
 couldn't possibly dislike them ! You couldn't even feel shy 
 after the first minute in their company ; there was something 
 in their quick way of talking and looking at you that killed 
 all dullness and self-consciousness, and the great room was like 
 a fairy palace where you became a freer, finer personage, and 
 forgot all about vicars' wives and daughters and the loneliness 
 of the Red House and of school. 
 
 They talked about school, of course, but they did not seem 
 nearly so much interested in all that happened there as in 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 81 
 
 his own particular feeling for the place. They were greatly 
 surprised to hear that Tellier was a famous athlete and a 
 person set in authority ; Noel, they said, had never spoken 
 of his own prowess ; and Denis thought that this was un- 
 expected and strange, and quite characteristic of Tellier. 
 Wonderful legends were told of his youth ; how he had 
 travelled everywhere with his mother in France and Italy, 
 Germany and Spain, a cherubic creature with bare legs, the 
 face of a Donatello angel, and a transcendent genius for 
 mischief, the scourge of Europe and European hotels ; how 
 he was lost for a whole day in Rome, and discovered in 
 Trastevere playing some game of chance with highly obscure 
 rules amongst a pack of ruffians who could have carved him 
 in small shreds as calmly as ordinary mortals cut up a salad ; 
 how he was arrested in quite impregnable fortresses, where it 
 was his habit to appear suddenly with a small cardboard 
 box painted to resemble a photographic camera ; playing 
 the part, everywhere, of a small Panurge, but without any of 
 the heartless malice that was an unfortunate defect in the 
 character of that hero. Now, of course, he was quite different; 
 he seemed to have grown old in a few days, had spoken to no 
 one, and hardly touched food for a week after his mother's 
 death. It was probable that he would come to live with his 
 uncle and cousin, for all his other relations were in France. 
 This was a noble piece of news for Denis, but it was spoilt 
 by an intimation from Mr. Duroy, that as soon as Noel had 
 finished his schooldays they would all depart to France and 
 never come back any more. 
 
 4 You 11 go away for good ? ' cried Denis. 
 
 4 Pour le bon , as you say,' answered Mr. Duroy. Rosalind 
 looked at Denis with her dark eyes, that were rather long and 
 narrow, and yet quite frank and sympathetic. 
 
 4 Why do you say that ? ' she asked. 4 Do you like 
 us ? * 
 
 4 Be silent, Mr. Denis, and spare our mantling blushes/ 
 said her father. 4 Women, as you have doubtless observed, 
 are superb anglers for compliments. This lady, though you 
 mightn't think it, is a painter, and if you want to be a painter 
 
 F 
 
82 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 of real pictures and not a decorator of Piccadilly walls, you 
 must go to Paris. ' 
 
 ‘ But we shall come back/ said Rosalind ; ‘ and while 
 we 're there you will come and stay with us. We like you 
 better than all boys except Noel. I can tell from your face 
 that you don't kill birds and things. Nor does Noel.' She 
 looked at him solemnly. Denis was greatly amused by her 
 air of wisdom. 
 
 ‘ How do you know that ? ' he asked. 
 
 4 Because I 'm a witch,' she said, ‘ a witch and a wizard.' 
 She placed her arms on his knees and, resting her chin on her 
 little clenched fists, continued to stare at him. Then she 
 turned to her father. 
 
 4 Do you know, daddy,' she said very gravely, ‘ he 's got 
 quite a French nose in spite of the Apostle of Respectability.' 
 And whilst Mr. Duroy was bewailing his fate in possessing 
 such a daughter, and comparing her unfavourably with 
 Gonerils and Regans and serpents' teeth, she extended a 
 sudden and snake-like arm and stroked the ornament in 
 question. 
 
 4 You don't mind my calling him that, do you ? ' she 
 demanded. 
 
 ‘ No, not if you want to,' Denis answered, and then he felt 
 a guilty pang near the lowest button of his waistcoat. He 
 had already realised that these dear, absurd people inhabited 
 a world which was contrary, if not absolutely hostile, to the 
 one where he had always lived ; and now he had joined the 
 enemy, and was actually encouraging one of them to laugh 
 at his father ! Had he become a mere time-server and 
 traitor ? Fortunately, the voice of his conscience and the 
 questions of Rosalind were interrupted by Mr. Duroy, who 
 flung open the piano and struck some immense and snarling 
 chords. 
 
 ‘ Do you like our piano ? ' he asked. ‘ It 's supposed to 
 be a Bechstein, but Rosalind says that when I play on it she 
 knows that it is really a Maxim-Nordenfeldt or a Hotchkiss.' 
 He began to play the most brilliant of Schumann’s Noveletten, 
 swaying his large body from side to side and smiling blandly 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 83 
 
 at Denis ; then he stopped abruptly in the middle of a 
 clamorous cascade of notes and sprang up. 
 
 ‘ Tea ! ’ he cried, ‘ tea ! 9 He left the piano, and going 
 to a table in the corner of the studio, took up a long instrument 
 with silver keys and a curved mouthpiece like that of a pipe. 
 He opened the door, stood at the top of the staircase, and 
 played a few notes. Instantly a cry of ‘ Bien, M’sieu ’ came 
 up from below. He returned to the studio and put away 
 the instrument. 
 
 ‘ A cor inglese 9 he explained to Denis ; ‘ the horns of 
 England faintly blowing, — most appropriate, you will observe, 
 as a summons for the national beverage. The tune that I 
 played is, of course, the potion motif from the first act of 
 Tristan . And here comes Brangane with her deadly 
 brewage ! ’ For the door had opened and a stout, jolly, 
 rosy-cheeked Frenchwoman entered with a huge tray, 
 which she carried majestically to a table near the fireplace. 
 When she had set it down she returned to the door, smiling, 
 with her head thrown back and her arms straight and stiff 
 at her side, like a well-drilled female grenadier. It did one 
 good to look at her, Denis thought, she was so large and kind, 
 and her white apron was so absolutely radiant. Very soon 
 she returned with another tray that was laden with amazing 
 delicacies, — eclairs , mille-feuilles, babas , — au rhum , I fear, — 
 and conical wafer-cakes which were almost tantalising in 
 their elusiveness, like the food that hungry men eat in their 
 dreams. The creator of these marvels beamed at her 
 fortunate patrons, thanked them, apparently, for being so 
 good as to allow her to exercise her art on their behalf, and 
 retired, with an additional smile for Denis. 
 
 It was the kind of tea that you remember at school when 
 your pocket-money has all gone, and the butter provided 
 by the authorities has a flavour of cheese. But even the 
 exquisite triumphs of Marie, and the tea with thick cream in 
 large white and blue cups, would have been nothing without 
 Mr. Duroy and Rosalind. The host did not follow the 
 fashion of Englishmen, who watch with a forced smile of 
 indulgent pity the powers of youthful appetite ; he ate more 
 
8 4 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 cakes than any one, and never ceased to laugh and talk, 
 telling Denis stories of life at his French Lycee, a place like 
 a penitentiary, where you wore a uniform and were watched 
 continually by pions through a slit in the door, and had a 
 good time, all the same. 
 
 As for Rosalind, she really upset all his theories on the 
 subject of little girls. With her pigtail, her plaid frock with 
 a black leather belt, which ought to have been ugly, but 
 somehow wasn't, her funny straight nose with its freckles, 
 and her great dark eyes with their long curved eyelashes, 
 she seemed to Denis the most remarkable person that he had 
 ever encountered. She had a queer habit of watching you 
 very earnestly when you were talking, staring at you with 
 parted lips that gave you a glimpse of two rows of small 
 white teeth, and then, if she was interested in anything you 
 said, you could see a light growing and growing in her eyes, 
 like the lamp of a diver who steadily rises towards the surface 
 of a sombre lake. Her laughter was quiet and mellow, and 
 curiously like that of her father ; she never seemed to grow 
 excited or to scream. Denis found her delightful, but she 
 puzzled him ; beneath all her dainty and amusing ways 
 there was a strange something in reserve, he thought * a 
 premature wisdom, a kind of self-confidence which wasn't 
 conceit ; and this made him at moments think of Mr. Duroy 
 as her younger brother who had grown ridiculously large. 
 But in spite of this mysterious quality she ate a great number 
 of cakes, and laughed at her father, and looked at Denis with 
 deep affection, and lost both her shoes under the table, so 
 that Denis had to crawl on the thick carpet to rescue them 
 from the angelic poodle, and made several futile efforts to 
 put them on toes which wriggled like the tail of an agitated 
 chrysalis. Whilst he was crawling he heard Rosalind say 
 to her father, ‘ Daddy, he likes us ! ' in a tone of intense 
 conviction. This, too, seemed strange to him when he 
 thought it over on his way home. Most little girls, he felt, 
 would have said, ‘ I like him,' or ‘ I think he 's horrid ! ' 
 
 After tea they sat round the fire in chairs that seemed to 
 Denis three couches of cloud. Mr. Duroy smoked an immense 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 85 
 
 meerschaum pipe and strummed an ancient lute, a lovely 
 heart-shaped thing full of faint sweetness, that made you 
 think of faded roses and wistful people who walked very 
 softly at dusk in dim gardens where dying flowers breathed 
 out their ultimate sweetness. Presently he put down his 
 pipe and began to sing very softly. It was French that he 
 sang, but though Denis had only a slight and chilly acquaint- 
 ance with the grammar of that language, he did not need any 
 explanation of the text. The first note of that heavenly 
 voice sent the familiar cold thrill down the back of his neck ; 
 he closed his eyes, and all his body seemed to drink in the 
 beauty of those almost whispered words. The voice was 
 like the murmur of a calm sea at night, so soft, so sustained, 
 yet with such a great reserve of strength, — the whole vast 
 ocean behind its tiny line of vocal water ! And also, it 
 reminded him of Rosalind ; of the something that lay beneath 
 her gentleness and pretty, gay gestures ; she seemed to be 
 in some strange way the living embodiment of her father's 
 music. He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was 
 almost lost in the depths of a great chair, — sitting in a 
 highly unconventional attitude, with one foot swinging very 
 slowly and the other tucked away beneath a knee. Her 
 face was in deep shadow, but he could just see the gleam in 
 her dark eyes, and knew, somehow, that the music made her 
 feel what he felt. He looked away swiftly, turning towards 
 the singer. 
 
 Et sHl revenait un jour 
 Que faut-il lui dire ? 
 
 — Dites-lui qu’on Vattendit 
 Jusqu'a den mourir . . . 
 
 Et sHl m'interroge encore 
 Sans me reconnaitre ? 
 
 — Parlez-lui comme une soeur , 
 
 II souffre peut-etre . . . 
 
 The perfect voice rose with the question and sank to a 
 murmur with the answer in that sad colloquy ; the lute 
 followed slowly with strange, poignant chords. Denis sat 
 very still, with his hands tightly clasped round his knees. 
 
86 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 He was enthralled by the magic of the sound, yet even then 
 some critical instinct seemed to tell him that what he heard 
 was not only lovely, but absolutely right ; perfect and com- 
 plete in its own way. This was greatness, though it was 
 expressed in a tiny song, whereas when Mr. Searle played 
 something vast — one of the later sonatas of Beethoven, 
 for instance — he made it seem merely clever. 
 
 Et s'il veut savoir pourquoi 
 La salle est deserte ? 
 
 — Montrez-lui la lampe eteinte 
 Et la porte ouverte . . . 
 
 The voice sank to the very edge of silence, and remained 
 there, like a bird poised on motionless wings above some dark 
 gulf. 
 
 Et sHl m'interroge alors 
 Sur la derniere heure ? 
 
 — Dites-lui que fai souri 
 De peur quHl ne pleure . . . 
 
 Quite abruptly, with one deep note on a bass string, the 
 song ceased. There was silence in the room for a little while, 
 and then the tension was broken by a melodious sigh from 
 the poodle. Mr. Duroy laid down the lute and laughed 
 softly. 
 
 * Narcisse,' he said to the dog, ‘ music to hear, why hearest 
 thou music sadly ? ' Narcisse rose, went towards his master, 
 and laying his head on his knee, gazed at him with eyes full 
 of unutterable affection. ‘ You liked that ? ' Mr. Duroy 
 asked Denis. ‘ The words are by a man called Maeterlinck. ' 
 
 ‘ But w r ho did the music ? ' asked Denis. 
 
 ‘ Oh, the music,' said Mr. Duroy disdainfully. ‘ That kind 
 of thing is one of our innumerable useless accomplishments. 
 Rosalind and I rather go in for uselessness. Rise, little cat, 
 from that somnolent posture, and show him what you can 
 do in our particular line. Narcisse, if you interrupt I shall 
 put you inside the piano with your more sensitive ear close 
 to the loud, big, harsh, booming bass notes. It 's the oboe 
 that he really can't abide,' he explained solemnly to Denis ; 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 87 
 
 ‘ it reminds him, you know, of the voice of one whom he 
 loved and lost/ 
 
 He took a very dark violin out of a smart new case, put 
 some rosin on the bow, and gave them to Rosalind. She 
 played, as Denis knew she would, extremely well, with her 
 little white chin looking very square and determined against 
 the dark brown wood, and a funny firm line showing between 
 her level brows. Her father accompanied her perfectly, 
 smoking his pipe and swaying his large body slowly from 
 side to side like a benevolent bear. She played several short 
 pieces by a Russian composer with a name that was like the 
 explosion of a Chinese cracker, and then, quite suddenly, 
 she put down the violin, kicked away a rug, and began to 
 dance. She had some clicking things in her hands that 
 seemed to have come there by magic, though possibly she 
 picked them up when she laid down the violin. Without 
 even looking round, her father had begun to play a queer 
 tune in a minor key with an amazingly fascinating rhythm, — 
 ta rum te turn, ta rum te turn, ta rum turn tum-a-rum-a-rum turn 
 turn , — a Spanish dance, as Denis learnt afterwards, from a 
 famous French opera. And she danced, very slowly at 
 first, then faster, and her pigtail gyrated in heavy curves as 
 if it were trying to keep time with her feet and was always a 
 moment too late. Her feet touched the floor so softly that 
 Denis could hear nothing except the staccato click of the 
 castanets ; the vivid colour of her plaid frock reminded him of 
 the variegated hues of Harlequin. Her eyes were dreamy 
 and half closed, and she looked very serious. She continued 
 to dance for several minutes, then said something over her 
 shoulder to her father, and abruptly sank down on the floor 
 and sat there, resting her head with agreeable calmness 
 against Denis's knee. The poodle came over to her, and 
 uttered a melancholy whine as she patted him. ‘ Do let 
 us have an end of all this musical nonsense,' he seemed to say. 
 
 4 And now,' cried Mr. Duroy, springing up abruptly from 
 the piano, * the little amateurs have done their worst. Let 
 the great professional advance to the sacrifice. Maiden's 
 Prayers and Battles of Prague omitted, by desire. No 
 
88 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 applause allowed during the movements, Narcisse.’ So 
 Denis played two of the Moments Musicaux of Schubert, 
 and found that the piano was very different from the spavined 
 instruments in the music-rooms at school, where you marked 
 the faulty keys with a spot of red ink as a reproach unto 
 the music-master. When he had finished, and his hosts had 
 poured elaborate compliments into his reluctant ear, Mr. 
 Duroy produced an oboe and Rosalind her violin, and they 
 made Denis play the piano part of a trio by some old Italian, 
 — a delicate pastoral full of piping shepherds and rippling 
 brooks and trees and laughter and sunshine on bright 
 meadows. The trio was quite a success, though Denis 
 broke down when Narcisse converted it into a quartette by 
 unexpectedly lifting up his voice. This was the end of 
 Narcisse ; he was thrust into exterior darkness, and a moment 
 later a volley of barks in the garden proclaimed his indifference 
 to the artistic paradise from which he had been expelled. 
 
 Then Mr. Duroy sang the Erl-Konig and the Doppel-ganger 
 and, by way of contrast, some delightful English folk-songs 
 and French nursery rhymes. And after this orgy of sound 
 was ended he pinned many sheets of brown paper on an easel 
 and did lightning sketches in red chalk of great musicians : 
 Beethoven, with his grand brow and splendid, sullen eyes ; 
 Wagner, all nerve, supremely intelligent, with a flickering 
 hint of shrewdness in his tense lips ; Chopin, the willowy 
 ghost of a man ; and then, suddenly, Rosalind with the 
 castanets and Denis at the piano, Marie, Narcisse, and an 
 amorphous monster with a pipe, several chins and eyes like 
 fiery circles, which was discovered eventually to be the 
 portrait of the artist. 
 
 At length Denis realised with amazement and disgust that 
 it was nearly eight o’clock. He rose to make his farewells, 
 and as he did so was conscious of feeling almost the same 
 sensation that afflicted him when he turned back towards 
 school after a long Saturday ramble. Mr. Duroy and 
 Rosalind entreated him to stay to dinner and promised to 
 lend him a beautiful Venetian lantern to guide him to the 
 village, but the thought of his father made him resist even this 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 89 
 
 temptation. They seemed really sorry that he was going, 
 and made him vow solemnly to come and see them whenever 
 he could. 
 
 ' We are here as constantly as two cabbages/ explained 
 Mr. Duroy. 4 Our business hours are from 8 a.m. to 12 p.m., 
 and we always welcome an interruption. If I 'm painting 
 when you call you can talk music to Rosalind, and if Rosalind 
 is making day exquisite with scales and five-finger exercises, 
 or designing a new masterpiece, you can play frivolous games 
 with me. Don't ring the bell, because it 's broken, and 
 won't ; walk straight in and do whatever you like or nothing 
 at all.' 
 
 And Rosalind kissed him heartily on both cheeks, and 
 cried, ‘ You aren't to forget,' as she stood hand-in-hand with 
 her father in the porch. 
 
 As if he could forget them ! 
 
 He could recall every moment of those eventful hours ; 
 he felt that the memory of the long room — its odour of paint 
 and tobacco, the firelight on Rosalind's face, the dance, the 
 songs, the poodle — would stay with him all his life. What 
 a splendid thought it was ! However dreary and stiff and 
 cold-eyed the people might be whom he met, he would know, 
 at all events, that the whole world didn't belong to such 
 creatures ; there would always be Mr. Duroy, and Rosalind, 
 and Tellier as champions of joy and kindness and good- 
 fellowship. How lucky he was to have met them, how un- 
 speakably lucky ! 
 
 His face was glowing when he reached home and his eyes 
 were very bright, but he did not say very much to Dr. Yorke, 
 and Dr. Yorke did not ask him any questions. It was the 
 doctor's custom to read a newspaper during dinner, — a custom 
 that Denis had known ever since he could remember. 
 
 That night it seemed strange to him for the first time. 
 He thought of the table where he might have been sitting ; 
 there was laughter, he knew ; Rosalind's eyes would shine, 
 Mr. Duroy would say funny things in his great, soft voice, 
 and Marie would pass to and fro with her sympathetic French 
 smile. There would be no rustling newspaper, no silence, no 
 
90 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 brown depressing walls, and probably no cold mutton. He 
 felt a vague sensation of resentment. 
 
 ‘ They asked me to stay to dinner/ he said suddenly. 
 
 Dr. Yorke looked up from his paper and frowned slightly. 
 
 ‘ You were quite late enough already/ he said, and returned 
 to the golden periods of the Prime Minister. Denis made no 
 further remark, and stared fixedly at an unpleasing print of 
 one of Landseer's least admirable pictures. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 9i 
 
 X 
 
 L ATER in life, when he looked back on those first 
 ^ holidays, it seemed to him that all their hours must 
 have been devoted to music at Parnasse and long walks over 
 the hills with Rosalind and her father. Rheumatisms and 
 influenzas kept Dr. Yorke busy all day long, and Mr. Searle 
 went to Switzerland to skate. Denis only met his father at 
 breakfast, at dinner, and rarely at luncheon ; Dr. Yorke 
 was always in a hurry at the earlier meals, and always tired 
 at the late one. Hard work and long drives in the cold air 
 made him irritable ; but he had ceased, apparently, to look 
 with such active disfavour on the new friends of his son, and 
 only reiterated perfunctorily his fear that the boy's perpetual 
 visits were becoming a nuisance to Mr. Duroy. Perhaps he 
 observed that the afternoons at Parnasse, where airy conversa- 
 tion and games with Narcisse would be succeeded by a really 
 strenuous hour with the pianoforte and the violin, had a most 
 beneficial effect on Denis's music ; perhaps he realised that the 
 boy seemed less fragile and dreamy since he had found this 
 new and enthralling interest in life. At all events, Denis 
 was permitted to pass the days as he pleased ; he played 
 scales and read Stevenson (ex libris A. Duroy) in the mornings, 
 as soon as luncheon was ended he walked very quickly to 
 Parnasse, eager for the friendly laughter of its tenants and 
 the hospitable bark of the poodle. Then, if it was fine, a 
 tramp across the hills, with much high argument and 
 occasional songs from Mr. Duroy, — splendid songs that shod 
 you with fire and made you step out like a giant at the very 
 moment when you had begun to feel the first hint of weariness ; 
 or, if there was rain, foils and a skipping-rope in the bam, 
 which had an excellent floor. Rosalind was already quite 
 an accomplished fencer ; she wore dark blue knickerbockers 
 and stockings and a smart yellow plastron which Denis very 
 rarely contrived to touch with his foil, and she tucked away 
 
92 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 her pigtail inside her mask. Her lunges were like flashes of 
 lightning, and her wrist never seemed to tire, though Denis's 
 would ache till he almost dropped his foil ; she was extra- 
 ordinarily supple, and would evade a thrust by a funny side- 
 long twist of her body that reminded Denis of the action of 
 a cat passing through narrow railings, and her eyes shone 
 behind the wires, as he told her, like something fierce in a 
 dark cage. But she was so very jolly — not in the least pleased 
 with herself — that you didn't mind a bit even when she 
 pinked you half a dozen times, and made you feel as if you had 
 weights tied to your feet and were using a rapier that 
 shortened when you lunged and grew enormously heavy when 
 you tried to parry. After an hour or so of healthy exercise 
 you were quite ready for tea by the studio fire, and after tea 
 came music, — really serious work, with groans and peremptory 
 commands for repetition from Mr. Duroy if there was a wrong 
 note, and stem attention to time, and no cheap pedal effects 
 undreamed of by the composer. Then, after farewells and a 
 promise to meet on the morrow, Denis would scamper home 
 beneath the frosty sky with his head full of Bach and 
 Beethoven, and the high notes of the violin that always 
 brought a flood of daffodil light about his closed eyes, and the 
 deep notes of Mr. Duroy's voice that seemed to drape the 
 whole world with royal purple ; and his heart would thrill with 
 the content that follows a day of intense, active happiness. 
 
 The end of these delights came too soon, — sooner, at any 
 rate, than the Duroys had imagined, for as the days of his 
 last week at home fled like leaves in the gale, Denis avoided 
 all reference to his departure. Even on the last day, though 
 he knew that he must tell them the truth at last, he 
 put off the fatal moment as long as was possible. It would 
 spoil the whole atmosphere, he felt ; the shadow of school, 
 with its conventions, and catch-phrases, and noise, would 
 brood over that bright place and ruin its memory for him ; 
 he wanted to keep on thinking that the boy whom Rosalind 
 called ‘ mon Denis ' was quite a different person from Yorke 
 of Lister's (school number 252). 
 
 They finished the evening with a trio for pianoforte, violin, 
 and violoncello (Mr. Duroy, as he modestly announced, 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 93 
 
 played every instrument in the world except the banjo and 
 the mouth-organ), and then Denis closed the piano and put 
 Rosalind's violin into its case, feeling as if he were assisting 
 at his own interment. Mr. Duroy was highly elated by the 
 trio ; he hugged Rosalind, and then came over to Denis and 
 patted his shoulder. 
 
 4 Do you know, maestro mio ,’ he said, ‘ that we were all 
 very good indeed to-night ? There isn’t any question that we 
 are all incomparable geniuses. But there was one tiny 
 doubtful moment,’ he went on, waving a large finger in the 
 air and then gently bringing it down on the top of Denis’s 
 head as if he were transfixing the ghost of a musical error ; 
 
 4 just after Rosalind wanted to sneeze in the scherzo and 
 wrinkled up her nose. But to-morrow — oh, the old cry of 
 the toiling artist ! — To-morrow we shall be perfect. Come 
 early, and we will walk early, have tea early, and play early. 
 Persuade your stern parent to let you stay and dine with us.’ 
 
 ‘ I ’m afraid there won’t be any to-morrow,’ said Denis 
 very grimly. 
 
 Mr. Duroy held up his hands in alarm. 
 
 4 Now don’t you go a-frightening a poor old man and a 
 nervous female,’ he said. ‘ There has got to be a to-morrow 
 in spite of Zadkiel and Nostradamus and Mother Shipton 
 and the Witch of Endor. I won’t hear for a moment of there 
 being no to-morrow, for isn’t it the birthday of the lovely, 
 the accomplished, the peerless and pig-tailed Rosalind 
 Duroy ? There now, I ’ve let it out, and I vowed that I 
 wouldn’t. To-morrow the ordance will thunder over Europe, 
 the bonfires will blaze on the hills, Narcisse will have a new 
 blue ribbon, and Marie will finally ruin her complexion in 
 the oven. Rosalind will attain the mellow, genial age of 
 thirteen, and we ’ll have a snapdragon all to ourselves with 
 a string tied to each threepenny bit to preserve our tuneful 
 diaphragms. No to-morrow, indeed ! ’ 
 
 But Rosalind had been watching the boy’s face. ‘ Daddy,’ 
 she said suddenly, ‘ he ’s going back to school. That ’s 
 what he means.’ 
 
 Mr. Duroy stared at Denis with immense round eyes, and 
 Denis nodded slowly. 
 
94 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ' That 's it/ he said. ‘ I 'm going back to school/ 
 
 ‘Oh!’ said Mr. Duroy. ‘ Oh ! This just crumples up 
 the whole universe. But why didn't you tell us, Denis ? 
 We would have advanced the feast, even at the risk of making 
 Rosalind an old woman before her time/ 
 
 Denis was silent for a moment. 
 
 ‘ I couldn't/ he said, 4 somehow I felt as if it would spoil 
 everything. For me, you know. I 'm awfully sorry/ 
 Then his eyes fell on Narcisse, who had been re-admitted 
 after the conclusion of the trio, and stood near them wagging 
 his tail and looking at them with an air of artless sympathy. 
 For some occult reason the aspect of that homely hound 
 seemed to make the thought of the world into which he was 
 going additionally dark and comfortless to Denis. He stooped 
 and patted the dog. 
 
 ‘ Oh dear, what a black birthday we 're going to have ! ' 
 said Mr. Duroy ; ‘ and it would have been so jolly. This 
 comes of trying to plan surprises in a cut-and-dried 'world of 
 convention and time-tables.' 
 
 ‘ There won't be any birthday,' said Rosalind with con- 
 viction. ‘ I shall put it off till he comes back. Narcisse 
 has a birthday in April and I shall change with him. Marie 
 shall put his name in pink sugar on my cake.' 
 
 ‘ Brief is the life of brutes and full of tears,' declaimed Mr. 
 Duroy. ‘ Narcisse can't afford to play scapedog in that way 
 very often, Rosalind. As for you, Denis, I regard you with 
 the dark eye of reproachfulness. Your beastly reticence 
 has made Marie labour in vain and effected a serious alteration 
 in the age of my undutiful daughter. Retire for ever from 
 our presence. No, don't retire ; we must have another 
 conquest of that trio. When will you come back ? Is it 
 in April ? ' 
 
 ‘ Yes,' said Denis, ‘ on the 18th.' 
 
 ‘Oh! ' cried Rosalind mournfully. ‘ It 's years ! I 
 can't wait till then.' 
 
 ‘ Now, I protest ! ' said her father. ‘ You really mustn't 
 make him imagine that he is indispensable. Pride is the 
 scourge of young and old. We don't want to see you ever 
 again, Mr. Denis, but if you do happen to be passing on the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 95 
 
 19th of April, we may so far unbend as to offer you merely 
 formal hospitality. A letter from you, if adequately stamped, 
 will find its way to our breakfast-table, though of course I 
 will not answer for its being read. In any case, don't forget 
 about the 19th, because that happens to be Rosalind's 
 birthday. If you don't come you will have to fight a duel 
 with both of us at once. Rosalind will be armed with an 
 epke, and I shall attack you from behind with a battle-axe.' 
 And Rosalind took hold of the lapels of his coat and said, 
 
 * Dear little Denis, you won't forget ? ' This was absurd, 
 for he was at least an inch the taller, but it made him feel as if 
 he had swallowed a handful of sand. 
 
 He went away at last in such a mental whirl that after- 
 wards he was almost certain he had shaken hands with 
 Narcisse and patted Mr. Duroy on the back. ‘ It was 
 splendid ! ' was the only articulate expression of thanks that 
 he was able to utter, and he realised, as he went home, that 
 it was absurdly inadequate to express his almost ecstatic 
 appreciation of the kindness of these new friends, these 
 comrades in art, who made him feel that he had been intimate 
 with them for a thousand wonderful years. He realised, too, 
 with an astonishment that atrophied all his powers to think, 
 that they were honestly sorry that he was leaving them ; 
 there was real affectionate concern in Mr. Duroy 's jolly face 
 as he stood in the porch, and when Denis had shut the garden 
 gate he heard Rosalind say in her funny quick way, ‘ Daddy, 
 he is so alone ! ' 
 
 Alone he was, perhaps, but no longer lonely, with the 
 memory of Parnasse as his faithful companion in long dull 
 hours, and the vision of his friends to lighten the darkness 
 of unsympathetic places. He wondered what he had done 
 to deserve all the good fortune which had resulted from that 
 chance encounter on the hills amid the storms of early autumn. 
 Did any other boy in the world ever have such friends as 
 these ? 
 
 Once again, however, his exhilaration vanished and 
 depression enwrapped him as he entered the doorway of the 
 Red House. 
 
96 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XI 
 
 T HE founders and arbiters of the public school system 
 who ordained that the life in these institutions 
 should be one incessant round of activity from the beginning 
 of term to its end have perhaps proved to be the children of 
 wisdom. To a healthy boy who can manage to keep his place 
 in the crowd without undue straining there is a tonic effect 
 in the absence of leisure ; and the sense of being a lively 
 part in a great and ever-moving body is an admirable enemy 
 to stagnation of mind. It is only the special case, the variant 
 from the type, who suffers when he is included in masses 
 that move by rule ; and if we are inclined to admit the 
 dangerous premise that any suffering can be good for' a young 
 soul, we may cheerfully conclude that the rough process is 
 justified if it turns the variant into a solid, ordinary person ; 
 or, if he is a hopeless rebel, at least teaches him that the 
 thorns of life are not tender to him who kicks. To be borne 
 gaily along the swift stream, doing your own little share 
 with the oar, is pleasant enough ; it is only when bad 
 weather, or incessant petty tyranny, or accumulated punish- 
 ments contrive to spoil the rhythm of your days, that you 
 begin to feel like one who no longer rows in the boat but 
 is dragged painfully through blinding and choking waters, 
 bruising himself in frantic efforts to regain his lost place in the 
 general scheme, and at last lying sullen and inert until some 
 one either lends a hand or cuts the rope that binds him. 
 
 For the first few weeks of his second term Denis found an 
 interest in the mere sensation of taking up the threads of his 
 school life exactly as he had left them. In spite of the 
 mists and rain of January that accentuated the ugliness of 
 the yellow buildings and changed the playing-fields into so 
 many marshes, there was something exhilarating in being 
 part of a formal system when you had gained enough experi- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 97 
 
 ence to avoid being hustled ; when, as it were, you could keep 
 up the pace without becoming breathless and bewildered. 
 There were certain persons, too, whom he wished to see ; 
 Lenwood, who was as saturnine as ever, greeting him at the 
 beginning of term with a nod and a cursory ‘ Hullo, Yorke 1 ; 
 and Tellier, the incomparable Tellier, who looked older and 
 less jovial, but nevertheless grinned expansively when he 
 caught sight of Denis in chapel on the first night of term, and 
 sent him an invitation to tea in his study on the first Saturday 
 afternoon. Denis went, and found, to his surprise, that 
 Lenwood was his fellow-guest. The other members of the 
 study were M/Curdy, the wild, shy Scot with a droll trick of 
 speech, and Lawrence, who was in the same house as Denis, 
 but was only known to him by sight. Lawrence was a most 
 superior person ; he had been in the Eleven for three years 
 and was a prefect, and had a reputation for ‘ side ' both in the 
 house and the school which was due to his reluctance to 
 speak to any but his intimate friends. The only occasion 
 on which Denis had come into personal contact with this hero 
 was when he had whitened the boots which Lawrence used 
 for playing racquets, and he remembered distinctly that 
 Lawrence had omitted to thank him for performing this 
 task. Now that the slave appeared as a guest in his study, 
 however, Lawrence's manner was wholly different ; he was 
 quite friendly, and talked volubly to Denis about the many 
 points in which Lister's was superior to any other house in 
 the school. He was just as decent to Lenwood, too, Denis 
 thought, though Lenwood was obviously disliked by the 
 prefects of Lister's, and had actually had an altercation with 
 Lawrence, which the latter terminated by walking away with 
 an acid smile. But now Lawrence behaved as if they were 
 old friends, and gave a satiric account to Tellier of the great 
 spectacle afforded to gods and mortals when M/Curdy tried 
 to teach Lenwood to play golf amongst the Heath ponds. 
 
 ‘ A loathsome scene ! ' concluded Lawrence with the inevit- 
 able high note on the adjective. Tellier responded with a 
 string of impossible scories about M'Curdy's life in Scotland, 
 where, according to all accounts, he dwelt in an impregnable 
 G 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 98 
 
 fortress, clad in a brief kilt and armed to the teeth, except 
 when he led the clan M'Curdy forth by night to hag-ride 
 and to moss-troop, whatever these extraordinary processes 
 might be. Full of blood-lust was M'Curdy’s heart, and 
 murder worked like a maggot in his brain ; but somewhere 
 in his vast interior he cherished a strange passion for a pale 
 princess of the north who had carrot-coloured hair and whose 
 name was Thomasina. But she scorned M'Curdy, being the 
 lineal descendant of a thousand kings and amateur lady 
 golf-champion of Scotland and the Isles. 
 
 Denis came away from the study feeling that the haughty 
 ones of earth were very much like every one else at school, — 
 friendly and delightful when you met them alone, but quite 
 different when they were ten or twelve gathered together. 
 
 He met Tellier very seldom after that day, though he always 
 watched his restless tawny head in chapel, where Tellier, 
 I am afraid, was rarely on his best behaviour. With Len- 
 wood, however, he became almost intimate, going' for walks 
 with him on Sunday, and growing accustomed to his habit 
 of producing a book from his pocket, slackening his long 
 stride to the slowest possible pace, and becoming com- 
 pletely absorbed in literature. The thirst for reading would 
 come upon him in the most unlikely places, — at half-time 
 in a game of football, or when he was walking over a level 
 crossing. The School regarded him as totally mad, but his 
 sharp tongue and strong arm secured him from molestation 
 by the tormentors. He lent Denis more books, and even 
 condescended to expound certain difficult passages in them. 
 
 So time went on, and Denis found himself gliding gradually 
 into a kind of apathetic contentment which he had certainly 
 not known during his first term. The little accidents of 
 schooldays lost their tremendous and threatening importance 
 the exhortations towards energy which came every week 
 from his father seemed to have no real relation with his life ; 
 he was going very comfortably with the tide, preserving 
 appearances in the form-room, working steadily at music, 
 and jealously guarding the scanty leisure that he was able 
 to devote to books and dreams. The house thought him 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 99 
 
 quite insignificant ; he excited neither interest nor animosity ; 
 the tormentors never troubled him, and his form-master found 
 him painstaking, normal, and rather dull. He went to 
 voluntary gymnasium three times a week, and showed a 
 certain aptitude for hand-fives and other court games. The 
 music-master noticed a change in him ; his technique had 
 improved steadily, but the temperament that he had shown 
 signs of possessing seemed to be in danger of eclipse. 
 
 He was contented, in a dull kind of way, with the even 
 monotony of his days ; life at school, he felt, would be 
 always the same ; he would attain no distinctions, but at 
 least he would suffer no violent agonies. If you couldn't 
 be brilliant and wonderful like Tellier, it was as well to be 
 completely insignificant. Defiant eccentricity, like that of 
 Lenwood, led to much discomfort unless you possessed 
 Lenwood's invincible contempt for ordinary popularity, and 
 the way of the harmless imbecile was hard at a public school. 
 The poor Toad's life was made a burden to him, yet even 
 he had a fund of inane cheerfulness that seemed to carry him 
 through episodes which would have driven a more sensitive 
 boy to the lowest depth of despair. He was the easy dupe 
 in every scheme of the tormentors. After kicking him in the 
 dormitory they would suddenly become friendly and invite 
 him to tea in their studies. He would go, and they would 
 compel him to eat a filthy galimatias of eggs and sawdust, 
 subsequently thrusting him out with blows and insults. 
 Their ingenious tortures made the heart of Denis grow sick ; 
 whenever he entered the dormitory at night he would find 
 two or three of them engaged in ill-treating the wretched 
 Madden. He talked to Lenwood on the subject, but Lenwood 
 seemed to have very little sympathy for the victim, and 
 aired a grim philosophy. * Some people are born like that,' 
 he said. ‘ Madden 's not meant for school, and his people 
 ought to have realised it ; but all through his life it '11 be the 
 same. There 's been some mistake somewhere ; he ought 
 to have fallen out oi his perambulator when he was a kid 
 and been run over by a traction-engine.' And he smiled 
 sardonically at the sorry figure of Madden trying to pretend. 
 
IOO 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 as he submitted to some new indignity, that it was all 
 tremendously funny. 
 
 On one occasion, indeed, Lenwood almost interfered. He 
 came into the dormitory in the evening to find the familiar 
 comedy being enacted in the presence of the small fry of the 
 house. Madden had gone to bed early with a headache, 
 but as soon as the tormentors appeared they pulled him out, 
 and compelled him to dance. The spectacle, if you happened 
 to be heartless, was not without humour ; Madden flopped 
 about on heavy feet, and grinned painfully. When he 
 paused and begged to be allowed to return to bed, the 
 audience threw various articles of hardware at him, and one 
 of the tormentors strove to arouse his flagging energies with 
 a cane. Lenwood pushed his way slowly through the crowd 
 and went up the dormitory towards his cubicle. As he 
 passed Madden he glanced at him, and said contemptuously : 
 
 * You fool ! Why don't you go for them ? ' 
 
 Madden looked at him stupidly for a moment, and then a 
 strange frenzy seemed to seize him. His face grew purple, 
 he stammered incoherent words. ‘ That 's it,' he said ; 
 ‘ if I did my duty to myself and the school I should smash 
 them, — damn them ! ' He whirled his long arms and 
 advanced towards the tormentors ; the house shouted its 
 amusement, the tormentors seemed to be surprised. But 
 even as he reached them his courage failed ; he stood there 
 hesitating, and they all rushed at him at once and beat him 
 heartily, and then he wept. It was no consolation to him 
 that Arbuthnot came in a moment later, and, realising what 
 was going on, caned the tormentors for being out of their 
 cubicles after ten o'clock, and threatened the whole house 
 with immense punishment ; he knew that he had had a 
 great chance, and that he had failed to take it. Lenwood 
 turned to Denis with a shrug. 'You see ? ' he said ; ‘ he 
 funks them. He always will funk now, all through his life. 
 It 's no good trying to do anything for him. He was made to 
 be the prey of every little cad and beast. He 's cowed, 
 and once you 're thoroughly cowed it 's all up with you.' 
 
 Denis felt that this was true. But how wretched it was, 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ioi 
 
 he thought while he undressed, that any one like Madden 
 should be sent to a place where he would become broken- 
 spirited for life ! Madden’s people, of course, had sent him 
 to a smart private school and then to Lister’s house because 
 it was the proper thing to do, without ever troubling to think 
 if their son was fitted for places of the kind ; whereas Madden 
 was meant by nature to live in the country and do carpenter- 
 ing — he was very good at carpentering — and never to be with 
 any people who could combine to torture him because he 
 happened to be weak and foolish. Why, oh why did people 
 make others miserable by doing the proper thing without 
 ever thinking ? 
 
 Yet little by little — the result, perhaps, of the new apathy 
 that was claiming him — he found himself beginning to regard 
 the career of Madden with something of the contemptuous 
 pity which marked Lenwood’s attitude ; Madden was 
 wretchedly foredoomed to failure, and it didn’t really matter 
 much what happened to him ; he had ‘ gone under.’ He 
 was aroused from this indifference, however, when he thought 
 of what Rosalind would say if she could know the whole 
 tragedy ; and then he half-realised that he himself had 
 changed in some strange manner, and that there were certain 
 flaws in Lenwood’s stern theory of life. How her eyes would 
 have blazed if she could have heard of that process of slow 
 torture ! If she had been a boy, he knew, she would have 
 done anything to save even Madden from the least pain. 
 Her standard for things was right, and yet — when you were 
 at school all the old standards did seem to alter most strangely! 
 his father’s, for instance, seemed to have neither rhyme 
 nor reason as soon as you were within the four walls of the 
 quad. Oh ! after all, why bother about standards ? Why 
 think at all ? School was really pleasanter when you didn’t 
 think, but just drifted. Yet thinking used to be such happi- 
 ness ; could a place where it w T as better not to think except 
 about everyday events be really right ? It was certainly 
 better not to think about Madden, nor about the tormentors, 
 though the latter, apparently, were inevitable in school life. 
 All boys, said Lenwood (now aged seventeen), were either 
 
102 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 beasts or worms or geese. The geese were most numerous, 
 and usually followed and applauded the beasts. And what 
 about Arbuthnot and Tellier ? asked Denis. Oh, Arbuthnot 
 was such a grand beast that he never bothered to be beastly, 
 and Tellier, — Lenwood wasn’t sure, he admitted, about 
 Tellier. He was waiting to know him better. And then, 
 of course, Tellier was a Frenchman. He would become a 
 beast as soon as he grew up. That was the real difference 
 between the English and the French ; all Englishmen were 
 beasts when they were boys, and all French boys became 
 beasts when they grew to manhood. O monstrous, stale, 
 unprofitable world ! 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 103 
 
 XII 
 
 T HE adult intellect, which seems to its possessor to be 
 lost in a long monotony of grey and profitless days, 
 can always find consolation in the knowledge that life, even 
 in its drearier backwaters, is so shining and splendid an affair 
 that some spiritual adventure is certain to arrive before long ; 
 but to the eager, short-sighted vision of immaturity a period 
 of monotonous reiteration is depressing to the last degree, 
 and the hope of change seems to be mocked by every detail 
 of the day’s routine. Time, that terrific phantom which 
 only exists when one begins to meditate on its monstrous 
 identity, stands immovable for those who count the hours 
 instead of using them, and the preposterous truth that there 
 are only one hundred and sixty-eight of these enemies in a 
 week lends heavy importance to a couple of dozen of them. 
 
 Denis, as we have seen, had contrived to drift very soon 
 into a condition of comfortable apathy. For the first few 
 weeks of term the days seemed to flit past on noiseless wings, 
 and he felt as if he would be quite content to spend his life 
 in the same state, doing easy things easily, wishing for 
 nothing unattainable, and living as free from individual 
 effort as a wheel in a watch. But after a while the haunting 
 memory of certain events in his holidays became fixed in the 
 narrow landscape of his experience ; his mind was filled with 
 the echoes of old laughter and old songs, and one morning he 
 woke to find that all the pleasure which he really cared to 
 recall had been born in the cottage which the Duroys should 
 surely have christened Paradis rather than Parnasse. 
 Better than the voice of the winds and the sunset glow on 
 dark woods was the memory of that irresponsible household 
 and its gentle and friendly ways ; better than all the waters 
 of oblivion which flowed in the smooth stream of a regulated 
 life was the bitter longing for that sudden, brief draught of 
 
104 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 joy. From that moment his apathy melted like ice in spring, 
 and he began to count the hours, which promptly took 
 their revenge for this familiarity. The change in his tem- 
 perament became obvious. Before, when he had been 
 merely apathetic, he had worked steadily, though without 
 enthusiasm, at the ordinary routine, and had practised the 
 piano until the old music-master was almost tempted to 
 describe him in a report as conscientious ; now, he lost places 
 rapidly in form, and improved wonderfully as regards musical 
 expression, although he neglected to practise scales. 
 
 Perhaps, too, other and obscure influences were at work 
 within him. Certainly there was a new voice in the wind 
 that haunted the dormitory chimneys, and the pallid sun- 
 light of early spring lit up the fields as he returned from the 
 football-field or a cross-country run. Even the rain had no 
 longer the pitiless depression of November, but made one 
 think that it came to awake the sleeping things of earth, 
 and not to strip the reluctant leaves and make the paths foul. 
 Every Sunday, as he walked with Lenwood, Denis saw some 
 new colour in the garment of earth, but he thought the 
 country which surrounded the school the flattest and dullest 
 place imaginable, and only took an interest in the shy green 
 things that were coming to life in the hedgerows because 
 they were a kind of testimony to all that was happening in 
 the valley at home. Lenwood condescended to tell him the 
 names of certain obscure plants, and informed him that an 
 interest in such objects stamped him finally and irrevocably 
 as the finest possible specimen of the genus worm. 
 
 Long before, when he had been a very small boy indeed, 
 Denis had been possessed on certain occasions with a tremend- 
 ous sense that something exciting or uncomfortable was going 
 to happen. It was a sense which seemed, to the probably 
 partial estimate of his older days, never to have played him 
 false ; something always did happen, — something pleasant, 
 occasionally ; but more often something perturbing, — 
 perhaps the arrival of his aunt with the nasty little girl 
 who wore buttoned boots and had a peevish voice. He could 
 never exactly define this prophetic sensation, but it made 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 105 
 
 him feel as if his soul was holding its breath. Latterly he 
 had lost all but a very faint hint of this old sense, but in the 
 second of his terms at school — the Easter term — it returned 
 with a violence that was quite aggressive. Something huge 
 was going to happen this time, he knew, and he neglected 
 work and was listless at play, because he was wondering 
 what great event threatened him with its shadow. The 
 smooth-slipping weeks, however, went by without anything 
 to break their monotony ; and from wondering whether the 
 impending event would be pleasant or the reverse, Denis 
 passed to a state of passionate fear that nothing would 
 happen after all. If it didn't happen, he felt, — if something 
 splendid or terrible didn't come to deliver him from the 
 intolerable counting of heavy hours, — there would be only 
 one thing left to do. He would justify his prophetic instinct 
 in the manner of the truly wise prophet ; he would make the 
 tremendous thing happen through some action of his own. 
 
 Meanwhile the memory of Parnasse became more and more 
 an obsession. Before half the term was over he was per- 
 suaded that he could remember every word uttered by Rosalind 
 on every occasion when he had seen her, and every gesture, 
 extravagant or decorous, of her father. As for Narcisse 
 and Marie, they were perpetual phantoms of delight ; he 
 could actually see them if he closed his eyes when he was in 
 form. It was owing to this happy gift of retrospective 
 clairvoyance, perhaps, that he was described briefly by his 
 form-master in the half-term report as an unemotional and 
 somewhat sleepy boy. He showed immense interest in the 
 music which had been played by Mr. Duroy and Rosalind 
 during the Christmas holidays, but could not be induced to 
 take any trouble over the technical difficulties of other works. 
 The music-master found no further reason for describing 
 him as possessed of a conscience, but that singular adjunct 
 to his personality began to reproach him, though only at 
 intervals, with the strange fact that all his retrospective 
 vision was concentrated on Parnasse, and closed its eyes 
 on his father and his father's house. The hot blood would 
 rush to his cheeks as he lay awake at night and meditated 
 
io6 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 over this mental perfidy. He loved his father, he told him- 
 self, as much as ever ; yet the envelopes which brought 
 Dr. Yorke's letters seemed to contain also an evil imp who 
 sat on his shoulder for the next twelve hours and contrived 
 to depress him vaguely. The letters were full of advice 
 which had no sort of bearing on his actual life, but Denis did 
 not resent this. The same thing happened to other fellows ; 
 Lenwood’s people, for instance, were for ever exhorting their 
 bookish son towards extreme athletic excellence. Lenwood 
 would read the exhortations to Denis, and laugh in a way that 
 made the younger boy wonder why he really liked him. 
 Denis would have died rather than confess to Lenwood that 
 there were certain things in the letters from his father which 
 had a remarkable resemblance to sententious passages in the 
 improving pamphlets beloved by Miss Bowman ; pompous 
 phrases which, Denis felt, ought to have been sent to some 
 one else, for they were mere dead words to him. ‘ Be true 
 to yourself, then I can have no fears for you/ wrote Dr. 
 Yorke ; but what was the use of such advice when the boy was 
 becoming gradually convinced that his father knew nothing 
 of the self about which he spoke ? Denis felt that there 
 might have been some value in the sentence if a father had 
 written it after reading a diary in which a son's hopes and 
 desires and shifting interests had been faithfully chronicled ; 
 but to ask some one to be true to something which you didn't 
 understand, — this wasn’t giving good counsel, it was only 
 setting an intolerable conundrum. In despair, he tried 
 to put himself in sympathy with his father's attitude of 
 mind while he wrote ; tried to evoke an actual vision of 
 his expression as he sat over the letter in the study at the 
 Red House, and was more bewildered than ever. Did 
 people always become so different from their ordinary selves 
 the moment they set pen to paper, or was it the real self that 
 came out at last ? He had never left home before going to 
 school, and so was quite unfamiliar with this literary aspect 
 of his father. 
 
 A question of this kind, at any rate, was a durable form of 
 self-torture, and he began to combat it more and more with 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 107 
 
 warm reminiscence of Parnasse and with counting the hours 
 until he re-invaded those artistic portals. His old sense, 
 too, of some imminent event had not played him false. 
 The Toad, after affording a few more weeks of amusement 
 to the tormentors, was found one afternoon by a horrified 
 small boy in one of the Heath ponds with his heels in the air 
 and his face hidden among weeds and mud. The small boy 
 had sufficient presence of mind to haul him to dry land and 
 to rush for help ; and artificial respiration restored the Toad 
 to a world that had invariably given him more kicks than 
 caresses. He spent ten days, possibly the most peaceful 
 of his life, in a comatose condition amongst the luxuries of 
 the Sanatorium, and then died quite suddenly when no one 
 was in his room. The School attended his funeral, and 
 Denis saw the Toad’s father, a handsome old gentleman of 
 military aspect, walking rather stiffly behind the coffin, which 
 was covered with a huge wreath from Lister’s house. He 
 also saw two of the Tormentors, who were in the choir, singing 
 On the Resurrection Morning , and wondered how they felt. 
 
 The house, of course, commented freely on the event ; and 
 the general consensus of opinion was that, after all, it was about 
 the best thing that could happen to the Toad. Jolly bad 
 luck, of course, dying before you had any fun, but he would 
 never have done any good. Pretty ghastly, though, that 
 old chap behind the coffin. You ’d never have thought that 
 the Toad’s father would be like that. He was his only son, 
 too ; still he must have made him awfully sick. Old Lister 
 looked quite old and different. Williams said that he saw 
 him blubbing in chapel. Arbuthnot said in dormitory last 
 night that it was a rotten thing to happen for the house. 
 Do you think it got into the papers that he tried to commit 
 suicide ? It wasn’t suicide, was it ? I think he just fell in 
 and lay there ; had a fit, you know. Perhaps he was put in. 
 Oh, shut up ! that ’s a putrid thing to say ! And so on, 
 until Sports day arrived and the Toad and his tragedy rested 
 in peace. 
 
 The affair had a serious effect on the nerves of at least 
 one member of his house. Denis, since he could remember, 
 
io8 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 had never been near death, and all the dismal circumstances 
 preyed on his mind until he could neither eat nor sleep. 
 The last mournful pageant, with the whole School paraded 
 in honour of the strange dead thing which they had scorned 
 when it could move and speak, seemed to him a triumph of 
 irony ; he had a sudden idea that inside the coffin the Toad 
 was chuckling in his old dreadful way because the great 
 Arbuthnot was standing bareheaded and solemn in his 
 honour ; and he thought the obsequious undertakers, who 
 hoisted the body from the trestles with a loudly whispered 
 ‘ One, two, three/ were not like men, but seemed rather to be 
 black and sinister spirits who took possession of the dead 
 with a terrible kind of professional nonchalance. When 
 it was all over he astonished the impassive Lenwood by 
 abandoning himself to a long paroxysm of hysterical laughter, 
 and for days afterwards he went his various ways with the 
 eyes of one who walks in sleep. There were apparently 
 other things in life than Dr. Yorke’s phrases which were 
 meaningless. 
 
 He became listless and irritable, went down steadily in 
 his form, and played games with about as much enthusiasm 
 as a prisoner would feel on the treadmill. His form-master, 
 a person distinguished neither by sympathy nor scholarship, 
 began to regard him as lawful prey, and his health left him ; 
 he knew the peculiar sensation of wrestling with overdue 
 impositions when his head was aching, and all his limbs 
 were oppressed with heavy languor. The only consolation 
 that he found was derived from the books lent to him by 
 Lenwood ; but it was an anodyne which cost him dear, for 
 he began to read them when he ought to have been preparing 
 work and to dream of them whilst lessons were heard. He 
 relapsed into his old loneliness, shunning even Lenwood, 
 whose calm attitude of attainment filled him with helpless 
 envy. His own mind was a whirl of shifting opinions, and if 
 a healing thought came to him some tormenting devil seemed 
 to whisper that it was baseless and foolish. Amid the wild 
 ebb and flow of his emotions two things only gradually 
 became certain : that school was a beastly place where the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 109 
 
 weak were tortured until they died, and that he himself was 
 sick to death of it. 
 
 Dr. Yorke heard of the tragedy of the Toad, and wrote about 
 it to Denis at some length. ' A bright lad cut off so suddenly 
 in his happy youth, — what a terrible lesson to you all ! ’ 
 were his sentiments. Denis tried, and failed, to see where 
 the lesson lay if one took this impossible view of Madden’s 
 personality. If his father had known the truth and had 
 written, ‘ A wretched, half-witted creature persecuted beyond 
 endurance and allowed by God to get free from cruelty for 
 ever/ there might have been some sense in his comment. 
 The headmaster preached a sermon the main argument of 
 which was that, as they had seen, any one might die at any 
 moment, and therefore every one ought to be spiritually 
 ready, which seemed to be sound reasoning ; but as Denis 
 glanced at the impassively decorous faces of the School, he felt 
 that a man even greater than the Head might have used 
 words more simple and more in relation with that particular 
 phase of life to which they were supposed to apply. 
 
 A rather trivial incident contrived to be a factor in Denis’s 
 general condition of unrest. A certain boy named Halliwell, 
 an overgrown and rather stupid member of Lister’s, was in his 
 form, and, from motives that were not wholly disinterested, 
 worked with him during preparation. In order to become 
 more deeply acquainted with the beauties of the classic writers 
 Halliwell made use of certain inaccurate and lifeless transla- 
 tions which were forbidden by school rules. Denis had no 
 inordinate moral scruples with regard to this procedure ; 
 if you had to get up a lesson, and a crib saved you from 
 impositions and other woes, it seemed to him that a crib 
 was possibly legitimate. There was no question of unfair 
 advantage being attained by its employment, for every one 
 could use it, and most people did so. But he had found that 
 Halliwell’s trusty staff proved a broken reed in the hands of 
 its employer, and always preferred to elucidate Homer with 
 the commonplace aid of a dictionary and a grammar. On 
 one occasion Halliwell was sitting by his side during prepara- 
 tion, and since he had passed the first half-hour in drawing 
 
I IO 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 up imaginary football teams in which his own name figured 
 prominently amongst various internationals, he found him- 
 self at the end of it with rather less time than usual for 
 preparing the lesson, and was unable to find the place in his 
 crib. He pushed it over to Denis with the request that he 
 would help him, and at that moment the preparation master 
 saw those well-thumbed contraband sheets, and swooped 
 like an eagle. 
 
 ‘ Yorke,' he said, 4 is this your property ? * 
 
 Denis waited for a moment to see if Halliwell was inclined 
 to come to his assistance, but Halliwell was mute as the 
 unresponsive tomb. Denis thought the matter over briefly, 
 and then answered, ‘ Yes, sir.' 
 
 ‘ Ha ! a useful little work/ said the master, ominously 
 facetious * 4 but one, I 'm afraid, which is not to be found 
 in the Book-room. For how long have you been engaged in 
 studying it ? ' 
 
 Denis felt reckless because he was angry with Halliwell 
 
 ‘ Oh, most of the term, sir/ he answered. At least he could 
 show Halliwell that some people weren't cowards. But he 
 rather overdid his note of defiance. The master frowned, 
 and began writing in a note-book. 
 
 ‘ You will take this to your housemaster,' he said, ‘ and to- 
 morrow at eleven you will go up to the headmaster. For 
 a boy in his second term you seem to be remarkably mature. 
 Meanwhile you can stand out in the middle of the room.' 
 
 Denis obeyed, drearily conscious that one more cloud 
 was added to the grim skies of the life which he was beginning 
 to detest. He went to Mr. Lister's room next morning, and 
 saw that eccentric person in a new light. Lister spoke to 
 him with none of his usual circumlocution, but gave him five 
 minutes of very pointed monologue. Thence Denis pro- 
 ceeded to the headmaster, who set him an enormous im- 
 position, and threatened awful chastisement if the offence 
 was repeated. Denis emerged into the quad with the 
 sensation that he was a notorious member of the lapsed and 
 lost. In the form-room he met Halliwell, who, with rather 
 belated decency, offered to do half the imposition ; as if it 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 1 1 1 
 
 was the actual penalty that hurt one in a case of this kind ! 
 But some of the boys in the form-room knew the truth, and 
 administered righteous kicks to Halliwell, and destroyed 
 his library of translations. So that Halliwell remained at 
 the bottom of the form, was duly superannuated, and went to 
 Ceylon to practise agriculture with his uncle. 
 
 Denis found a certain consolation in telling the whole story 
 to Lenwood, though Lenwood, on the whole, was unsym- 
 pathetic. ‘ Regular Boy's Own Paper sort of chivalry/ 
 he said ; ‘ you ought to have sat tight till the little beast 
 was asked if it was his crib and had to own up. What 's 
 the use of a sensible person sacrificing himself for the sake 
 of an idiot ? The idiots never do anything for the decent 
 people ; if the whole thing had been the other way on, Halli- 
 well would have said it was your crib without hesitating a 
 moment/ This was probably untrue, but it impressed Denis 
 with a sense of the futility of his sacrifice and of everything 
 in general. Tellier alone brought comfort to his heart with 
 a few random words. / Hear you Ve been up to the great 
 arch-fiend/ he said when he met Denis one day ; ‘ Bohn's 
 translations ; I know them well, they 're the one joy of my 
 barren and profitless existence. You 're becoming quite 
 one of us. Don't look so serious, old Curds told me all about 
 it. Rather decent of you, the world thinks, but you are 
 decent. My sweet cousin says so in her foolish feminine 
 language. He knocks the cocoanut, rings the bell, and 
 receives the gold-mounted-walking-stick and twenty-four- 
 hour-nickel-silver-armorial-timepiece, she says, meaning you. 
 Good-bye. I 'm going to read my Bohn in the study. 
 What 's read in the Bohn will come out in the form. Come 
 and have tea on Saturday.' 
 
 But not even an occasional meeting with Tellier could 
 avail to exorcise the restless spirit that haunted Denis ; the 
 mere sight of that wonderful person seemed to emphasise 
 the dullness of his ordinary acquaintance, and he found 
 himself on several occasions almost disliking Lenwood because 
 his point of view was so different from that of the people who 
 lived at Parnasse. His critical instinct was developing with 
 
1 12 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 extraordinary rapidity ; in spite of himself, he found that he 
 set up a tremendous standard of perfection for every one, and 
 that they all fell short of it. 
 
 The obscure unrest in his soul increased with the coming 
 of spring. There were certain evenings in March when, 
 after a day of rain, the sky beyond the drifting clouds was 
 magnificent with sudden stars, and the wind had a pure 
 fragrance that was born on great plains and icy Alpine 
 fastnesses. Its voice, on nights like these, would fill him 
 with the same strange ecstasy that he felt when he heard 
 great music ; a half - delicious, half - intolerable yearning 
 would possess him, and on several occasions he was overcome 
 with a very boyish kind of shame because his eyes were dim 
 with inexplicable tears, and his heart was beating wildly. 
 How the fellows in Lister's would laugh, he thought, if they 
 knew of this ! But he was beginning to grow reconciled to 
 the dreadful truth that there was some defect in his tempera- 
 ment which made him an alien in the school ; all the influ- 
 ences which gave him a joy in living would be quite incom- 
 prehensible to boys and masters ; even Lenwood was dead 
 to them, and read his everlasting books without looking up 
 at the elusive wonder of the hedgerows and the faint greys 
 and greens that hung like mist about the woodlands. 
 
 Little as he knew it, his whole life had been a search for 
 consolation ; for an antidote, at first, against the loneliness 
 of his childhood, and now for a spiritual retreat into which 
 he could withdraw when he was almost lost in the labyrinth 
 of routine. Nature and music had hinted their secrets to him 
 at the age when a more robust lad in a more normal environ- 
 ment would have been gloriously content with cricket-bats 
 and fishing-rods ; he had found such actual happiness in being 
 alone on the hills that the love of liberty had become an 
 instinct, and now that circumstances prevented him from 
 gratifying the instinct his hitherto tranquil spirit rose in 
 rebellion. Added to this was the fact that he had met 
 certain persons who seemed to him the living embodiment 
 of perfection, and owed another grudge to school for dividing 
 him from them. His youth denied him the power of looking 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ii3 
 
 serenely ahead ; and to his mind, so precociously sensitive, 
 so tragically immature in its incapacity to realise the immense 
 part played in life by renunciation, existence seemed to him 
 a hopeless strife in which the arbitrary rules of his father 
 and of school were opposed to him in terrible array. Every 
 one who knew him except Gabriel Searle would have been 
 immensely surprised if they could have discovered the fire 
 that burned beneath that delicate and almost placid exterior. 
 The masters especially — those carelessly chosen shepherds 
 of so delicate a flock — would have been completely baffled 
 by his malady ; to them he would indeed seem to have eaten 
 of the insane root, for he was not ill-treated in the house or 
 the form-room, his impositions, a recent development, were 
 only the common lot of boyhood, and he was a passable 
 athlete for his age. It was ridiculous, they would have said, 
 for a small boy to kick against the pricks and possess an 
 abnormally developed individuality. He was obviously a 
 foolish little prig who would grow out of his idiocy in time. 
 But Denis was not a prig ; he was only a sensitive small boy 
 to whom solitude had given a mental development which had 
 nothing in common with what the world calls experience, 
 and also, he was an artist already ; an artist whose instinct 
 was rapidly awaking, but had not yet found its particular 
 and appropriate form of expression. Music was still too 
 much a matter of scales and exercises to evoke a complete 
 responsiveness in his temperament. 
 
 Even after the mournful tragedy of the Toad, his sense 
 that something terrific was about to happen did not leave 
 him, and he knew that until this fatal anticipation was ful- 
 filled he would continue to grow more and more restless and 
 miserable. Even tea in Tellier’s study failed to cheer him ; 
 he could only look with a kind of dull envy on the spectacle 
 of his host’s incomparable joie de vivre. There were mocking 
 voices in the March wind, and when he walked with Lenwood 
 on Sunday the school seemed to drag at his feet like a gigantic 
 fetter. He was wholly reticent about his own sensations, 
 and Lenwood found his company somewhat depressing. 
 
 H 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 114 
 
 XIII 
 
 B ECAUSE he was distracted and unhappy, he con- 
 trived to drop into many little pitfalls which more 
 wicked and more wily boys would have avoided successfully ; 
 and the punishments that followed curtailed his scanty leisure 
 and quickened his sense of the general injustice of life. A 
 glib lie would have delivered him from many difficulties, but 
 he was not a liar ; that form of cunning seemed to him to 
 demand such a tremendous amount of mental exertion. He 
 began to look on the artifices of certain boys — such as Chal- 
 loner, for instance, whom Dr. Yorke regarded as a really noble 
 specimen of adolescence — with a somewhat bitter amusement. 
 
 Challoner's language was nasty, and his life, it was believed, 
 even nastier ; but he was a big, handsome fellow with a 
 smooth manner, and was quite popular with the masters and 
 their wives. Dr. Yorke nearly always inquired after him 
 when he wrote, and lately Denis had been visited with a mad 
 impulse to report, in the nervous English of a public school, 
 all that was so confidently rumoured about his father's hero. 
 He refrained, however, from discharging this thunderbolt, 
 and replied that Challoner was quite well, and was a favourite 
 for the school quarter-mile. Perhaps he expressed himself 
 curtly, for Dr. Yorke wrote in his next letter : — ‘ Don't let 
 the success of others discourage you ; it sounded as if you 
 were rather — not exactly jealous of Bob Challoner — but in- 
 clined to be unwilling to do more than just mention his suc- 
 cesses. I know that before long I shall hear of my boy 
 achieving the same distinctions. You seem to be having a 
 very pleasant life ; don't neglect the more serious side. The 
 half-term report must be improved on. God bless you, my 
 dear boy.' Dr. Yorke seemed to possess a capacity beyond 
 the wont of Puritans for delivering a blow and a blessing at 
 the same instant. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ii5 
 
 This letter arrived on a Saturday morning, and at eleven 
 o'clock on the same day Denis received a harangue from Mr. 
 Lister, to whom he had taken an unfavourable report from his 
 form-master. Perhaps if Mr. Lister had not been obliged to 
 deliver a similar oration to at least half a dozen boys in the 
 course of a quarter of an hour, he would have realised that 
 Denis was rather a special case, and would have tempered his 
 eloquence with tactful advice ; perhaps, too, if Denis had 
 been in an ordinary condition of mental health he would have 
 observed that Mr. Lister was only airing his taste for pictur- 
 esque and hyperbolical invective. As it was, the master 
 thought the boy a sulky little brute, and the boy thought 
 the master a blundering old lunatic ; for Mr. Lister, in the 
 heat and hurry of the moment, read a slightly sinister meaning 
 into certain phrases of the report, and Denis did not attempt 
 to correct his error. 
 
 He went out of the study with new fuel added to the 
 smouldering fire within him. Oh ! to flee away and be at 
 rest from this perpetual round of misunderstanding and 
 petty trouble ; to climb some immense mountain that towered 
 serenely above a hateful world, and lie down and die ! His 
 mind had scarcely formulated this depressing desire, when he 
 collided violently with some one who was coming quickly 
 down the passage, heavy-laden with books. The books flew 
 to the ground, and Denis saw that their bearer was an 
 unamiable youth named Pinker, who had formerly been a 
 conspicuous member of the tormentors. Pinker wasted 
 no words over the situation, but flew at Denis and boxed 
 his ears with excessive violence. The blows sent Denis 
 staggering against the wall, and Pinker, being fearful 
 lest Mr. Lister should emerge from the study, gathered up 
 his books with one sweep of his arm and vanished into the 
 dormitory. 
 
 Denis had prepared the work for third lesson with care 
 and interest, but he descended quickly to the bottom of the 
 form, and remained there. His soul was full of a dull, un- 
 reasoning fury ; his head ached, and every living thing 
 seemed a malignant member of some monstrous coalition 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 1 16 
 
 that had marked him as its victim. He had gone too far 
 down the path of dejection to be able to console himself with 
 the thought of anything that he had once found pleasant ; 
 he cut his music lesson, which was fixed for half-past twelve, 
 and spent the hour of freedom before dinner in sitting at a 
 desk in the empty form-room with his head on his hands. 
 At dinner he ate nothing and spoke to no one, and when it 
 was over he walked like a somnambulist out of the quad to the 
 terrace that overlooked the playing-fields. 
 
 It was one of those days which give March a claim to be 
 reckoned as part of spring, in spite of blustering winds and 
 heartless reversions to snow-showers and dark skies. The 
 bright, pale sunlight flooded the fields, the dark boughs were 
 silhouetted sharp and intense against the clear blue of the 
 sky, and the birds were singing in the trees. A small tortoise- 
 shell butterfly, which had been tempted from winter quarters 
 by the soft air, fluttered across the terrace in search of non- 
 existent flowers, and alighted for a moment on the path near 
 Denis. But Denis saw neither the sunlight nor the butter- 
 fly, and stalked along with his hands in his pockets and his 
 eyes fixed on the blank and impenetrable barrier of the 
 future. He went slowly down the terrace, and had nearly 
 reached the corner, where a little crowd of boys was con- 
 gregated near the door of the school shop, when a most un- 
 familiar sound reached his ears, and made him pause in his 
 gloomy progress. He listened, and realised that some one 
 was playing a concertina. A moment later he saw a group 
 of boys which surrounded the musician, a swarthy lad, evi- 
 dently Italian, who swayed to and fro as he played, and 
 smiled broadly at the circle of unresponsive faces. 
 
 Denis recognised him in a moment ; it was the cheerful 
 optimist whom he had met on the night before he had first 
 gone to school. He was unchanged, except that he seemed 
 somewhat larger, and certainly more disreputable. Ognis- 
 santi sat on his shoulder, and stared apprehensively at the 
 circle of boys. One of them offered the monkey a banana 
 skin ; the little beast snatched it swiftly, then flung it away 
 with a funny gesture of disdain. The boys laughed, and the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 117 
 
 son of the Pope grinned enormously, and began to sing. 
 His voice was excessively harsh. 
 
 Denis pushed his way through the throng and stood near 
 him ; but the Italian did not recognise the additional member 
 of his audience, and continued to chant incomprehensible 
 things through his nose. Presently he sent Ognissanti to 
 collect pennies ; the monkey shambled round the circle, 
 holding out its little feathered hat and looking forlorn and 
 frightened. One of the boys threw an old fives-ball into the 
 hat, and Ognissanti swore at him in his own language, so 
 that every one except Denis laughed. When the collection 
 was over, the Italian swung his concertina on his shoulders, 
 placed the monkey carefully on the top of it, made a low 
 ironical bow to his patrons, and departed in the direction of 
 the field gates. Denis watched him go without attempting 
 to speak to him, but stood staring after his diminishing 
 figure long after the little crowd near the door of the school 
 shop had dispersed. After a while he went on to the terrace. 
 The Italian had nearly reached the gates ; he was walking 
 with a long, swinging stride, and occasionally he turned his 
 head towards the monkey on his shoulders. After he had 
 passed through the gates, Denis could see his figure sharply 
 silhouetted for a moment against the pale afternoon sky, 
 and then he disappeared beyond a bend in the road. 
 
 Denis felt like a prisoner who in his dreams has followed 
 the wandering feet of the spirit of liberty. He was conscious 
 of no amazement because of the queer chance which had 
 again brought him face to face with the vagabond whom he 
 had met so strangely on that wild September evening six 
 months before ; the encounter seemed to him only a bitter 
 and final proof of the irony of life, and fierce envy gnawed 
 at his heart. There seemed to be something fatal connected 
 with the appearance of this mysterious alien ; he had met 
 him twice ; and on each occasion his own nerves were racked 
 with the strain of anticipated or actual durance ; the Italian 
 seemed to be a visible embodiment of freedom which taunted 
 him with his own circumscribed and servile condition. Where 
 was he going ? From what strange hills would he behold 
 
1 18 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 the stars ? Perhaps even from the hills of home, where the 
 wind of March said friendly words in a great and turbulent 
 voice, and the lights of Parnasse were like the eyes of friends 
 that watched for you as you came. A sudden and irresistible 
 yearning to see him once more overwhelmed Denis as he stood 
 on the terrace and stared towards the deserted road. Yes ; 
 whatever happened, he would go after him and speak to him, 
 and stroke Ognissanti, and hear of all the places which he had 
 visited. Call-over was at three o'clock, but call-over didn't 
 matter any more. Nothing mattered, except that he should 
 listen to the voice of some one who was free, who had known 
 his familiar hills, and who wouldn't talk to him of school, 
 school, school. 
 
 He passed the gates, and half walked, half ran down the 
 road in the direction which the Italian had taken. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 1 19 
 
 XIV 
 
 D ENIS hurried blindly down the road for two or three 
 miles. Not far from the school gates three boys 
 who belonged to his form met him, and warned him that it 
 was nearly the hour for call-over. He passed by without 
 looking at them, and left them speculating jocosely on the 
 particular form of madness which had seized him. ‘ Yorke ’s 
 getting sidey/ was the verdict, and one of them threw a 
 small, sharp stone which struck Denis in the back of the 
 neck. But he seemed quite unconscious of this direct effort 
 to attract his attention, and pursued his way without looking 
 round. The birds were singing in the woods, but he had no 
 ears for them ; the only sound that he noticed was the voice 
 of a church clock which struck three. The thought that it 
 was the hour of call-over filled him with defiant joy, and he 
 hurried on still faster. 
 
 He saw no sign of the Italian. That irresponsible person, 
 no doubt, was sitting on the sheltered side of a hedgerow 
 sharing a belated luncheon with Ognissanti. Gradually, 
 however, the keen desire to encounter him was superseded 
 by the ecstasy of walking alone into the unknown, away 
 from school and its carefully charted hours ; if he went far 
 enough, too, he felt that he would be certain to meet him ; 
 the farther the better, since every step seemed to exor- 
 cise the spirit of depression which had haunted him for so 
 long. 
 
 Call-over was ended by now, he knew, and an extraordinary 
 paroxysm of pleasure swept over him ; at last, after days 
 and weeks of trivial events, he had done something serious 
 and irrevocable, — he had asserted himself. It did not occur 
 to him that from every ordinary point of view — from his own, 
 even, before this madness of revolt came over him — he was 
 behaving in an extremely idiotic way, and that his folly would 
 
120 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 surely result in an additional burden being imposed upon him 
 by inexorable authority. He felt only that serene bliss of 
 gratifying some irresistible desire which blinds the voluptuary 
 to every aspect of its consequences ; his enjoyment of this 
 draught of forbidden freedom was as sensual as it was defiant. 
 When, in the pageant of his whirling thoughts, the image of 
 his father rose before his mental eye, it filled him with no 
 remorse, and only quickened his antinomian spirit. He was 
 utterly sick of being misunderstood, of being regarded as a 
 possible athlete-hero, a blameless, ordinary creature with the 
 usual ambitions. The news of this escapade would at least 
 clear the air ; his father would find out at last that Denis 
 was some one quite different from the solid, respectable 
 person that he had imagined himself to possess for a son. 
 Denis marched gaily on, quite convinced that in doing so 
 he was scoring off every one in the world who deserved that 
 punishment. When he got back, he told himself, he would 
 write a calm and copious history of the whole affair, and send 
 it home. ‘ And I don't care when I get back,' he sang aloud 
 to a tune that was born of the moment's exhilaration ; ‘ I 
 don't care if I never get back.' 
 
 He ceased to wonder what had become of the Italian, and 
 abandoned himself to the complete enjoyment of his new 
 sensations. Presently he came to a small railway station, 
 and the sight of it gave him a delicious thrill. Here was a 
 glorious chance for further enormity ! To take a train which 
 would go anywhere in the world but to school would be a 
 really divine adventure, and as he thought of it the dingy 
 station seemed to become wholly involved in a rosy halo of 
 romance. Unfortunately, when he examined his pockets 
 he found that he only possessed a shilling, but already he felt 
 that Eldorado itself could only be a few miles away. The 
 afternoon was not far advanced ; he would travel into some 
 unknown country by train, and then continue to walk towards 
 the sunset. He terminated these reflections by going to the 
 booking-office and demanding where he could go for eight- 
 pence. 
 
 The clerk grinned, stared at his school cap, and then 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 I 2 I 
 
 named a station which could be attained for that moderate 
 sum. ‘ Unless you want to walk you 'll be just in time to 
 catch a train back here/ he said. ‘ Have a return ? ’ 
 
 Denis refused, and took an eightpenny ticket. The clerk 
 thrust his head as far as possible through his rabbit-hutch 
 window, and watched him depart towards the platform. 
 After about ten minutes a train came in, and Denis stepped 
 calmly into a third-class carriage. At last, he thought, as he 
 flung himself back against the cushions, he had put the 
 finishing touch to the splendour of his escapade ! He was 
 magnificently in for it now ! 
 
 When he got out of the train at the station indicated by 
 his ticket he found that the world which he had entered had 
 less novelty in its aspect than he had hoped ; but there was 
 a hill, at any rate, apparently about a mile away, and a road 
 wound across the valley towards it. Denis set out promptly 
 along the road, taking no notice whatsoever of the various 
 people who stared at him as he passed. After a while he 
 began to feel tremendously thirsty, and stopped at a cottage 
 to ask for a drink of water. A woman gave him a large glass 
 of milk, and warned him that it was going to rain. He went 
 on his way with renewed spirits ; the inhabitants of the new 
 world seemed a kind and hospitable race. A man who was 
 driving a kind of open omnibus overtook him and asked him 
 if he wanted a lift to the ground. The man had a red face 
 that inspired one with confidence, but Denis feared that ‘ the 
 ground ' would probably be somewhere in the valley, where 
 he had no intention of remaining now that there was a hill 
 in sight, so he refused the offer with thanks. The man then 
 added that the charge for being conveyed by him to the 
 ground was only two shillings, and after remarking that it 
 was going to rain for the rest of the day, drove reluctantly 
 onward. 
 
 His prophecy proved to be only too true. Very soon the 
 sunlight faded, a fine drizzle began, and by the time Denis 
 had approached to within halfway of the hill the sky was 
 dark and rain was falling steadily. But Denis did not care ; 
 this was the kind of thing that all Italians and sons of freedom 
 
122 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 had to endure ; the sound of the rain was only another note 
 in the grand chorus that liberty was singing to his enchanted 
 ears, for at school the headmaster was peculiarly fussy in the 
 matter of overcoats. He arrived ultimately at the foot of 
 the hill, feeling extremely damp in body but undaunted in 
 soul. The twilight was fading as he began to climb, but 
 there was a splendid aroma of wet earth, and he could feel 
 the breath of spring in the warm, misty air of the lane. In 
 spite of his wet clothes and a growing hunger, he did not feel 
 the least regret that he had come. It seemed to him that he 
 was like a prisoner who had broken loose at last and had found 
 his native country after long wanderings ; a funny idea, of 
 course, when you were in a place of which you were com* 
 pletely ignorant, yet wouldn't the prisoner feel at home in 
 any place where he was free ? 
 
 Halfway up the hill he paused, and sniffed the moist air 
 luxuriously. The last gleam had faded from the sky, and in 
 the valley below him a few lights twinkled out just as they 
 did at home. His mind had been working with amazing 
 swiftness as he walked, and now he began to formulate con- 
 clusions. It seemed absurd to think that only an hour or 
 two ago he had contemplated the possibility of returning to 
 school. The tremendous quarter of an hour in the train 
 had changed all that ; even if he had been so weak as to wish 
 to go back, it was impossible now ; school was a dozen miles 
 away as ordinary people measure space, but to him in his 
 present condition a thousand thousand. He had taken the 
 great step, and felt much the better for it. It seemed, after 
 all, such an easy thing to do, although the writers of school 
 books spoke of it with breathless accents of awe ! He was 
 somewhat astonished that he was not at all frightened ; 
 instead, he felt a really wonderful kind of being ; all his senses 
 seemed to have become extraordinarily acute, and he imagined 
 that he could walk for the whole night without feeling any 
 fatigue. Above all, he was conscious of an overmastering 
 desire to climb that hill. There was something symbolic 
 about it — its road seemed to lead up to a new and splendid 
 aspect of life. It soared to the unknown, and he was so weary 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 123 
 
 of the known. If the unknown proved, as so often happened, 
 to be a desolate waste, there would be a valley on the other 
 side, and then more hills, more hills. As regards mere material 
 affairs like food and shelter he felt no anxiety. The milk 
 given to him by the woman in the valley was a good omen ; 
 it was still early, and he had often stayed on the hills at home 
 until after Dr. Yorke’s dinner-hour. 
 
 Half an hour later he had reached the top of the incline, 
 and stood, as far as he was able to judge of his surroundings 
 in the dusk, on the edge of a large heath. A strange pale 
 thing was fluttering in the darkness near the entrance of the 
 lane ; he went up to it, and found that it was a small white 
 flag attached to an iron stake. The fact that the heath was 
 frequented by golfers seemed to detract from some of its 
 romance. He stood for a few moments, hesitating whether 
 to cross it or to redescend the hill and follow the valley, and 
 then he saw two wavering lights that approached him, and 
 heard the sound of wheels. The lights drew nearer and 
 nearer, like the bleared eyes of some nocturnal phantom, 
 and he drew aside to let the vehicle pass. 
 
 As it lumbered by him, he saw that it was a waggonette. 
 Two closely muffled figures sat under umbrellas behind the 
 driver. The lights shone full on him and half blinded him 
 as he stood there, and then thick darkness enwrapped him 
 like a mantle. He had stepped out into the road, when a 
 loud voice sounded suddenly from the retreating vehicle : 
 
 ‘ I say ! I say ! ' it said ; ‘ I could swear that was a school 
 cap ! ’ 
 
 Denis stood there trembling, unable to move. Life seemed 
 to forsake his limbs, and a cold perspiration burst out on his 
 forehead. He heard the driver pull up his horse, and the sharp 
 click of an opening door. Then strength returned to him, 
 and he began to run down the road. It was scored with ruts ; 
 twice he stumbled and fell heavily, and each time as he rose 
 he heard the feet of a pursuer. His breath came in choking 
 gasps ; the terror at his heart seemed to paralyse him. The 
 footsteps were quite near now ; he made a wild effort to 
 swerve to one side across the heath, fell over a furze-bush, 
 
124 the first round 
 
 and was hauled from the ground by a strong hand that held 
 his collar. 
 
 ‘ I hope you 're not a stranger who is merely running for 
 the sake of exercise,' said his captor, without relinquishing 
 his hold ; ‘ but it seemed to me that you belonged to Mr. 
 Lister’s house. Come along and let 's have a look at you.' 
 
 The speaker was a young clergyman who was a master 
 at school. Denis recognised his voice immediately ; he had 
 often heard him preach in chapel. A dreadful weight of 
 despair seemed to press down his heart, but even then he felt 
 that he did not care in the least for the punishment that was 
 now inevitable, he was only thrilling with bitterness because 
 his hour of freedom was ended. He walked in silence beside 
 the master until they reached the carriage and its lamps. 
 The master inspected him closely. 
 
 ‘ Your name 's Yorke, isn’t it ? ' he asked. ‘ I really have 
 capital sight. Why, you 're soaked to the skin ! What on 
 earth are you doing here at this time of night ? Did one of 
 the masters bring you to caddy for him ? ' 
 
 For poor Denis, who thought that he had penetrated into a 
 new and unscholastic world, had merely contrived to reach 
 a well-known golf-course where certain of the masters were 
 accustomed to play on Saturday afternoons. The driver of 
 the waggonette was the red-faced man who had tried to 
 persuade him to accept a lift to ‘ the ground,' and the muffled 
 figure on the back seat belonged to another master. 
 
 ‘ I came by myself,' said Denis slowly. 
 
 ‘ And did you get leave ? And why did you start running ? ' 
 asked his captor, in a voice that thrilled with interest. 
 
 Denis replied that he had omitted to get leave. ‘ And I 
 ran away,' he concluded, ‘ because I didn't want to come 
 back. I wanted to go on walking to nowhere.' 
 
 This explanation seemed to surprise the masters. They 
 stared at one another for a moment without speaking. Then 
 the young clergyman propelled Denis smartly into the 
 waggonette, and ordered the driver to proceed on his way. 
 In another moment the adventure was ended, and Denis was 
 bowling back to civilisation and dreariness. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 125 
 
 XV 
 
 M AD fellow, mad as ten thousand hatters ! ’ said Mr. 
 Lister. ‘ I give you up ; if it ’s any joy to you to 
 know that you ’ve reduced all my powers of understanding 
 to a jelly, you ’re welcome to it. I give you up ; I refuse to 
 think about you.’ He stared, as if for inspiration, at a fine 
 specimen of the Great Northern Diver which hung above his 
 desk. The Great Northern Diver gazed at him with an ex- 
 pression of fatuous benevolence. 4 You say you went there 
 because you felt that you must get away. Why did you feel 
 that you must get away ? We all have to stay here ; the 
 headmaster has to ; I have to ; we 're all tied with the same 
 rope. Who in thunder are you that you should calmly go 
 trapesing over the country as if it were your own private 
 park ? But there, I won’t pursue the subject. Is any one 
 bullying you ? No. Are you ill ? No. Does your aunt 
 live on the Easton golf-links ? No. Did you want to see 
 Mr. James go round in eighty-five ? No. There ’s only one 
 
 explanation, you ’re mad ; mad as ten thousand I ’m 
 
 not a specialist in lunacy ; I refuse to have anything more 
 to do with you. The headmaster must settle you, my per- 
 son ! ’ He flapped a red silk handkerchief wildly at Denis. 
 ‘ Go away ! go away and try to grow up into a sensible 
 being ! ’ he cried, and began to write madly in a mark-book. 
 
 If Denis had felt any interest in the question, he would 
 perhaps have realised that Mr. Lister did not treat his 
 escapade with all the solemnity that a serious breach of the 
 school rules deserved. Perhaps the housemaster was really 
 not such an arbitrary judge of the character of boys as he 
 pretended to be, and felt that since the adventure had ended 
 as it did there was no wisdom in adding fuel to the boy’s 
 obscure furnace of irritation. Denis, however, was now 
 involved in the dull bewilderment that so often follows some 
 
126 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 wildly impulsive act, and his comprehension of the attitude 
 of others was wholly dimmed. On the following day he went 
 about his ordinary duties mechanically and without resent- 
 ment • he seemed to have exhausted all his capacity for 
 feeling during his brief plunge into freedom. That wild 
 adventure began to assume some of the vague colour of a 
 dream, and there were moments when he began to doubt if 
 it had happened at all. Yet he was conscious also of a strange 
 sense of peace, as if, in spite of the laughter of a world, he 
 had been called upon to play some great part, and had played 
 it well. 
 
 The event became more real to him when he received a 
 summons to the headmaster’s study — a summons which 
 required his presence, not at the usual morning hour, but at 
 five o’clock. As he went past the collection of walking-sticks 
 in the hall, Denis remembered how he had noticed them 
 when, as a timid new boy, he had entered those austere 
 portals with his father, and it seemed to him strange that 
 he had felt so nervous then and that now he felt so calm. 
 Then he was a new boy with (as his father had said) all his 
 chances before him ; and now he felt like a very old boy, 
 and knew that he was marching towards dire punishment ; 
 yet it didn’t seem to matter. He had no idea as to the form 
 which his punishment would take ; Lenwood, who had listened 
 to his account of the affair with an expression of unwonted 
 and curious interest, had suggested that he would probably 
 be obliged to show up a copy of some great invocation to 
 Liberty every morning for the rest of term, and Mr. Lister 
 had hinted that the Sanatorium ought to possess a padded 
 room for his reception. 
 
 The study was empty when he entered, and for a few 
 moments he stood looking at various photographs of marble 
 gods and goddesses which adorned the intervals between the 
 book-shelves. The door swung open quickly, the head- 
 master entered, and strode rapidly to his table without 
 glancing at Denis. He turned over some papers, and then 
 sat bolt upright in his chair and said suddenly : 
 
 ‘ Now, Yorke, what does this mean ? ’ 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 127 
 
 That was the one question which Denis felt quite unable to 
 answer. He gazed at a white goddess and listened to the 
 clock ticking on the chimneypiece. At last he looked at the 
 headmaster and strove to formulate a sentence. Decidedly 
 there was something in the Head’s eye which, in spite of his 
 awful austerity, made him seem more human than the various 
 jocose assistant-masters who had achieved such wonderful 
 athletic distinction at Oxford and Cambridge. There was a 
 light, a queer radiance that in an ordinary mortal might 
 almost have meant sympathy. 
 
 It is improbable that the headmaster was also engaged in 
 speculation as to the meaning of the expression in the face of 
 Denis, but he waited quite patiently for a minute before he 
 spoke again. 
 
 ‘ Well/ he said at length, ‘ haven’t you anything to say ? 
 Ain’t you aware that you broke a stringent school rule in 
 going to Easton without leave ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, sir,’ said Denis. 
 
 ‘ And didn’t you know that you couldn’t get back until 
 several hours after lock-up ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, sir.’ 
 
 ‘ Did you mean to come back ? ’ 
 
 ‘ No, sir.’ 
 
 There was a long silence after this answer. The head- 
 master ceased to stare at Denis, and gazed at the book- 
 shelves which were opposite his table. His face was less grim 
 than Denis had expected ; instead, it almost seemed as if 
 he were afflicted by some private trouble, and wasn’t really 
 listening to the boy’s words. 
 
 ‘ You were alone ? ’ he asked at last. 
 
 * Yes, sir,’ answered Denis. 
 
 The headmaster suddenly pushed back his chair and leant 
 back in it with his hands behind his head. Then he fixed 
 Denis with his dark, authoritative eyes. 
 
 ‘ Now tell me why on earth you did it,’ he said, and crossed 
 his legs. The headmaster came of a family famous for its 
 athletic prowess, and it is usually difficult for a person sprung 
 from such an origin to appreciate the point of view of a 
 
128 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 neurotic small boy. Yet as he looked into that dark, clean- 
 shaven face Denis felt that there was something which 
 differentiated the headmaster from people who did not, who 
 could never, understand. And yet, — it was impossible to 
 explain the escapade. It had almost become inexplicable to 
 its perpetrator. 
 
 The tight lips parted, and emitted a deep monosyllable. 
 
 ‘ Well ? ' 
 
 The word had an effect on Denis akin to that of a starter's 
 pistol on a runner. 4 I went to Easton because it was the 
 place the man in the station told me,' he stammered. ‘ I never 
 thought it would be golf-links, and I wanted to get away from 
 everything. Everything had gone wrong, I felt I must go ; 
 I couldn't have stayed, at school or anywhere ; I had to get 
 away into a new place where there wasn't anybody. I 'd 
 been feeling like it for weeks.' He was silent abruptly, with 
 a queer gasp for breath. Yet even then he remembered that 
 he had omitted to say ‘ sir.' 
 
 The headmaster, at any rate, did not comment on this 
 breach of etiquette. He stared right down into Denis's soul, 
 as it seemed to the boy, and a peculiar expression invaded 
 his face. 
 
 ‘ Is that all you have to say ? ' he asked. 
 
 Denis was silent. 
 
 ‘ You were really running away from school, like the wicked 
 fellows in the goody-goody books ? ' inquired the head- 
 master, and this time there was a quite human sound in his 
 voice. Then he asked a question which seemed irrelevant 
 to Denis. 
 
 ‘ Ain't you longing to do it again ? ' he said. 
 
 Denis looked at him with wonder. ‘ I haven't felt like 
 that since,' he answered. To his immense surprise, a smile 
 began to dawn somewhere far down in the headmaster's 
 eyes and spread over his face. 
 
 ‘ I 've one more question to ask you, Yorke,' he said. 
 * Don't you think, now, that you 've been a most terrible 
 little idiot ? ' He continued to smile, and slowly and dimly 
 Denis began to feel the wonder and misgiving that beset us 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 129 
 
 when we view our acts from a startling standpoint to which 
 we are conducted by the magic of a personality stronger than 
 our own. The solid earth seemed to fail beneath his feet, he 
 stood there looking blankly at the headmaster, who forth- 
 with proceeded to improve the occasion. 
 
 ‘ Now/ he said, ‘ if you read in one of the goody-goody 
 books of a boy running away from a school where he was 
 getting on well, simply because he had a bad fit of depression 
 and got it into his foolish head that every one didn't appreciate 
 him, and because he thought he would somehow score off 
 every one all round by doing it, wouldn't you call him a 
 silly fellow ? And even if you read of a boy who had been 
 used to going about wherever he liked before he left home 
 coming to a school where there was a rule about bounds, 
 and feeling horribly offended by it, wouldn't you call him a 
 decenter fellow if he pocketed his rage than if he went walking 
 anywhere but in bounds just because it reminded him of 
 home ? It 's all very fine to be adventurous, and to be 
 moved by mad impulses, but at school we try to give you a 
 chance for all that sort of thing in games : we don't profess 
 to make heroes, but we do try to turn out sensible persons. 
 Now haven't you done a thing that any sensible person would 
 laugh at ? I don't mean any one who knows nothing about 
 you, but I mean any one who could understand all the little 
 troubles that you 've had, and all the queer things you may 
 have inside your queer, whirling head, — any one who knows 
 you as you ought to know yourself. He would say: this 
 creature may have had a run of bad luck and he may be 
 naturally an irritable kind of beast, but if he had a sense of 
 what was ridiculous, — and that 's partly what being sensible 
 means, — he wouldn't have behaved in a way that 'll make 
 him feel hot and foolish when he thinks of it a year hence. 
 You 've been ridiculous, Yorke ; and the best thing that I 
 can wish you is that you may some day be able to realise it/ 
 
 When you are a headmaster, of course, you have to say this 
 kind of thing in one form or another, but none the less the 
 oratorical shaft had a very salutary effect on the small soul 
 at which it was aimed. Denis stared with startled eyes at 
 1 
 
130 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 the marble goddess, and wondered why it had never occurred 
 to him before that his escapade had been merely funny. He 
 also began to imagine what Mr. Duroy and Rosalind would 
 think of it, and felt a cold shiver run down his back as he 
 realised that they would be quite kind and sympathetic, 
 but that they would certainly refuse to contemplate it from 
 a tragic point of view. So, of course, would Tellier. Yet 
 Lenwood, who had a real, though a rather grim sense of the 
 comic, had listened to the story of the affair with profound 
 gravity. With an effort he concentrated his attention on the 
 concluding remarks of the headmaster. 
 
 ‘ I ain’t going to punish you as severely as you seem to 
 deserve,’ said that dignitary, 4 because I believe that your 
 own conscience will do that when you realise that you ’ve 
 behaved like a buffoon. You will do the usual imposition 
 for absence from call-over, and the same for being late for 
 locking-up. Don’t let me hear of you again until you ’ve 
 grown wiser, and don’t begin to think that other people are 
 really less excellent than you because they don’t suffer from 
 irresistible impulses to do silly things. I ’ve had several 
 letters from your father lately, and though he worries need- 
 lessly about you, I believe he would agree with what I say.’ 
 
 Denis flushed scarlet, and his lips parted. The head- 
 master repressed him briefly. 
 
 ‘ That will do,’ he said. ‘ You can go, and I hope you ’ll 
 think seriously about the foolishness of being a young idiot.’ 
 
 Denis spent the next hour in walking swiftly round and 
 round the darkened quadrangle, and perhaps on the whole 
 it was the healthiest dose of exercise that he had taken for a 
 long time. There are moments in the life of a boy when even 
 a headmaster may seem an oracle, and may awaken, accident- 
 ally or by design, some faculty which has long lain torpid 
 behind his consciousness. The early life of Denis, with its 
 loneliness and its quickened instinct for self-taught consola- 
 tion, had abnormally developed his sensitiveness to impres- 
 sions from without, but it had left his sense of humour dor- 
 mant. He had never known the tonic spirit that so often 
 seems to be Nature’s recompense to members of a large family ; 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 131 
 
 he had always, as we saw long ago, been denied the inestimable 
 privilege of being hustled and jostled into a sound philo- 
 sophical attitude. School might have done him this good 
 turn if he had not contrived to lead a life apart even amid 
 its fever and fret ; but that which school failed to effect was 
 miraculously performed by a single individual in one short 
 interview. Denis went out of the headmaster's room with the 
 intimate, poignant, and altogether healthy consciousness 
 that he had been an unmitigated idiot. As he went round the 
 quadrangle the proportions of his idiocy became gigantic 
 and ghastly, — a theme for the laughter of suns and planets, 
 a phantom that could only be exorcised after innumerable 
 years of decent living and painful endeavour towards wisdom. 
 It was not so much what the headmaster had said as the 
 strange expression in his eyes when he looked at you that 
 made you feel ashamed and humble, — yet it made you feel 
 happier too, as if a great weight had been taken from your 
 shoulders and you had been started afresh on a new and 
 easier course. 
 
 He met Lenwood that evening, and asked him for his real 
 opinion concerning the escapade. Lenwood looked for a 
 moment as if he was about to snatch a volume from his 
 pocket and hide his head in it like a learned ostrich ; he 
 restrained himself, however, and contemplated Denis with 
 solemn eyes. 
 
 4 From one point of view,' he said oracularly, ‘ it was a 
 fairly decent performance. From another point of view it 
 was damned silly.' 
 
 Denis meekly requested him to be more explicit. 
 
 ‘ From the point of view of the ordinary man at school,' 
 said the philosopher, ‘ it was splendid. It was a protest 
 against authority, and the ordinary man is always grumbling 
 about authority. But as he isn't in the least logical, he 
 won't see that you have simply been putting his theories 
 into practice ; he 'll merely kick you because you 've done 
 something eccentric. From the other point of view, the point 
 of view of the wise man, it was idiotic and rather interest- 
 ing.' 
 
132 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ‘ Oh ! do you think it was idiotic ? ' cried Denis. ‘ I 
 thought ' 
 
 * It was idiotic/ continued Lenwood calmly, ‘ because it 
 was pointless, and only made a bother in your life. The 
 wise man knows that bothers are to be avoided, because they 
 interfere with one's real life that one lives inside oneself. 
 Possibly you haven't got one, — most people haven't, but I 
 somehow thought that you had. It was interesting, because 
 all mad things done by people who aren't quite usual are 
 interesting. Everything — even taking a little trouble — 
 
 is worth doing to avoid bothers, but even interesting things 
 aren't worth doing if they give dull fools a chance of scoring 
 off you. In my opinion you 've made a mistake.' 
 
 Denis retreated to his bed with the knowledge that two 
 persons, whose opinions he instinctively respected, were now 
 regarding him, for quite different reasons, as a fool. By 
 this time he was so bewildered with the contemplation of 
 various points of view that he only dimly realised that there 
 might be one which, if you possessed it, would involve you 
 in the chastisement, if not the total extinction, of Lenwood. 
 Denis communed with his own heart whilst the brazen tongue 
 of the school clock announced those hours of which he had 
 taken the existence for granted until the last few weeks. 
 Just before dawn he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, 
 and when he awoke it was with a lighter heart, with the 
 consciousness that he was regenerated, that he had really 
 become a new sort of person who had shaken off some 
 enduring sickness through the antidote of those long hours 
 of self-revealing thought. He even felt that it might eventu- 
 ally be possible to laugh, as the headmaster had prophesied, 
 at his absurd and sensational effort in adventure, but at 
 present he was still consumed with self-abasement when he 
 thought of it. To separate himself from it by means of time, 
 — of time and of solid drudgery that would make time pass 
 unseen, — this was the great desire that now possessed him. 
 Work was a draught of Lethe that rescued him from the 
 memory of that insolence, and he worked with fervour. A 
 highly distorted version of the episode went round the school. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 133 
 
 and, as Lenwood had predicted, Denis was regarded for a 
 while as an undesirably eccentric person who was liable to be 
 seized at any moment with a fit of mania, — homicidal mania, 
 said some, and gravely suspected that he had been concerned 
 in the death of the Toad, — religious mania, said others, and 
 wiled away the hours in chapel with watching for symptoms. 
 But as Denis showed no sign that could possibly be inter- 
 preted as denoting a desire to destroy or to evangelise himself 
 or his fellows, they soon found another interest. 
 
 He relegated the memory of Parnasse to the interior depths 
 of his mind, where it remained as a warm, delicious back- 
 ground that seemed to lend colour to all his thoughts. He 
 toiled assiduously at music, improved noticeably at games, 
 and tore up the calendar on which he had crossed off each day. 
 This last action, he found, accelerated the flight of time in a 
 manner quite beyond belief. The pendulum of his tempera- 
 ment had certainly swung to its opposite extreme, and there 
 were moments when he was conscious of an uneasy wonder 
 at its antics, and felt his old envy of boys who were always 
 tranquil, whose existence seemed to proceed continually 
 along a happy level. But he found at length that, after all, 
 it was quite possible to like certain persons and places, 
 keeping the memory of their charm fresh in his mind, and yet 
 to find quite different kinds of persons companionable and 
 dull environments not wholly impossible to endure. Thus 
 he acquired his earliest lesson in worldly wisdom, for surely 
 adaptability without self-surrender is one of the prime secrets 
 of modern existence. 
 
 By the end of term the memory of the episode had grown 
 shadowy ; he was visited by no more uncontrollable 
 obsessions, and was healthier and happier than he had ever 
 been during his school life. He went to tea in Tellier’s study 
 on the last Saturday of term, and heard, to his joy, that 
 Tellier was going to stay at Parnasse for the Easter holidays. 
 Tellier, apparently, had not heard of the escapade, and for 
 this Denis was devoutly thankful. 
 
134 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XVI 
 
 C ONTRARY to his original and vindictive intention, 
 Denis made no allusion to his day of madness in 
 any letter to his father. It would be wiser, he thought at 
 first, to explain it all in a personal interview ; but as the 
 incidents became slightly blurred in his memory, he began to 
 think that it would do neither his father nor himself any 
 active good if he mentioned the affair at all. He was still 
 doubting whether to speak or not when he came home for 
 the holidays. 
 
 A farmer's cart, driven by a taciturn labourer, met him 
 at the station. He was slightly surprised that his father had 
 not come to meet him, but attributed this neglect to the 
 exigency of some patient. He reached the Red House to 
 find that Dr. Yorke was away from home and was not expected 
 to return until dinner-time. 
 
 When he had washed and unpacked some of his clothes 
 and music he looked at his watch, and a joyful idea occurred 
 to him. It was six o'clock ; dinner was at half-past seven, 
 and his father was seldom punctual ; there was just time for 
 hfm to walk over the hill to Parnasse. He carried his music 
 down to the piano, refused a cup of tea which the old house- 
 keeper offered him, and set off at once. 
 
 His heart was beating fast as he climbed the slope, and the 
 blood tingled in his veins as he fronted the warm south wind. 
 It was a delightful April evening ; the sun had shone for two 
 or three hours, and the air was fresh with recent rain. There 
 were primroses all along the lower lanes, and it seemed to 
 Denis that he had never heard such music from every tree 
 and hedgerow. He walked swiftly, and almost every step 
 that he took brought another familiar aspect of the hills in 
 sight, or some unforgotten detail of the lane, — a broken 
 gate, an old stone horse-trough, or a gnarled tree-trunk in 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 135 
 
 which he had noted years ago the semblance of a human face. 
 And at last, at last, he saw the red-tiled roof of Parnasse 
 shining on the opposite slope amid its dusky setting of grey 
 sallows and leafless oaks. 
 
 He halted, and gazed down on the cottage. It seemed 
 quite funny, and still more splendid, that it should be so 
 absolutely unchanged ; there was the chimneypot which 
 Mr. Duroy solemnly averred to have broken in half when 
 he sang the great summons of the Commendatore to Don 
 Giovanni ; there was the optimistic weathercock which 
 always pointed due south in spite of the thunders of Boreas 
 and Eurus ; there was Rosalind's own particular piece of 
 garden with its warning to trespassers that was written in 
 French for the benefit of Narcisse ; and there, surely, was 
 Rosalind at the door, looking, apparently, down the garden 
 path and shading her eyes and her freckled nose from the 
 direct stare of the sun. Denis gave a little gasp of joy. To 
 think that the long, almost hopeless yearning was to be 
 satisfied at last ! He was about to shout to Rosalind, but as 
 he put his hands to his mouth she turned swiftly, as if some 
 one had called her, and went indoors. He wondered whether 
 it was within the bounds of possibility that she had come out 
 to look for him. Then he remembered Tellier, felt the first 
 tiny twinge of jealousy that had ever assailed him, and 
 loathed himself for it. 
 
 He descended the hill until he was almost on a level with 
 the studio window. It was wide open, and in the room 
 beyond some one was humming like an immense and melo- 
 dious bumble-bee. The humming changed suddenly to human, 
 or rather superhuman, speech. 
 
 Di-ri-der-fin-ir-ai-pri-a-dell-Au-ro-ra, 
 
 sang a great voice, and Denis looked with a smile to see if 
 another chimneypot would crack. 
 
 Ri-bald-o-au-da-ce-lascia-a-morti-la-pace . 
 
 Suddenly another voice came through the window, a lighter, 
 gayer voice, with a sort of supple mockery vibrating in all 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 136 
 
 its notes. ' 0 statua gentilissima / it began, and the notes 
 seemed to thrill with amusement at the absurd spectacle 
 of a sepulchral monument bursting into melodious invective. 
 Then the song broke off, evidently just as Rosalind entered 
 the room, for Denis heard her voice, and then a sound of 
 masculine laughter. Oh how jolly, how unutterably jolly 
 it all was ! But who was the owner of the second voice ? 
 
 He went down to the garden gate, and was on the point 
 of lifting the latch when he was overwhelmed by a strange 
 sensation of shyness, mingled with a desire to postpone for 
 a very short time the joy of meeting these dear people, of 
 hoarding up this immense delight until another day. After 
 all, he would only be able to stay to-night for a few minutes, 
 and they were expecting Tellier, and — and all things con- 
 sidered, he wouldn't go in. It would be so splendid to lie 
 awake all night and to revel in the thought that he was 
 going over the hill to Parnasse as soon as ever breakfast was 
 over. At this moment Rosalind returned to the doorway, 
 and directly afterwards was joined by no other person than 
 Tellier himself. Denis drew back behind a screen of sallows 
 before they could see him. The sudden apparition of Tellier 
 made him decide finally not to go in to Parnasse that day. 
 Oddly enough, at school, in spite of his immense admiration 
 for the older boy, he had never really stood in awe of him 
 as one stood in awe, for instance, of the immense and majestic 
 Arbuthnot ; but now, away from school, it occurred to him 
 that, after all, Tellier was a. tremendous god, and would 
 probably think it rather insolence on the part of a small boy 
 to come round as soon as he arrived at his uncle's house. 
 When Denis was halfway home he realised, of course, that 
 this sudden idea was ridiculous beyond laughter ; but it was 
 then too late to turn back, and of course there were other 
 reasons for not doing so. 
 
 As he walked slowly back to the Red House his content- 
 ment was marred for a moment by a sharp thrill of remorse. 
 He had passed every moment since he had reached home in 
 thinking of Parnasse, and had quite forgotten his father ! 
 Very soon, however, his serenity returned. It would be 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 137 
 
 awfully jolly to see his father ; he felt a thrill of warm affec- 
 tion as he thought of him ; he had an idea, too, that they 
 would be able to get on better together these holidays ; it 
 had been his own fault, yes, entirely his own fault, that mis- 
 understandings had arisen ; he had been wilful and sulky, 
 and that was what had made his father cold and distant. 
 He quickened his pace, feeling friendly to all the world, and 
 resolved to avoid drawing contrasts between Parnasse and 
 the Red House. After all, you couldn't expect to have a 
 world entirely made up of Parnasses, and rich bass voices, 
 and pigtails, and friendly eyes. 
 
 Having solaced his soul with these excellent platitudes, 
 he ran up the drive to the front door. Dr. Yorke’s hat and 
 gloves lay on the hall table, and as soon as he saw them, 
 Denis rushed into the study to greet his father. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 138 
 
 XVII 
 
 D R. YORKE was sitting at the study table. He put 
 down the newspaper when Denis entered. 
 
 ‘ Well, Denis/ he said, ‘ so you have come back/ 
 
 His voice had a strangely muffled sound, and he did not 
 smile. Denis felt his own words of greeting die suddenly 
 on his lips. His first impression was that some malady of 
 which he had heard nothing must have fallen on his father. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! ’ he said, staring at him and then coming forward 
 quickly. ‘ You aren’t ill, are you ? No one said anything 
 about it when I came. Is anything the matter ? 9 
 
 Dr. Yorke drew himself up stiffly, and again spoke in that 
 unreal voice. It sounded almost as if he were attempting 
 to ventriloquise. 
 
 ‘ Don’t make it worse by trying to prevaricate, Denis,’ he 
 said. ‘ You know only too well what is wrong. It ’s no 
 use your trying to act like a hypocrite and get round me by 
 pretending to be pleased to see me.’ Dr. Yorke paused and 
 cleared his throat audibly. The sound of this unpleasing 
 operation was eternally connected in Denis’s mind with 
 certain hymn-tuneswhich he had been made to play pianissimo 
 on those interminable Sunday afternoons of his childhood — 
 afternoons which he hated especially because he was never 
 allowed to go for a walk after the enormous midday dinner. 
 Dr. Yorke, as many of his patients had observed, had the 
 habit of making grotesque noises in his throat on all occasions 
 of poignant solemnity. After a while he added : ‘I’m 
 
 bitterly disappointed in you, Denis ; you ’ve disgraced your- 
 self and you ’ve disgraced me. You may well look astonished ; 
 I suppose you thought that I shouldn’t hear of what you did, 
 and you seem to have persuaded even the masters to keep 
 it a secret. I greatly regret having sent you to school ; I 
 hoped you would be a credit to me, and now I find that 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 139 
 
 you are not only rebellious, but thoroughly deceitful/ Dr. 
 Yorke's eloquence, which had halted slightly at the outset 
 of his remarks, was now moving strongly towards the realms 
 of pathos. 1 I 've been more like a brother than a father to 
 you/ he continued ; 4 at any rate, no father could have been 
 kinder than I have. I Ve given you every chance of getting 
 on in the world, taught you to be God-fearing, and put you 
 in the way of a first-class education, and this is how you 
 thank me/ A deep thrill of self-pity came into his voice. 
 
 ‘ You won't find me quite so ready now to put myself out 
 night and day for your sake/ he concluded. 
 
 Denis began to realise what had happened. In some way, 
 but evidently from no official source, his father had heard of 
 the escapade. He felt a swift thrill of anger ; just now, 
 when everything seemed to be going so smoothly, when he 
 had really expiated that old folly with long hours of self- 
 contempt and patient toil, it was really too bad that its 
 ghost should arise to trouble his new-found happiness. His 
 lips grew firm, and he frowned slightly. 
 
 ‘ I should have told you about it — very likely/ he said. 
 
 Dr. Yorke shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ‘ Oh yes — very likely,' he said, with a heavy imitation of 
 his son's accent which somehow contrived to irritate the 
 boy intensely. Denis managed to control himself. 
 
 ‘ At any rate, the Head didn't think it worth while to tell 
 you,' he said quietly. 
 
 * No doubt you managed to get round him,' retorted his 
 father. ‘ I see, too, that your report for the last few weeks 
 of the term is extraordinarily good. I really don't know 
 how much of it I am to believe. I can only suppose you are 
 a favourite of the headmaster's, and that he kept this thing 
 quiet to save you from getting into trouble at home. If he 
 knew as much about you as I know, he wouldn't be so eager 
 to screen you.' 
 
 The boy's face was growing more and more dark. 
 
 * He knows more about me,' he muttered, staring down at 
 the floor, and hardly moving his lips as he spoke. The old 
 resentment of his father's fantastic point of view began to 
 
140 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 burn again in his heart. He clenched his hands until he could 
 feel the nails biting into his flesh. 
 
 ‘ Well, if that 's the case, he 's not doing his duty/ said Dr. 
 Yorke with immense emphasis. 
 
 Denis contemplated the pattern of the carpet and felt 
 utterly sick at heart. Here was a genial ending to the one 
 day when he had at last felt really serene, really in tune 
 with all the world ! He knew only too well that his father 
 was in that state of mind in which the vindictive spirit is 
 nicely allied with a sense of duty, and that his nagging 
 humour would probably outlast the Easter holidays. At 
 any other time the suggestion that he was the Head's favour- 
 ite, and partner with him in a conspiracy of silence, would 
 have made him smile, but now its absurdity seemed only 
 to emphasise the hopelessness of making his father understand 
 the way in which affairs were ordered at school. 
 
 ‘ If the headmaster knew more about you than I do,' said 
 Dr. Yorke, ‘ he would have expelled you long ago. Upon my 
 word, you seem to be actually proud of being a bad boy ! ' 
 
 Denis made a gesture. ‘ Oh, not things — not about 
 things,' he said ; ‘ but about me myself.' 
 
 This was beyond the scope of Dr. Yorke's psychology. 
 
 4 I may as well tell you that the whole story is known 
 here,' said Dr. Yorke after a pause. ‘ Bob Challoner wrote 
 a full account of it last Monday to his mother. I heard of it 
 from the Vicar, who was greatly shocked. I don't wonder 
 you look ashamed. It isn’t pleasant to disgrace oneself before 
 every one who has known one ever since one was born, and 
 that 's what you 've done.' 
 
 But Denis was not ashamed any longer ; he was hot with 
 anger. So that coarse, red-faced fool Challoner, who had 
 been always held up to him as a shining compendium of all 
 the manly virtues, had written a lying letter in which the 
 news was concocted from the airy ingredients of school gossip ! 
 He flushed to a deep scarlet, and looked straight into his 
 father's face. 
 
 * What did he say ? ' he demanded curtly, and he felt even 
 then as if the words were said by some one much older 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 141 
 
 and stronger than himself. Dr. Yorke seemed surprised by 
 them. 
 
 ' He said/ answered Dr. Yorke, ‘ and if you can give me 
 your word of honour that it isn’t true, I shall be only too 
 glad to believe you even now — he said that you and other 
 boys were in the habit of breaking bounds in order to go to 
 low public-houses. I knew, of course, that this was one of 
 the evil practices of a public school, but I didn’t think my 
 boy would have sunk so low. I wrote at once to the head- 
 master, and he replied very briefly that you had been 
 punished merely for breaking bounds and missing roll-call. 
 Now, Denis, on your word of honour as a Christian gentle- 
 man, was the rest of Challoner’s story true ? I don’t believe 
 he is a fellow who would exaggerate for the sake of exaggera- 
 tion/ 
 
 And then Denis could stand it no longer. He felt that he 
 must deliver his nerves of the burden that was racking them, 
 or die of sheer irritation. He had possibly never used an oath 
 before, though most people at school, Lenwood amongst them, 
 swore with more or less fluency. 
 
 ‘ Oh, there ’s no need for words of honour,’ he said ; ‘ it ’s 
 a filthy lie, and if you only had the least idea what school ’s 
 like, and what I ’m like, and what that beast Challoner is 
 like, you ’d know that it was. It ’s a damned lie, and he ’s 
 a damned liar.’ 
 
 Dr. Yorke rose stiffly, and stared at Denis as if he expected 
 him presently to vanish in a blue flame. 
 
 f I decline to believe you,’ he said. ‘ I decline to believe 
 any denial that is couched in such violent and shocking 
 language. To think that you, a mere child, should burst out 
 into oaths before your own father ! Shame on you, Denis, 
 shame on you ! If your mother could hear you, what would 
 she say ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know what she ’d say,’ cried poor Denis, ‘ but 
 I wish she could hear me ! Yes, I do! I believe she ’d 
 understand ! ’ 
 
 He was trembling dreadfully, his teeth chattered, and his 
 face was contorted with acute nervous agony. To his father 
 
142 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 it seemed that the demon of iniquity which had lurked 
 unseen within him for so long was now apparent in every 
 line of his features, and his last words seemed to border on 
 blasphemy. For a moment he felt actually afraid of his son. 
 
 4 Denis ! ’ he said. ‘ Denis ! Is it really you that is speak- 
 ing ? Are you mad ? 9 
 
 Denis relapsed suddenly into a kind of hopeless apathy. 
 
 * Yes/ he answered, ‘ I said all that ; and I ’m not mad. 
 I meant every word of it. You ’d better not listen to me. 
 I could say some more.' 
 
 His father made a step towards him. 
 
 * Listen to me/ he said. ‘ Your disgusting language has 
 only convinced me that you have been getting into low ways 
 at school. Your conduct may not have been so bad as 
 Challoner implied ; if it had been I presume that the head- 
 master would scarcely have dared to shield you ; but you 
 have obviously become quite corrupted, although you have 
 only been at school for two terms. Even when you were at 
 home last holidays you showed an obvious desire to do every- 
 thing that I didn’t want you to do. You know what I mean ; 
 you were always rushing off to the Duroys, although you 
 knew well enough that I disliked your associating with 
 Roman Catholics. Now understand this ; I forbid you to 
 go to their house under any pretext whatever during these 
 holidays. You can make any excuse you like to them — I 
 expect you have become good at excuses — or you can tell 
 them the truth ; I don’t care which. But you have got to 
 promise me that you won’t go near their cottage for the next 
 four weeks/ 
 
 Denis stared fixedly at his father for some moments, as if 
 he were trying to understand. 
 
 * You really mean to make me promise that ? ’ he asked. 
 
 4 I forbid you to go/ his father answered shortly. 
 
 Denis meditated on this command for a moment. ‘ Then 
 there doesn’t seem much reason for me to promise,’ he said. 
 
 His mouth set in a grim line and his eyes were like two 
 flints. Dr. Yorke still watched him, and then went towards 
 him with both his hands outstretched. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 M3 
 
 * Ah, Denis/ he said, ‘ why have you grown like this ? 
 Why aren't you like the little boy who used to run to meet 
 me when I came back in the evening feeling tired and cold ? 
 Why have you changed so much in six months ? ' 
 
 It was too late ; Denis drew back from the outstretched 
 hands. 
 
 ‘ I don't know,' he answered sullenly : * I suppose I 've 
 grown older. And I ran to meet you to-night,' he added. 
 His face contracted painfully. To Dr. Yorke the last remark 
 seemed merely insolent. 
 
 * I 've always tried to be the most kind and indulgent of 
 fathers,' he said. * You will find me very different, though, 
 in future, unless you take care. I wish you could see the 
 way some English parents bring up their children. Now, 
 remember what I 've told you. I absolutely forbid you to 
 go and waste your time at the Duroys ; I won't have you 
 idling about ; you must do some work in the mornings, and 
 keep up your music. I believe that strumming away at their 
 piano last holidays did you no end of harm ; your music report 
 at half-term was quite unsatisfactory.' 
 
 Strumming away ! What a phrase for Mr. Duroy's 
 laborious instructions about pedalling, and avoiding cheap 
 effects, and regarding Beethoven and Mozart as high gods 
 whom one approached with almost tremulous reverence ! 
 
 ‘ I don't want to be hard on you,' continued Dr. Yorke, 
 ‘ but I insist on your learning that you can't have everything 
 you want in life. Not going to the Duroys will teach you 
 this lesson, I hope. I don't suppose, even now, that you 
 are actually wicked, but you don't seem to have developed 
 any character. You must learn to practise self-denial.' 
 
 It occurred to Denis that self-denial was one thing, and the 
 curtailing of one's own private and particular joys by other 
 people quite another. Because he was silent Dr. Yorke 
 thought that he was penitent, and addressed him in a softer 
 tone. 
 
 ‘ Now go to your room and get ready for dinner,' he said, 
 * and remember all that I 've told you and try to be a better 
 boy.' He was going to add that Denis might shake hands 
 
144 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 with him, but Denis left the room even more suddenly than 
 he had entered it. The note of condescending benevolence 
 in his father's voice had filled him with an extraordinary 
 yearning to laugh, shriek, or ruin furniture. As he rushed 
 across the hall he encountered the housekeeper, who was 
 carrying a handful of letters. 
 
 ‘ Here 's one for you, Master Denis,' she said. 
 
 Denis snatched the letter from her hand and whirled up 
 the stairs to his room at the top of the house. When he was 
 safely within it he tore open the envelope. The letter was 
 from Rosalind Duroy. It was very brief. 
 
 ‘ Mon Denis, (it said), — Birthday party to-morrow at five 
 o'clock. Come at two o'clock. Noel is here and wants you 
 to come. So we all do. Your most affectionate 
 
 Rosalind.' 
 
 Denis laid down the letter on his dressing-table, and going 
 to the window, stood there with his forehead pressed against 
 the glass. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 145 
 
 XVIII 
 
 T WENTY-FOUR hours afterwards he gained the crest 
 of the hill and held up his face to the driving April 
 rain. The sunset was like a tawny lake hemmed in by giant 
 rocks of duskiest blue ; the chill wind smote his cheek sharply. 
 After a moment he turned his back to the shower and stood 
 gazing down at the distant lights of Parnasse. 
 
 It was the first birthday party that he had attended in his 
 life, and he really hoped it would be the last, unless it could 
 be repeated with exactly the same detail of circumstance. 
 Henceforward, matched with this sublime occasion, every 
 festivity of the kind would seem a mere banquet of spectres. 
 For it had been absolutely perfect, a magnificent, ever- 
 memorable success, a harmony of rejoicing in which Mr. 
 Duroy, and Rosalind, and Tellier had played completely 
 appropriate parts. Denis had felt vaguely that Tellier's 
 presence might make some difference in that beloved house ; 
 but it did nothing of the kind ; Tellier merely chimed in 
 perfectly with the general perfection. He harmonised, also, 
 in a narrower sense, for he sang a great quantity of difficult 
 songs in a delightful baritone, and played the oboe, though 
 with less success and with the most remarkable facial con- 
 tortions ; seeming, when he took a breath, to be desirous of 
 swallowing the instrument entire. He had twenty quaint 
 French pet names for the poodle, and at least fifty for Rosalind. 
 He fenced with absurd and extravagant gestures, and was 
 defeated by his cousin, but he conquered Denis by the 
 dastardly process of suddenly dropping on his hands and 
 knees and violently seizing his adversary's ankles ; an 
 astonishing method which, experts may care to know, is 
 rarely successful the second time. 
 
 All the fun, however, was ended, and as Denis walked 
 slowly homeward he realised that he was about to figure in 
 
 K 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 146 
 
 an unfamiliar r61e — the naughty boy who had deliberately 
 disobeyed his father's solemn injunction. Whilst the wind 
 sang round him on the hillside the act seemed of little 
 importance, but as he descended to the valley his excitement 
 waned, and the lights in the Red House had an ominous 
 glare. For a moment he felt sorry ; his disobedience seemed 
 an act of discourtesy to his father — a brutal assertion of his 
 own antagonism to Dr. Yorke's attitude of mind ; then a 
 defiant mood came over him, and he thought that, whatever 
 happened, his relations with his father could not be worse 
 than they actually were at present, and that, at any rate, 
 punishment for a real iniquity would be preferable to 
 reproaches for an imaginary one. It was better to be vile 
 than vile esteemed. 
 
 When he reached the Red House he went at once to the 
 study. Dr. Yorke was sitting by the fire and reading the 
 paper. Denis blurted out his crime with no circumlocution. 
 
 * I 'd better tell you that I 've been to Rosalind Duroy's 
 birthday party,' he said. 
 
 Dr. Yorke put down the paper and stared at him. 
 
 ‘ And you actually have the audacity to come straight in 
 and tell me ? ' he cried. 
 
 The exclamation puzzled Denis. He did not realise that 
 it was merely the rhetorical flourish which invariably pre- 
 ceded his father's rebukes ; it seemed to him to imply that 
 he had by this time sunk so low in an inferno of wickedness 
 that even his candour became a vice. An impish spirit 
 seized him. 
 
 * You wouldn't have found out if I hadn't,' he said. 
 
 Dr. Yorke's face became curiously red and puckered ; 
 he seemed to be fighting for breath. He rose, and presently 
 an incoherent torrent of invective poured from his lips. 
 Denis, it implied, was a vile thing, a disgrace to the father 
 who had always treated him kindly, a young scoundrel with 
 all|the crimes of the decalogue just beginning to seethe in his 
 soul. It was a pity he had ever been born ; he had no spark 
 of natural affection ; a regular time-server, he had pretended 
 to be fond of his father as long as it was convenient, and now 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 147 
 
 he had gone over to these Duroys, these French people. 
 Well, he could go to them if he wanted to ; as he was so fond 
 of them, he had better go and live with them altogether ; 
 he himself would be only too glad to get rid of a son who was 
 turning out a disgrace. Denis could become a Romanist, 
 and be as wicked as he liked at the expense of a cheque to 
 his church every quarter, paying for his sins as people pay a 
 gas-account. Yes, obviously he had better arrange to be 
 adopted by these foreigners. 
 
 Denis had expected a tirade, but there was a note of 
 actual ferocity in his father's voice that astonished him. 
 Dr. Yorke's bony hands were clenched so that the knuckles 
 seemed to be about to burst through the rough skin, his 
 eyes had large white circles round their pupils, and his voice 
 was alternately harsh and husky, as if he were half-choked 
 with bitter words. Denis stood in front of him without 
 daring, after the first moment, to meet those eyes which 
 seemed to belong to some savage and wholly strange creature. 
 If this was the result of an act of disobedience, the consequence 
 of which, at any rate, he had not shirked, what would happen 
 if his father ever believed him guilty of graver crimes — of 
 the iniquities that school gossip attributed to such fellows as 
 Challoner ? He remembered that when, as a very small boy, 
 his nerves had been set on edge by some long and pointless 
 paternal lecture, he had often felt an extraordinary desire 
 to invent misdeeds of which he was quite innocent, simply 
 in order to see the effect which the confession of these phantom 
 sins would have on his father. The old, curious desire awoke 
 in him again ; for the first time, since he was instinctively 
 clean of soul, his thoughts began to dwell on the morbid side 
 of school life, and stories which he had heard — ugly whispers 
 that had apparently made no more impression on his mind 
 than a dimly sinister dream — suddenly hovered around him 
 like obscene phantoms with bat-like wings. Rapid fire 
 seemed to burn through his veins and his breath came quickly. 
 . . . The evil obsession passed away in a few moments, 
 but it left him with a throbbing heart and burning eyes. 
 If his father could have known what was in his mind then ! 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 148 
 
 he thought ; and the thought was followed by an almost 
 irresistible impulse to tell him. But at that moment he 
 divined that the strange phase through which he had just 
 passed was only the climax to a series of obscure sensations 
 which had lately assailed his peace of mind. He flushed 
 darkly, and then realised with a dull sensation of wonder 
 that his father was still improving the occasion • for it seemed 
 to him that he had been wandering for hours in a labyrinth 
 of feverish thought. 
 
 ‘ You may well turn red/ said Dr. Yorke, who had appar- 
 ently been accusing him of all manner of evil, and had taken 
 his silence for confession ; 4 and if you were only half as 
 ashamed of yourself as I am, you might still have a chance 
 of turning out decently/ Dr. Yorke's system of rhetoric 
 was bound by no paltry shackles of grammar and syntax. 
 * No one could have been more careful than I Ve been/ he 
 continued, slightly varying his inevitable formula ; T Ve 
 watched over you and tried to be a mother as well as a father 
 — tried to put you in the right direction and to pull you out 
 of the wrong one. I did my best, and this is the result/ 
 
 At this point, to his father's great surprise, Denis, who 
 had seemed as if no power in the world would induce him 
 to open his lips, suddenly interpolated a remark. 
 
 ‘ That 's just it,' he said, extremely quickly ; ‘ I only want 
 to be left alone. I don't want to be bothered. When people 
 bothered me at school I went almost mad : and just now all 
 sorts of horrid things came into my head — stories about people 
 with no clothes on, like some fellows tell at school. If I 
 was let alone I should be all right.' 
 
 This remarkable utterance, which should have convinced 
 any sensible person of the innate sanity of the boy's mind, 
 seemed to his father convincing proof of his utter corruption. 
 Dr. Yorke sat down abruptly, and actually groaned. He 
 seemed so dreadfully overwhelmed that Denis was smitten 
 with swift contrition. 
 
 ‘ I can't lie and say I 'm sorry I went to Parnasse,' he said, 
 ‘ but I 'm awfully sorry it 's made you angry. I never 
 thought that you 'd mind as much as this.' 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 149 
 
 Dr. Yorke seemed not to hear this apology. He was 
 preparing for another burst of invective. This time the words 
 came slowly. 
 
 4 You 're ungrateful and unnatural/ he said. 4 You, a 
 little child of fifteen, seem to think that you can have all 
 the privileges of being grown-up ; you haven't a word of 
 thanks for all my care for you, but calmly tell me that you 
 want to be left alone. Very well, then ! understand this : 
 henceforward I leave you alone ; I wash my hands of you ; 
 you can manage your own life, and when you 've made a 
 complete mess of it you won't be able to come to me and 
 say that I spoilt it with my interfering. Oh yes, that 's 
 what you said ! You can live in my house if the Duroys 
 won't have you, and I believe that I 'm obliged to pay for 
 your education, but beyond that I won't go an inch. You 
 can do just as you like ; you can go to the Duroys every day, 
 and the only price you '11 have to pay will be the price of your 
 father. You can easily afford that, I imagine ! ' added Dr. 
 Yorke, with an irony somewhat above his usual level. 
 
 Denis stared at him. 4 Of course I '11 not go to the Duroys 
 if you really don’t want me to,' he said. 4 You don't really 
 mean that you and I aren't ever to be friends again ? ' 
 
 Dr. Yorke gave an extraordinary laugh. 
 
 4 That 's what I mean,' he shouted ; 4 and you 've got to 
 face it whether you like it or not. I regret that you were 
 ever born, and if you keep away from those French people 
 for the rest of your life it won't make an atom of difference. 
 I 'm not going to bargain with you ! I dare say you think 
 that I 'll change, and come round, and be an affectionate 
 father again to you, but by Heaven I won't ! I 've seen 
 you going steadily from bad to worse, getting more and more 
 alienated from me, never trying to make the house pleasant 
 for me, but always thinking of yourself and your music, and 
 God knows what else that I don't know of, and I 've had 
 enough of it. You can go to the Duroys or anywhere else 
 you like ; you can get into any kind of trouble at school ; 
 only don't expect me to write and explain things to the 
 masters when they find you out and want to expel you. 
 
I 5° 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 I 'll pay for your education — it 's my duty — but I won't stir 
 a finger even to save you from the common hangman. I 've 
 had enough of that kind of thing.' 
 
 This lurid outburst, with its highly sensational climax, 
 set all the boy's nerves tingling with irritation. His lips 
 became fixed in the firm line which, long ago, had interested 
 Gabriel Searle, and there was an obstinate gleam in his eyes. 
 How absurd it was, he thought, this tumult and confusion 
 about nothing whatsoever ! His father seemed to take an 
 actual pleasure in creating an atmosphere of intense dis- 
 comfort, in ruining the peace of the house with his furies and 
 suspicions. It was such meaningless violence, pitched in 
 such an impossible high key ! The wild injustice of the 
 accusations launched at him troubled him far less than the 
 brutal manner in which they were expressed ; such invective 
 seemed to have no relation with real, harmonious life ; it 
 would have been impossible from any other person, in any 
 other house. If his father had broken out in that way at 
 Parnasse, for instance, Mr. Duroy would have smiled, and 
 locked him up in a cupboard, and sent for all the doctors in 
 the county. To-morrow, he knew, the storm would have 
 subsided ; for a few days his father would laboriously remem- 
 ber that ‘ Denis was in disgrace,' and then they would resume 
 their usual relations until something else occurred to provoke 
 another tornado. 
 
 This one had almost roared itself out. 4 You use oaths, 
 you disobey me, you confess to having evil thoughts, and 
 you 're inattentive in church,' said Dr. Yorke. ‘ I 've noticed 
 several times when Mr. Searle has been here that you use 
 your knowledge of the Bible in asking him questions which 
 he can't answer, questions which shouldn't ever enter the 
 mind of a faithful Christian. I believe that you give ten 
 times more thought to music than to religion. You are a 
 bitter disappointment to me, Denis, and upon my soul I 
 neither know nor care what is going to become of you. Your 
 future is your own concern, and that of your friends at school 
 and here. I wish you joy of them. Don’t imagine that I 
 shall change ; I mean every word that I 've said, and I 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 I5i 
 
 intend to treat you henceforward as an ordinary acquaintance 
 whom I am obliged to have in my house. It hurts me to say 
 this/ he concluded, ‘ but I can't go on trying to help you any 
 longer when I see that you haven't a spark of affection left 
 for me.' 
 
 The last words were uttered in a tone of deep self-pity, 
 and in some way they seemed to endow Denis, not with 
 remorse, but with sudden insight that removed all restraint 
 from his intense irritation. Dr. Yorke had scarcely realised 
 that his son, with a strangely transfigured aspect, had ad- 
 vanced towards him, when Denis broke out passionately : 
 
 ‘ I don't believe you ! I don't believe a single word of 
 what you said ! It doesn't hurt you : you enjoy it ! ’ 
 
 Dr. Yorke sprang up. 
 
 ‘ Denis ! ' he cried. 
 
 The boy looked at him with a face that seemed suddenly 
 to have grown very old and very wise. 
 
 ‘ You enjoy it,' he said slowly, ‘ just as some fellows enjoy 
 bullying at school.' 
 
 Dr. Yorke uttered a stifled cry, and stood staring at him 
 for a moment as if he were some curious animal. Then a 
 gleam came into his eyes, and his face darkened to crimson. 
 
 ‘ Little fiend ! ' he said, ‘ little fiend ! ' 
 
 He struck Denis heavily with his open hand. The boy went 
 down like a ninepin ; his head crashed against the edge of 
 the writing-table, and he slipped to the floor, where he lay in 
 a crumpled attitude. The blood ran down from his temple 
 into his eyes and mouth. Dr. Yorke stood above him, 
 blankly surveying his first attempt in the art of non- 
 interference. 
 
152 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XIX 
 
 D ENIS remained in bed with a bandage on his temples 
 and bewilderment in his soul. Although his father 
 had never before struck him, it was not the remembrance of 
 the blow that puzzled him, but the unforgettable expression 
 on Dr. Yorke’s face — a grim disapproval which had deepened, 
 as it seemed, to a glare of actual hatred. His eyes had grown 
 cruel, and therefore strange ; it seemed as if some evil spirit 
 had suddenly taken up its abode in his body, and when Denis 
 had said that he enjoyed the kind of scene which had happened, 
 some dreadful transformation took place in him ; his features 
 were convulsed like those of poor Madden when he was 
 surrounded by the tormentors. 
 
 As he lay there with a throbbing head Denis felt very 
 miserable. The smarting sense of irritation had left him ; 
 the spirit of defiance was dead (it is always difficult to com- 
 bine it with a headache and a recumbent attitude), and he 
 began to think that he must have behaved execrably. What 
 a scene it had been, — how noisy, how crude, how ugly ! He 
 had been insolent to his father in a deliberate way which 
 astonished him when he looked back on it, and his father had 
 shrieked at him like an angry child. Each of them had 
 suddenly become some one quite different, and some one not 
 at all admirable. Denis writhed in his bed as he thought of 
 the futility of the whole affair ; it had begun with misunder- 
 standing — he and his father were always, it seemed, at cross- 
 purposes — and it had resulted in an undignified exhibition 
 of fury and impertinence, a broken head, and a thoroughly 
 uncomfortable atmosphere which Dr. Yorke would feel it 
 his duty to maintain as long as possible, — as long, that is, 
 as he could bear it. Denis never doubted that their hostile 
 relations would end within a week. 
 
 His head ached more and more, and he shifted it on the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 153 
 
 pillow, searching for a cool place. The bandage became like 
 a hot ring of iron, and he felt a thrill of self-pity steal over 
 him as he thought how easy life would be if only his father 
 understood him — understood him with the wisdom of 
 Rosalind and Mr. Duroy ! Then he fell into a manlier train 
 of thought ; after all, he himself was to blame ; one couldn’t 
 expect to be understood if one heaped insolence on dis- 
 obedience ; he had made his father unhappy ; there was 
 nothing for it but to ask for, and to earn, his pardon. He felt 
 happier for a moment when he had come to this conclusion, 
 but his heart sank as he remembered that his father imagined 
 him to be guilty of all sorts of wickedness. It was forgiveness 
 of these uncommitted sins, and not of a single act of dis- 
 obedience, that he would have to earn, for it seemed to him 
 impossible to prove that he was not wholly iniquitous. How 
 could he prove it ? By doing nothing in future which his 
 father could possibly think wrong ? That wouldn’t prove 
 his previous innocence, the guiltiest wretches have occasional 
 lapses into virtue ; and also, his father’s view of what was 
 wrong seemed so shifting, so hard to fathom ! 
 
 The pain in his head became almost intolerable ; he tossed 
 about until his bed was like a hot oven full of lumps and 
 spikes, trying to induce his mind to follow another train of 
 thought. But as soon as it seemed to be safely occupied 
 in trying to remember the exact position of certain notes of 
 music on a page, or to be embarked on some adventurous 
 sea of romance, the wretched thing would return with mocking 
 swiftness to its old trouble, and the whole scene would be 
 fierily re-enacted in Denis’s brain. 
 
 Dr. Yorke came to see him in the early morning and late 
 afternoon, but his visits were strictly professional ; he merely 
 asked two or three questions, changed the bandages, and 
 departed. He uttered neither greeting nor farewell, and 
 when he discovered Denis in the act of trying to escape from 
 his thoughts by reading The Earthly Paradise he did not 
 rebuke him. 
 
 f I should advise you mot to read,’ was all that he said. 
 
 Denis followed the advice, though lying still and thinking 
 
154 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 gave him a worse pain in his head than that caused by all 
 the adventures of Gudrun and Aslaug and the Man born to 
 be King. 
 
 His father's coldness preyed upon his mind as no amount 
 of harsh treatment would have done ; he felt more and more 
 that the only means of escape from his painful thoughts lay 
 in the expression of repentance, and one morning he made 
 his effort. His resentment of his father's attitude had died, 
 and he felt honestly sorry for his own wilfulness. When 
 Dr. Yorke extended a hand to feel his pulse he caught it in 
 his own. 
 
 ‘ I 'm sorry,' he said : ‘ I see what a beast I was to do what 
 you told me not to. I 'll try and behave decently after this. 
 Won't you forgive me ? ' 
 
 But Dr. Yorke snatched his hand away roughly. 
 
 ‘ It 's no use trying to get round me in that way,' he said. 
 
 4 You heard what I said the other day ; you needn't ever 
 expect that I shall either forget or forgive. Don't try to 
 curry favour with me again. I know too well what it means.' 
 
 He marched out of the room, treading heavily. Denis 
 lay back on his pillow with a face as pale as the bandage on his 
 brow. 
 
 ‘ Oh, very well,' he said to the doorway, ‘ very well. Catch 
 me trying to be sorry again, that 's all.' And the old 
 rebellious thoughts came surging back into his soul, and held 
 high carnival there for the rest of the day. But his headache 
 was worse than ever. He was delirious when Dr. Yorke 
 came to see him in the evening, and hid from him under the 
 bedclothes. For three days he was painfully, though not 
 dangerously, ill ; interminable tunes echoed in his head, and 
 the pattern of the wall-paper became horribly alive. His 
 recovery was not accelerated by the fact that on two occasions 
 he left his bed and began to put on his clothes with the 
 intention of going to Parnasse. Dr. Yorke sent to the nearest 
 town for a nurse. She had a broad, rosy face and a very 
 white cap and apron, and was attentive and gentle ; but 
 when Denis grew better she tried to cheer him by telling him 
 all the local gossip, and this well-meant effort bored him into 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 155 
 
 another headache. He noticed that she became self-con- 
 scious and assumed a different kind of voice when his father 
 was in the room. Dr. Yorke never spoke to him when she 
 was present. She did not remain for long, however. The 
 nervous crisis passed, and the wounded head healed very 
 quickly. At length he could read without feeling that little 
 goblins were stabbing the backs of his eyes with their spears ; 
 and therefore he persuaded the old housekeeper, who brought 
 him his meals and administered medicine to him with 
 extreme punctuality, to collect all the books which he had 
 left in various parts of the house and to pile them in a 
 delightful heap by his bedside. 
 
 The wealth of literature at his command was quite embar- 
 rassing, for Lenwood, at the end of term, had won a school 
 prize, and had replaced various cheap editions of English 
 classics by opulent volumes which were bound in tree-calf 
 and stamped with the school arms. The cheap editions he 
 presented to Denis, who, he intimated, would derive great 
 instruction from observing the various passages which had 
 been marked by their original owner. Denis browsed happily 
 amongst masterpieces for three days, meditating, with a 
 brain that seemed to be swept and garnished and ready for 
 all manner of new impressions, on the various problems 
 offered to him by the great thinkers of old days ; wrestling 
 also with an even more difficult question, — how to read in 
 bed without suffering afterwards from cramps and pangs of 
 every kind. To lie prone with your heels in the air and the 
 book propped against the pillow was delightful for five minutes, 
 unendurable for ten ; to lie on either side, whether propped 
 on your elbow or your shoulder, made you feel, if the book 
 was interesting and you forgot to shift your position, as if your 
 arm had been injected with liquid lead which had cooled ; 
 to lie on your back with the book resting on a pillow which 
 rested on you, was splendid until you began to suffer from a 
 kind of paralysis which started at your waist and crept down 
 the back of your thighs ; and if you moved, your carefully 
 adjusted lectern could never be induced to return to exactly 
 the right attitude. Denis, like all the other sages of the 
 
156 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 world who have considered the problem, came to the con- 
 clusion that it could only be solved by suspending a reading- 
 stand from the ceiling so that it hung exactly in front of his 
 nose ; but when he tried to fix a hook above his head, huge 
 cracks ran across the ceiling, like flaws in the ice beneath a 
 ponderous skater, and his eyes, his hair, and his bed were 
 entirely filled with plaster. 
 
 He read new books and old all day, and if there were 
 moments when he felt tempted to lie staring at the wall- 
 paper and thinking of his father's obduracy, he fought against 
 the impulse. He had begun to realise that thought of this 
 kind was wholly fruitless, and resulted in headaches and 
 despair ; he had begun to believe, too, that his father's atti- 
 tude really might be permanent ; and when his old lonely 
 habit of mind set him instinctively on the search for com- 
 pensation, he thought of Parnasse, and thrilled with a joy 
 that was not without its ingredient of revenge. If his father 
 intended to treat him like a mere acquaintance whose presence 
 he was obliged to tolerate, but whose intimacy was quite un- 
 desirable, at any rate the mere acquaintance would be free 
 to go his own way — had, indeed, been invited to do so — 
 and the way, of course, was straight over the hill to the 
 Duroys, and Beethoven, and Mozart, and the poodle. No 
 amount of renunciation, he felt, would re-establish his friend- 
 ship with his father, therefore why renounce the best thing 
 in life ? If it were going to hurt his father it would be another 
 matter, but now, of course, his father was quite indifferent 
 to his actions. He had said so himself. This last piece of 
 reasoning did not really quite convince Denis, but he managed, 
 after some hesitation, to let himself think it was wholly con- 
 clusive. Youth, says the philosopher, has a wisdom of its 
 own. It has also its own peculiar sophistry. 
 
 Having arrived at these conclusions, Denis, as it were, 
 labelled them as final, put them away in the back of his mind, 
 and betook himself to the study of the literature of his 
 country. He did not at first realise that behind that calm 
 acceptance of the situation there was a deep sense of resent- 
 ment against his father ; he had almost forgotten the sudden 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 157 
 
 intuitive conviction that had flashed like lightning across 
 his bewilderment and showed him that Dr. Yorke really took 
 an ignoble pleasure in scolding him for all sorts of vague 
 crimes. But the resentment took complete possession of him 
 during a certain short dialogue that was spoken in his room. 
 He was nearly well ■ his father came in, told him curtly 
 that he could get up if he wished, and was on the point of 
 departing when there was a knock at the door, and Gabriel 
 Searle entered. 
 
 ‘ Denis, you wretch, what do you mean by being ill and 
 not letting the great world know ? * he cried, sitting down at 
 the foot of the bed. ‘ Why didn't you tell me ? ' he added, 
 turning to Dr. Yorke, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. 
 ‘ What has been the matter ? ' For the wounded head was 
 no longer in bandages. 
 
 ‘ I hurt my head,' said Denis. He looked at his father 
 and felt a sudden, quite wicked thrill of pleasure, Which 
 puzzled him when he thought about it afterwards. 
 
 Dr. Yorke came to the bedside and spoke in a somewhat 
 artificial voice. 
 
 ‘ Clumsiness, clumsiness ! ' he said. * He fell down and hit 
 his head against the edge of a table. He 's all right again 
 now, but I think he had a touch of influenza when he did it, 
 and that made him feverish for a day or two.' 
 
 4 Oh ! ' cried Denis involuntarily, with the intonation of 
 a boy at whose expense a schoolfellow has lied to a master. 
 Dr. Yorke looked at him for a moment, and frowned. In that 
 moment he finally descended from his pedestal. 
 
 Denis was overwhelmed with amazement, and hardly heard 
 what Gabriel Searle said to him. His father, the paragon 
 of all virtue, had prevaricated ! He never realised that there 
 might be excellent reasons for not publishing a sordid family 
 squabble ; it seemed to him that his father had told a lie 
 simply to hide his own brutal behaviour. It was a confession 
 that he was in the wrong. Yet he would continue, of course, 
 to regard his son as an abandoned young imp of evil ! Denis 
 writhed with indignation. 4 It 's horrible ! it isn't fair ! 9 
 he felt impelled to cry ; but what was the use ? His father 
 
158 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 would only tell Mr. Searle that he was mad or delirious, and 
 always told lies. 
 
 Gabriel Searle realised that something was wrong, and his 
 lazy dread of anything that approached a scene made him 
 talk on all sorts of subjects to Denis, who lay there staring 
 at him without appearing to hear what he said. After a 
 while he went downstairs with Dr. Yorke ; and then Denis 
 turned to the wall, and lay there with tightly clenched fists 
 and wide eyes. So his father was afraid to admit the truth ! 
 He didn't — it was obvious — care in the least what Mr. Searle 
 and every one else thought of his son as long as his own dignity 
 did not suffer ; he had shuffled in exactly the same way as 
 Halliwell during the episode of the Bohn translation. That 
 fairly settled everything, decided Denis ; since his father 
 had resolved to treat him as unreliable and subtle, he would 
 retaliate in kind ; there was every excuse for such an attitude 
 on his'side, for at least he had never lied at his father's expense 
 in order to shield himself. The hard, short-sighted logic of 
 youth proved to him that, however greatly he might have 
 annoyed his father, the recent scene made the balance true 
 between them, — or even gave him the advantage, for wasn't 
 it worse to tell lies than to be disobedient, especially when 
 the disobedience was primarily an act of defiance, and was 
 followed by immediate, if defiant, confession ? 
 
 Yes ; that settled everything. If his father was cold and 
 indifferent to him, he would be equally indifferent and cold ; 
 he would show that the wrong wasn't all on one side. He set 
 his teeth as he stared at the wall-paper, and felt very stern 
 and determined ; but he could not help feeling somewhat 
 forlorn as well. However, the last sensation would depart, 
 he knew, when he saw the Duroys. 
 
 If he could have heard what his father was saying to 
 Gabriel Searle in the study, a great factor in his subsequent 
 mental growth would have been eliminated, and his heart 
 would have been all the lighter. 
 
 ‘ That is what really happened,' said Dr. Yorke. ‘ I didn't 
 tell you when we were in his room because ' He paused. 
 
 ‘ Because you knew it would be awkward for him,' said 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 iS9 
 
 Gabriel Searle. 4 You really are the most extraordinary 
 mixture of tender-heartedness and downright bad temper. 
 
 I 'm extremely glad that I 'm not one of your patients/ 
 
 Dr. Yorke knitted his bushy brows. Searle felt sorry for 
 him ; he looked so worn and grey. There was no doubt, 
 Gabriel thought, that the boy was rather a handful ; the artist 
 spirit was developing in him very rapidly, and Yorke would 
 sympathise with it about as easily as he would feel fraternal 
 towards the Pope. 
 
 4 I don't think that was the reason,' said Dr. Yorke. ‘ The 
 fact is that Denis and I have drifted further and further 
 apart in the last year. He has grown much too independent — 
 he 's a mere child — and I can see that almost everything I 
 say irritates him. I 'm afraid he 's gone wrong at school.' 
 
 ‘ I don't believe it,' said Gabriel. 
 
 ‘ Oh, you always took his part,' muttered Dr. Yorke. 
 * And he has developed underhand ways. He disobeys me 
 openly, and then pretends that he 's sorry. A moment after 
 he defies me — absolutely defies me. I 'm absolutely sick of 
 it all ; he 's a failure, and I suppose I 'm a failure too. I 've 
 made up my mind to let him go his own way. I 've done my 
 best for him, and it has all been useless ; we 'll see if he 'll 
 do better without me. That 's what he complains of — that 
 I 'm always interfering. We 'll see how the experiment of 
 leaving him alone will work out.' 
 
 ‘ I think that you 're rather vindictive,' said Searle. 4 You 
 said a moment ago that he was a mere child ; don't you think 
 that it 's a little dangerous to try experiments with mere 
 children ? I only ask for information ; I never had any 
 children, mere or otherwise, worse luck.' 
 
 ‘ At any rate, it 's his duty to try and win me back,' said 
 Dr. Yorke, with a wistful expression that made the odd phrase 
 seem to Gabriel pathetic rather than amusing. ‘ I 've given 
 him his freedom ; I shan't interfere with him at all, and I 
 shan't make any advances. I used to do that formerly, 
 after we had disagreed, but this time the thing has gone too 
 far. ... Of course, I was a fool to strike him. My God, 
 Searle,' he cried suddenly, ‘ I thought he was dead ! ' 
 
i6o 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ‘ Well, he isn't/ said Gabriel, intentionally prosaic, ‘ but 
 you will be shortly, if you continue to fight phantoms and 
 worry about nothing, and I shall write felo de se on your 
 headstone. I expect you will find that Denis will come 
 running to you very soon, full of sincere remorse and affection. 
 Or else you 'll go running to him.' 
 
 Dr. Yorke's face was like an iron mask. ‘ Never ! ' he 
 said slowly. 
 
 Gabriel looked at him steadily for a moment, and then rose. 
 
 ‘ Oh well,' he said, ‘ the feud will end somehow, — and then 
 you '11 begin all over again, until Denis grows old enough 
 to realise that there is a really decent individual lurking 
 shyly beneath your roaring and rage and sentimentalism, 
 and you discover that his wilfulness is only the working of a 
 temperament that is fighting its way through folly to wisdom. 
 Write to me when the experiment is over, and I 'll give a tea- 
 party to celebrate the occasion.' 
 
 But Dr. Yorke shook his head, and, upstairs, Denis was 
 vowing that the experiment should be interminable. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 161 
 
 XX 
 
 ‘ T T E looked just like an angry old gentleman in an early 
 11 Victorian novel/ said Noel ; 4 I assure you that I 
 was never so badly scared in the whole course of my timid 
 life. He came into the hall just when I was asking if Denis 
 was better. 44 Oh ! ” he said, looking over my shoulder 
 at the view, 44 are you Mr. Tellier ? ” I had to admit it, 
 and added that I had come to inquire after his beloved son. 
 44 He ’s better,” he said ; 44 he had an accident, but he ’s 
 decidedly better. He isn’t allowed to see any one.” He 
 still looked over my shoulder at the view, and I somehow 
 knew that he was getting up steam for some uncomplimentary 
 remark. So I took off my cap and wished him good-afternoon. 
 Then he looked at me. 44 Aren’t you one of Denis’s school- 
 fellows ? ” he asked, and then, without giving me a chance 
 to apologise for daring to allow myself that privilege, he said, 
 44 Let me tell you, young sir, that I don’t think either you or 
 your school have done Denis any good.” I said, 44 Oh, how 
 unfortunate ! ” or something equally fatuous. He glared 
 like a wolf at me, and stalked away, leaving me to wither 
 gradually on the doorstep. Think of trampling on the 
 feelings of a poor inoffensive young thing like me ! I’m 
 broken-spirited for life ; any slight shock will make me burst 
 into tears.’ 
 
 4 He ’s a cantankerous old rascal,’ said Mr. Duroy. 
 
 4 I think he ’s sad,’ said Rosalind slowly. Mr. Duroy 
 turned towards her and stroked her dark head. 
 
 4 Why do you think that ? ’ he asked. 
 
 She looked up at him gravely, and then bent over the 
 stocking that she was darning. 
 
 4 He looks unhappy,’ was all that she answered. 
 
 4 He looked like a German salad when he talked to me,’ 
 said Noel cheerfully. 4 I believe that he locks Denis up in 
 
 L 
 
162 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 the coal-cellar and beats him twice a day with a hot toasting- 
 fork. He 's a churchwarden ; you never can trust them. 
 Judas Iscariot was a sort of churchwarden, wasn't he? I 
 think we ought to go and rescue Denis/ 
 
 Rosalind dropped the stocking and clasped her hands on 
 her knee. ‘ I do want to see him, Noel ! ' she said, with fine 
 candour. 
 
 Noel laughed. He was sprawling on the carpet in front 
 of the fire. Mr. Duroy was turning over some drawings in 
 a portfolio and humming softly, like an immense, happy 
 bumble-bee. 
 
 ‘ If he doesn't come and see you soon,' said the latter, 
 looking up and removing a huge pair of pince-nez from his 
 nose, ‘ he won't recognise you. You 're growing into quite 
 another person, and I warn you that I 'm like the King in 
 Alice in Wonderland : I refuse to allow any one more than a 
 mile high to live in my house. Your toes are actually growing 
 through your stocking,' he added, holding up that article of 
 apparel. * Why can't you grow upwards and not downwards ? ' 
 
 She laughed quietly. ‘ Daddy, I can’t think why ! ' she 
 said. 
 
 Noel shook a warning finger towards her. 
 
 ‘ Oh, you 're in for it ! ' he said. ‘ The awkward age ! 
 You 'll be like me ; I 'm in the middle of it now. When you 
 walk into a room your feet will fly round in curves and 
 semicircles instead of moving quietly in a straight line ) 
 your elbows will grow hard and sharp, and they 'll shoot out 
 suddenly when you are close to nice old gentlemen with large 
 white waistcoats ; and if you are anywhere near tea-tables, 
 or collections of old china, or plate-glass windows, some 
 awful, invisible Power will come behind you and push you 
 into them. When you meet strangers you 'll turn purple 
 and your throat will dry up and your eyes will water. You 'll 
 say No for Yes, and Yes for No, and talk in a gruff voice just 
 when you want to be especially nice to people. If you walk 
 down a street you 'll feel that every one is watching you with 
 hideous suspicion in his heart. When you go to a party 
 you '11 sit, if you 're a man, on an old lady's knee, or if you 're 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 163 
 
 ) 
 
 u 
 
 a woman, in a plate of ices. Any silly ordinary mistake that 
 you make will seem an absolutely unforgivable crime, and 
 you ’ll brood over it for days. Your life will be one long 
 nightmare of blushes, feet, elbows, choking and vague terror. 
 That/ concluded Noel, 4 is the Awkward Age. But you 
 needn’t be afraid, my Rosalind ; you ’ll have a very mild 
 attack, and you ’ll recover completely. Some people never 
 recover. I shall be morose and surly to the end of my 
 days, just like your poor dear father. Ah ! humble life has 
 its tragedies.’ 
 
 Rosalind listened to him solemnly, and when he had 
 finished, she said, 4 I believe that ’s what ’s the matter with 
 Dr. Yorke.’ 
 
 A moment later they heard Narcisse barking in the garden, 
 there was a sound of swift feet on the stairs, and Denis 
 appeared in the doorway, looking rather white and very 
 much excited. 
 
 ‘ May I come in ? ’ he said : 4 I couldn’t come before ; 
 I ’ve been ill, and this is the first day I ’ve been allowed out. 
 Oh ! it is jolly to see you ! ’ 
 
 The last words were a real cry from the heart, and he had 
 to hug Narcisse to conceal his emotion ; he felt ridiculously 
 near actual tears ; the warmth of their greeting was so 
 exactly like all he had imagined it would be when he lay in 
 bed ! They put him in the deepest armchair and behaved 
 as if he had returned from some perilous voyage in distant 
 seas. 
 
 4 You look rather too ghostly to be true,’ said Mr. Duroy, 
 4 and you ’re so thin that you vanish altogether when I look 
 at you sideways. Marie must take you in hand at once.’ 
 
 Denis asserted emphatically that he was the epitome of 
 good health. Then he looked at Noel. 
 
 4 I say,’ he said, 4 I ’ve only just heard that you came 
 round this morning.’ He paused. 
 
 Noel waved a benignant hand. 
 
 4 Oh ! any little thing that I can do for you ’ he said 
 
 vaguely. 4 We have been discussing the awkward age. 
 Uncle and I are in the middle of it and you and Rosalind are 
 
1 64 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 just at the first stage. Let us all walk round the room and 
 break things.' 
 
 But Denis refused to acquiesce in the change of subject. 
 Obviously he had rushed over from the Red House for some 
 grave purpose, and was not to be diverted. 
 
 * It was jolly good of you to come,' he said to Noel ; * and 
 I 'm sorry — I 'm sorry — I know what happened, — what he 
 said. Our housekeeper heard him. It 's simply sickening 
 that he should speak to you like that, and I Ve come to beg 
 your pardon. I won't forgive him, ever ! ' 
 
 He was violently excited and his face was deathly white. 
 Noel looked at him for some moments with a steady smile. 
 
 ‘ Try not to be a pestiferous plague-spot,' he said cheerfully. 
 
 Mr. Duroy rose, took Denis by the shoulders, and urged 
 him gently towards the piano. But Rosalind sat quite still, 
 like a small enchanted princess, and stared at Denis with her 
 great eyes. She made one of her odd, inconsequent remarks 
 when they demanded why she was so pensive. 
 
 ‘ I ’m afraid we 're all growing up ! ' she murmured. She 
 went to her father and leant against his side. ‘ Except you, 
 my little one ! ' she whispered loudly to him. 
 
 ‘ Monster ! ' said Mr. Duroy : ‘ I will grow up ; I hereby 
 swear it ; as soon as I am forty-five I 'll grow up suddenly 
 in the night, like the beanstalk in the fairy-tale, and confound 
 the whole lot of you. Denis ! after all, we will deny our- 
 selves the privilege of hearing you play to-day ; you may lie 
 in two armchairs and call yourself the audience. Rosalind ! 
 produce your lethal instrument, and don’t forget the repeat 
 at the end of the trio, and keep time as if a delay of a millionth 
 part of a second would plunge us all through the floor amongst 
 Marie's pots and pans. Do the same, Denis, if you snore. 
 Noel will turn over, and this time it is to be hoped that his 
 fingers won’t be all thumbs, and his thumbs, toes. Now 
 then . . . one, two, three.' 
 
 It was Beethoven. 
 
 Denis lay back in a deep armchair, and, as he listened, 
 a lethean mist seemed to drift across the troubled waters of 
 his soul, and the images of all jarring and irritating events 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 165 
 
 became vague as those of a dream remembered at noonday. 
 Nothing in his life seemed real except the hours when he had 
 shared the ecstasy of sun and wind and rain on the high ledges 
 of the hills, and the hours which he had passed with great 
 dead masters and with these dear people. ... He had come 
 home from unremembered and transitory wanderings ; peace 
 had been waiting for him in this room, — peace, and soft 
 lights, and heavenly music, and friends ! 
 
 He watched the musicians through half-closed eyes. Mr. 
 Duroy’s head was moving gently from side to side as he played 
 with his usual incomparable decision and delicacy ; Rosalind's 
 white chin was pressed firmly against the dark old violin, and 
 there was the little line in her brow that meant acute atten- 
 tion but was not in the least anxious. There was a new, 
 deep quality in her playing that surprised him ; it seemed 
 to surprise Noel also, for as soon as a page was safely turned 
 (he performed this office admirably, in spite of Mr. Duroy 
 and the Awkward Age) he looked round at the violinist with 
 obvious joy. For a moment the thoughts of Denis hovered 
 towards school. How the other men in the Fifteen would 
 grin, he thought, if they could see Noel now ! He tried to 
 picture the superb Arbuthnot in a similar situation. Or 
 suppose, he thought, that Ellerton-Davidson had to sit here 
 and listen ; how dreadfully bored he would be ! Not only 
 bored, but actually uncomfortable, as if he had been entrapped 
 into taking part in some strange religious ceremony. It was 
 queer that people were so different. Then he ceased to think, 
 and surrendered himself completely to the spell of the music. 
 
 ‘ Oh, we have worked, we have worked whilst you were 
 away ! ’ said Mr. Duroy when the sonata was ended, and 
 Denis had tried to express his pleasure. 
 
 ‘ What else was there to do when you weren’t here, mon 
 Denis ? ’ asked Rosalind, as she rubbed her bow with rosin. 
 ‘ Even Noel took to singing scales. He has made up a new 
 one which can’t be done on any kind of instrument, but 
 Narcisse is learning to imitate it. Daddy calls it the Veronese 
 scale, but I forget why.’ 
 
 ‘ I call it the Veronese scale,’ said Mr. Duroy, ‘ because 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 1 66 
 
 when the great poet Dante, of whom you have never heard, 
 was at Verona, he was the guest of a person called Can Grande 
 della Scala. Ordinary historians think that Can Grande was 
 a warrior prince, but his name tells me that he was a singer 
 connected with the Milan Opera House. His vocal exercises 
 annoyed Dante, who wrote in his Inferno the famous line of 
 prophecy to himself : “ tu proverai . . . com’ e duro calle lo 
 scendere e il salir per 1’altrui scale,” which is, being inter- 
 preted, “You shall learn how hard to bear are the ups 
 and downs of the scales of another.” That is the real mean- 
 ing, though ordinary scholars imagine that scale means merely 
 stairs/ 
 
 ‘ Yes, that ’s the reason why/ said Rosalind, nodding 
 gravely. 
 
 4 I dor/t know what you all mean, with your heathen 
 languages and infernals/ said Noel, ‘ but I believe that 
 you Ye saying unkind things about my sad, sweet voice. 
 Denis, you blight-spot, don’t grin at me ! Vous avez la joue t 
 alors ! If you could only see Denis and me when we ’re at 
 school, my dears, you would know what a hollow sham is our 
 present appearance of intimacy. I learn up all the tortures 
 employed by bad boys in pious books and try them on him, 
 and in revenge, when there is a foreign match, and I, after 
 infinite labour, manage for a brief, lovely moment to get 
 possession of the thing which we call a football, Denis rushes 
 from the interested crowd of spectators, knocks it out of my 
 hands, kicks me thrice on the shin, and retires amid deafening 
 applause from boys and masters. My life is one long duel. 
 I ’m jolly glad that I ’m leaving at the end of the 
 summer.’ 
 
 Denis looked at him with startled eyes. 
 
 ‘ You aren’t really going to leave ? ’ he cried. 
 
 ‘ I am indeed,’ said Tellier, ‘ and so is Arbuthnot, and so is 
 Curds. Arbuthnot ’s going to Oxford to get Blues for footer 
 and cricket and rowing and racquets and running and weight- 
 putting and long-jumping and boxing and water-polo, and 
 Curds is going to the University of St. Andy’s to take a 
 degree in golf. The poor School ! there ’ll be no one left 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 167 
 
 except you and a few other microbes. They ’d better close 
 it ; it ’s had its brief and glorious day/ 
 
 4 And what are you going to do ? ’ asked Denis. 
 
 4 Oh, I ’m going to Paris, the land of the free, where I 
 shall continue my lofty studies and earn a large fortune by 
 teaching the rudiments of the English language to eager 
 Frenchmen. Then I shall build a huge country-house with 
 three lodges and a jasper swimming-bath, and there I shall 
 entertain uncle, and Rosalind, and you if you 're good, for 
 the rest of my life — our lives/ 
 
 4 I sometimes thought of your leaving/ said Denis. His 
 heart sank ; there had always been something elusive about 
 Noel ; in spite of his ample limbs and his very real pink face, 
 he had sometimes seemed a fantastic creature whose whim 
 it was to play at being a schoolboy and then to disappear, 
 to drift away into some dim haunt of romance — a garret 
 set high above the pointed roofs of some grey old German 
 town, where the storks roosted on the housetops and the elves 
 danced in the moonlight. Or he would be lost in the whirling 
 life of some immense and shining city — Paris, as he said, 
 or Vienna, or Rome ; or, perhaps, he would sing songs, and 
 hunt, and practise polite conversation at some tiny semi- 
 feudal court in Eastern Europe. Denis could imagine him 
 in any romantic environment, always laughing, always appar- 
 ently happy, but with the wandering fever in his blood, like 
 some beautiful wild creature that has grown gentle and playful, 
 but will not endure a long restraint. Noel would have laughed 
 immoderately if he could have read the thoughts that passed 
 so swiftly through the boy’s mind ; he was absolutely without 
 self-consciousness, and would have been deeply amused to 
 think that any one could regard him as a romantic hero. 
 
 4 Noel isn’t the only person who is leaving at the end of 
 the summer,’ said Duroy. 4 Our happy schooldays are nearly 
 ended, too ; we ’ve made up our great minds really to grow 
 up and to go to Paris and paint masterpieces by the dozen. 
 We ’re apt to get too musical and not half painty enough in 
 this England, and we must go to a big city to find a stern 
 master for Rosalind. Paris is the place ; London is too full 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 1 68 
 
 of fogs and Royal Academies. Why, Rosalind ! I do believe 
 he ’s sorry that you 're going away to become a genius ! ’ 
 
 For Denis was contemplating him with an expression of 
 blank despair. 
 
 4 Is it true ? ’ he asked. Then he turned to Rosalind. 1 Is it 
 really true ? ’ he repeated slowly. 
 
 Rosalind went over to him and hugged him shamelessly. 
 
 * Dear little Denis, I ’m afraid it ’s true/ she said ; ‘ but 
 it won’t matter, you know. You will come and stay with us 
 in the holidays, and see Paris, and we 11 play music and have 
 a room just like this. And I think/ she concluded, with a 
 funny air of wisdom, ‘ that it would be a very good thing if 
 daddy adopted you. I ’ve always wanted a brother/ 
 
 4 You had better consult Dr. Yorke about that ! ’ cried 
 Mr. Duroy. 
 
 Rosalind knelt in front of Denis with her elbows on his knees. 
 
 ‘ Would he mind ? ’ she asked very seriously. 
 
 ‘ He wouldn’t care a bit,’ said Denis, and the rancour in 
 his voice startled even Mr. Duroy. ‘ I shan’t be able to bear 
 it when you ’re gone,’ the boy muttered after a moment. 
 
 ‘ Flatterer ! ’ said Mr. Duroy. ‘ You contrived to put up 
 with life before we dawned upon you like amazing suns.’ 
 
 ‘ Ah ! ’ said Denis ; ‘ I didn’t know you then. I didn’t 
 think there were such people in the world.’ 
 
 He spoke in a tone of solemn conviction. Rosalind looked 
 at her father. 
 
 ‘ Daddy,’ she said, ‘ we won’t go to Paris after all, will 
 we ? We ’ll stay here and look after Denis. I know he ’ll 
 never practise when we ’re gone.’ 
 
 But Mr. Duroy shook his head. 
 
 ‘ I shall never grow up if I stay here,’ he said gloomily. 
 
 ‘ Denis must come to Paris ; that ’s the conclusion of the 
 whole matter.’ 
 
 And Denis said that he would be delighted. But he felt 
 sick at heart, and when he walked home had no eyes for the 
 last yellow gleams of the day that died exquisitely in the 
 west. He had known, of course, that the Duroys intended 
 to go to Paris, but he had never thought that the intention 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 169 
 
 was to be accomplished so soon. Of course, the idea of 
 going to stay in France was wonderful, but it was also, alas ! 
 impossible. He had no money of his own, and it was absurd 
 to imagine that his father would bear the expense of such a 
 journey. No ; the future lay cold and blank before him — 
 an illimitable wilderness of barren days. Perhaps, when he 
 was grown up and had left school, he might be able to see 
 his friends again ; but then, of course, Rosalind would be 
 grown up too, and girls always changed completely in the 
 course of that process. 
 
 As he crossed the valley road he heard the sound of 
 approaching wheels, and presently a carriage came up to 
 where he stood. There was still enough light for him to be 
 able to recognise his father, who was returning from a visit 
 to some remote farm. Dr. Yorke saw Denis, and pulled up 
 the horse. 
 
 ‘ You can drive back if you like/ he said. 
 
 Denis did not answer for a moment. This was the first 
 gleam of graciousness that had broken across their estrange- 
 ment ; he felt that he ought to respond eagerly, and yet . . . 
 Whilst he hesitated Dr. Yorke spoke again. 
 
 ‘ Where have you been ? ’ he asked. 
 
 ‘ To Parnasse — to the Duroys/ the boy answered. To his 
 astonishment Dr. Yorke said, ‘ Oh, indeed ! ’ in a voice that 
 was meant to be full of ironical interest. Then he hit the mare 
 sharply with the whip, and bowled away into the dusk. 
 
 Denis stared after his vanished shape with mild amaze- 
 ment. His father had given him free permission to live his 
 own life in his own way, and yet, on the very first occasion 
 when Denis made use of his liberty, this extraordinary parent 
 drove off with his nose in the air and all the other symptoms of 
 being extremely offended. It really was rather ridiculous ; you 
 couldn’t possibly respect any one who behaved in that way. 
 
 He walked slowly home, and in those few minutes, though 
 he did not know it, he took a place amongst the more ad- 
 vanced exponents of youthful idiocy. The angry bitterness 
 that had haunted him became latent. He began to think 
 condescendingly of his father. 
 
170 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XXI 
 
 S O, fostered by misunderstanding, and prejudice, and a 
 certain shyness, the estrangement between them be- 
 came lasting, and many suns went down on that foolish 
 feud between a lonely man and his motherless boy. Each 
 felt that the faith between them was broken ; they were each 
 incapable of trusting the other's motives ; if Denis thought 
 that he detected signs of relenting in his father, he guarded 
 himself from responding to them in the fear that they were 
 not really significant, and that therefore any response on his 
 part would meet with a humiliating rebuff ; if Dr. Yorke 
 began to yearn for his son's love, he concealed the yearning 
 beneath an exaggerated air of indifference ; his dignity would 
 not permit him to make overtures of affection that the boy 
 might disdain. It was a sorry situation ; Gabriel Searle, 
 who had contemplated it at first with a smile of slightly 
 satirical detachment, began to be deeply anxious, though 
 primarily, it must be admitted, on Denis’s account. If there 
 was one attribute of the human temperament that Gabriel 
 detested, it was hardness, and it seemed to him that Denis 
 was in a fair way to develop it. But he was sorry, too, for 
 Dr. Yorke ; the man was a fool, of course, but a lovable fool ; 
 he had made a few false steps which might have been so 
 easily retraced, and now he was plunging blindly forward 
 into impenetrable thickets of unhappiness. Denis was at 
 the magnetic age ; every day of this estrangement would leave 
 an indelible impression on his soul ; he would remember 
 every detail with the cruel, unabsolving memory of youth, 
 and in a few years he would regard his father as the wrecker 
 of his childish happiness. 
 
 The good Gabriel flung detachment to the dogs, and at- 
 tempted to interfere ; perhaps he was a moment too late. 
 He attacked Dr. Yorke, who immediately threatened him 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 171 
 
 with the loss of their friendship if he made any farther allusion 
 to the subject ; he invited Denis to tea, and had the dismal 
 interest of observing the boy's face change to a tragic mask 
 at the mere mention of his father's name. Gabriel’s exhorta- 
 tions goaded him at last to sullen speech. 
 
 ‘ He said that he wished I had never been born,' he 
 muttered, staring at the fire. ‘ He thinks I do filthy things 
 at school.' And when Gabriel poured scorn on this idea, 
 the boy retorted : ‘ If he doesn't believe that I 'm like that, 
 it 's worse still. He oughtn't to have dared to talk to me 
 about those things.' There was a certain wisdom underlying 
 this latter protest that did not escape Gabriel's notice. Dr. 
 Yorke had certainly been worse than indiscreet. The inter- 
 view brought no consolation to Gabriel, beyond confirming 
 his impression that Denis was an essentially clean-hearted 
 boy who could be as obstinate as adamant if he were treated 
 unjustly. 
 
 ‘ He hates everything and everybody that I like,' the boy 
 had cried passionately, 4 except you, of course. He hates 
 the Duroys, just because they 're Roman Catholics, and 
 they 're so kind and jolly that they make every one else seem 
 dull. Oh, we 're different, that 's what it is ! He can't bear 
 people who are different from him ; mother was different ; I 
 suppose I 'm like her. I can just remember how he used to 
 rave at her. I 'd forgotten, but it came back to me suddenly 
 one time when he was cursing at me.' 
 
 Gabriel could only feel acutely distressed. He had known 
 Dr. Yorke before his wife's death. He thought of the dreamy, 
 gentle creature who had died five years after her marriage. 
 She had loved music passionately, and was a fervent reader. 
 A great friendship had arisen between her and Gabriel Searle ; 
 she was the one woman he had known intimately ; she was 
 the one woman — he could say it to himself now without 
 shame — whom he had loved. He had knelt by her bed when 
 she died, but her eyes had been fixed on her husband. . . . 
 He rose swiftly from his chair and crossed the room to where 
 Denis was sitting. 
 
 ‘ Do you think she would be happy if she knew that 
 
172 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 you and your father weren’t friends ? ’ he asked, rather 
 brusquely. 
 
 Denis was silent for a moment. 
 
 ‘ I don’t know,’ he said ; * but she would understand. She 
 would know that it was right.’ 
 
 Gabriel felt that this was an attitude which it was hopeless 
 to combat. The boy had managed to put aside his instincts, 
 and to think out the affair with all the hard logic of justice. 
 The father would be more easily vanquished than the son. 
 
 The Easter holidays came to an end, and no bridge had been 
 thrown across the estranging gulf that divided them. Denis 
 travelled to school with Noel, and found himself anticipating 
 the term with actual pleasure. It was horrid, of course, to 
 be obliged to leave the joys of Parnasse, but Mr. Duroy and 
 Rosalind had sworn a solemn oath to visit the school about 
 the middle of term. As for the Red House, it was a distinct 
 relief to escape from that overcharged atmosphere, and to 
 enter an environment where one wasn’t perpetually regarded 
 as a malignant fallen angel. 
 
 The inevitable petty changes had taken place. He found 
 himself promoted to a higher form, which consisted for the 
 most part of very decent fellows. The hoary-headed tor- 
 mentors, who abode delicately for years in the lower part 
 of the school and industriously kicked all feeble and timid 
 boys who dared to answer questions which they themselves 
 knew — or even those which they did not — were left behind ; 
 his class-mates were his contemporaries, and the master was 
 a quiet, kindly, humorous person who was really fond of his 
 boys and had a passion for English literature. The great 
 Lenwood had also been promoted, and found himself, without 
 surprise, in the Sixth form at the beginning of his third term. 
 The headmaster, however, refused to make him a prefect 
 until he had completed a year of school life, a deprivation 
 which Lenwood bore with fortitude. 
 
 ‘ I ’ve not the least desire to be a prefect,’ he explained to 
 Denis. ‘ Of course I ’m glad to be in the Sixth because one 
 gets away from grammars and handbooks and really reads 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 173 
 
 some decent literature, but I ’ve no desire to be everlastingly 
 rushing about in order to discover if Smith minor puts on his 
 greatcoat when he watches a match. Still less do I wish to 
 beat Smith minor’s behind because he eats Turkish delight 
 in his bed or reads Marie Corelli with a lantern after lights are 
 turned out. There are plenty of hulking monsters in the 
 house who revel in that kind of thing. And if I were a prefect, 
 I should have to sit in dormitory between ten and eleven 
 listening to Arbuthnot’s everlasting athletic shop. It ’s a 
 painful honour.’ 
 
 Denis felt that Lenwood was very old and very wise, but 
 he had a vague idea that there was a flaw in the magnificent 
 creature’s attitude. After the first fortnight, and when he 
 had settled down into the routine, he began to realise for 
 the first time that it was possible to be oneself, to keep one’s 
 own private aspirations and joys, without maintaining a 
 position of haughty abstraction from the rest of the world. 
 Lenwood, of course, had his private compensations and knew 
 their value, but he did miss things, — ease, for example ; in 
 spite of his meditative air, he was always on edge ; his 
 profession of calmness was only part of his attitude. He had 
 no share in the ordinary free-and-easy intercourse of school 
 life, which Denis, without at first realising the fact, was 
 beginning to find delightful ; any boy who addressed a 
 commonplace and cheerful remark to him was sure to receive 
 an oracular or sarcastic response. It seemed as if he could 
 not descend from his lonely pedestal. He was delighted 
 with his pedestal, of course, but Denis wondered secretly 
 whether the day would come when he would be tired of 
 it. Meanwhile, he earned the dislike of the multitude. 
 Arbuthnot, the immense, the terrible, arrayed in all the 
 colours of athletic glory, met him on the terrace just before 
 the beginning of a foreign match, and took off his gold and 
 crimson cap to him in the presence of the whole School ; and 
 Lawrence, who was captain of cricket, profanely alluded to 
 him as the Lord God, and tried to make him play for the 
 House Third Eleven. Lenwood condescended to appear on 
 the cricket-ground, though not on that particular occasion. 
 
174 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 He hit with great fury, made eighty not out against execrable 
 bowling, refused to field, and deleted his name from the list 
 when he was included in the House Eleven on the following 
 Saturday. Lawrence swore violently at him in public, and 
 Lenwood produced a volume of school rules — a work which 
 no one in the house had ever seen — in which it was daily 
 recorded that no Sixth form boy was compelled to play games. 
 Lawrence flung the book through a window, and retired in a 
 white heat of rage to his study, where he tried to quarrel with 
 M‘Curdy. The House shuddered, for terrible is the anger of 
 the gods. 
 
 It was not the mere relief of escape from the heavily laden 
 atmosphere of the Red House that made school seem to 
 Denis a pleasanter place than he had imagined to be possible. 
 With the coming of summer the familiar ugliness, of yellow 
 brick and much-trampled turf was magically changed; the 
 chestnuts in the avenue were thick with pink and white 
 flowers, and the desert that was called the Masters’ Garden 
 began to blossom like a rose. When the warm weather 
 began, one felt a kind of holiday spirit even on a whole 
 schoolday, and even early rising became a pleasure. As 
 one sat in form sweet odours from sun-scorched hedgerows 
 drifted in through the open windows ; it was conceded to 
 heated youth to wear flannels all day long ; the swimming- 
 bath was delightful, and lock-up was so late that one no longer 
 wandered round the quadrangle at night with a sickening 
 sense of imprisonment in one’s heart. Geraniums, lobelias, 
 and calceolarias flamed with triumphant, if slightly mono- 
 tonous splendour in all the study windows ; scientific persons 
 with green butterfly-nets were to be observed in all the 
 Heath lanes, and the beginning of the annual plague of 
 caterpillars was reported from Lister’s dormitory about the 
 third week of term. 
 
 Denis learnt the rudiments of cricket, worked fairly steadily, 
 became a good swimmer, and generally enjoyed life in a tran- 
 quil way. The thought of the strained relations that existed 
 at home ceased to trouble him ; the long vista of the term 
 lay between him and their renewal, and there was Rosalind’s 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 US 
 
 visit to be anticipated. Mr. Lister (who no longer received 
 letters from Dr. Yorke and was therefore truly thankful) 
 observed that he had developed into ‘ one of the less offensive 
 persons in my house/ as he pessimistically phrased it, and 
 invited him to tea. The music-master was almost enthusi- 
 astic about him, and began to teach him to play the organ. 
 
 The episode of the golf-links, with the wild legends to 
 which it had given rise, was long since forgotten by the 
 School, and Denis began to feel again the curious tranquillity 
 that is fostered in human nature by belonging to a corporate 
 body, by being a wheel in a watch. Every one was really 
 rather decent to him, he thought, and felt a mild wonder 
 as to whether the decency didn't arise from the fact that he 
 was growing exactly like every one else, — had the same 
 attitude to life. It almost seemed that if one went on doing 
 exactly the same things as five hundred other people, one 
 ended by thinking the same things also. 
 
 But in one respect he was different. All the others had 
 letters from home ; he had none. He had written, as usual, 
 to his father during the first weeks of term ; a month passed, 
 and he received no reply. Long letters came to him from 
 Rosalind, and postcards, covered with minutely beautiful 
 words, from Gabriel Searle, but though he wrote on four 
 or five consecutive Sundays to Dr. Yorke, no answer came. 
 And then he ceased to write. 
 
 This rebuff went some way towards re-arousing his resent- 
 ment, and an event that happened very soon after he had 
 decided to write no more to his father tended to increase his 
 feeling of bitterness. He came back to the form-room one 
 morning to find half a dozen boys all striving to get a good 
 view from the window of something that was happening 
 in the quadrangle. When he inquired the meaning of their 
 eagerness one of them turned to him and said : 
 
 ‘ It ’s that dirty beast Challoner/ 
 
 Denis disliked Bob Challoner, as we know, for excellent 
 reasons, and on one occasion, when they were in the gymna- 
 sium together, had asked him why he was an abandoned liar. 
 Challoner’s instant vengeance had been interrupted by the 
 
176 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 instructor, but Denis knew that he was only waiting for an 
 opportunity to resume reprisals. So that he looked out of 
 the window with some interest, and saw that Challoner was 
 walking with the school porter towards the headmaster's 
 house. 
 
 ‘ He 's been fairly booked this time/ said one of the 
 spectators. Denis asked what Challoner had done, and was 
 answered without any circumlocution. ‘ He 'll be sacked, 
 for a cert.,' was the general comment. 4 Serve him jolly well 
 right, the filthy hog.' 
 
 The prophecy was fulfilled. Shortly after his interview 
 with the headmaster, Bob Challoner became a gentleman at 
 large by the simple process of issuing from school by a side 
 door and driving away in a four-wheeler. It was reported that 
 he smiled and lit a very large cigar at the moment of his 
 departure. If there were any who admired his bravado and 
 regretted his fate, Denis was not amongst them ; it seemed 
 to him that the whirligig of time had indeed brought in its 
 revenges, and that his father would have an awkward thrill 
 of enlightenment when he heard the truth. Perhaps he would 
 write now, and apologise for believing Challoner's lies. 
 
 But Dr. Yorke did not write, and therefore the heart of 
 Denis was hardened, and he said bitter words to Gabriel 
 Searle, who came over to see him about the middle of term. 
 Gabriel certainly did not admire Challoner, but he found 
 himself on the edge of wishing that the wretched fellow had 
 contrived to remain in the school ; his expulsion had given 
 Dr. Yorke a great chance of reconciliation with Denis, as 
 Denis knew very well, and Dr. Yorke had refused to take it. 
 The way, thought Gabriel, in which every event seemed 
 destined to widen the gulf between them verged on the 
 uncanny. 
 
 He found that Denis was both taller and stronger ; the 
 boy seemed happy ; he was immensely keen about his music, 
 and contrived also to be interested in school life. He intro- 
 duced various boys to Gabriel, and Gabriel found them 
 charming, and gave a tea-party at the little hotel on the 
 Heath. Public schools, Winchester excepted, might possess 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 1 77 
 
 defects, he thought, but was there anything more delightful 
 than the natural ease of manner that they contrived to 
 inculcate into boys ? This, it seemed to him, was the one 
 quality that atoned for the haughty indifference displayed 
 by the system with regard to all the intellectual virtues. 
 But it was a fleeting possession, he reflected rather sadly ; 
 the system owed it to the senior masters, who had been at the 
 Universities in the days when undergraduates were really 
 men of the world as well as men of culture ; the modern 
 athletic ruffian at Oxford was only a schoolboy who had for- 
 gotten to grow up ; a delightful fellow, of course, but not the 
 type that would teach boys the value of the amenities of life. 
 That type seemed to Gabriel to be inseparably connected 
 with certain faded photographs of undergraduates who wore 
 whiskers and curiously shaped bowler-hats. It could quote 
 Virgil and Horace correctly, and could drive a four-in-hand ; 
 it talked slang, worked hard, drank beer from silver tankards, 
 read Poems and Ballads , and fell in love. It had an intense 
 interest in modern movements of every kind, and was ex- 
 tremely deferential to its inferiors, whom it instantly recog- 
 nised. But it was already trodden down by the hungry 
 generations of mental or muscular specialists ; all too soon, 
 each public school would be ruled by sinister gangs of over- 
 fed athletes and underbred pedants. Gabriel, however, dis- 
 covered that certain of the masters in this particular school 
 had been his contemporaries at Oxford ; so for it, at any rate, 
 there was still hope. Mr. Lister, too, whilst failing to conform 
 with his ideal, pleased him immensely. 
 
 Noel came to tea at the Heath hotel, and enthralled the 
 company with an imaginary conversation between Lenwood 
 (who was present) and Mr. Lister and the house-matron (who 
 were not) on the subject of Len wood's trousers, which neces- 
 sary species of raiment had all mysteriously vanished on the 
 morning when he was appointed to read the lessons in chapel. 
 It was really an excellent improvisation ; Mr. Lister’s excited 
 barks, the matron’s sighs and misplaced aspirates, and Len- 
 wood’s weary indifference to the whole affair, were rendered 
 with startling verisimilitude. ‘ I sez to him, sir, “ Lenwood,” 
 
 M 
 
i;8 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 I sez, “ it 's my duty to look after unders, and my duty I 'll 
 do, but uppers, no," and it 's only the thought of him standing 
 on the lectern with his legs as thin as a crane as 'as made me 
 trouble you, sir, and I 've brought 'im with me in 'is dressin'- 
 gownd.’ ‘ All very fine, my good woman, but I 'm about 
 to immerse myself in a bath. Instruct him to borrow a pair 
 from one of his coevals.' 'Coeval, may I explain, Mrs. 
 Williams, is a word which may be rendered — one of the more 
 mature members of the house.' ‘ You 'old your noise, 
 Lenwood. That 's the very thing I done, sir, and never one 
 of the young villings will lend him any, except Walker four, 
 whose 'ead just comes up to the band of my aprin, and he 
 grinned when he offered to, the curly-'aired little imp.' ‘ I 
 really don't wish to trouble Mr. Lister, Mrs. Williams ; I shall 
 return to my bed until the thief is overcome with the pangs 
 of a guilty conscience.' ‘ And knowing boys as I do, I can 
 tell you that you 'll spend the rest of your natural life in it.' 
 ‘ I fear that you are a cynic, Mrs. Williams.' ‘ And you 're 
 an impident new boy, and you may go to chapel in your 
 pink flannel pyjamas for aught I care,' etc. etc. Lenwood 
 took it very well, but Denis found himself wishing that his 
 smile was not quite so superior. He wanted Gabriel Searle 
 to like him. Gabriel, at all events, liked Noel immensely, 
 and was very much pleased with the other guests — two 
 pleasant, unaffected brothers from Denis's form-room. The 
 latter people, however, were obliged to depart very soon after 
 tea, and then Gabriel began to talk about books, and induced 
 Lenwood to say some tremendously clever things. Noel, 
 who, oddly enough, seemed to have read all the books that 
 Lenwood mentioned, contradicted him flatly, and argued 
 with what seemed to Denis amazing skill. It was interesting, 
 he thought, to listen to people who were so absolutely different 
 from each other, and Mr. Searle obviously agreed with him. 
 Altogether, concluded Denis, as they left Lenwood and Noel 
 at the avenue gates, the tea was a vast success. But when 
 Gabriel attempted once more to reason with him about the 
 feud, his face grew old and firm, and he listened in frosty 
 silence. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 179 
 
 4 Haven't you any message for him ? ' Gabriel asked, as he 
 sat in the carriage which was to take him to the station. 
 And Denis replied with an emphatic and deliberate negative, 
 for he was growing weary of Gabriel's well-meant efforts 
 towards peace-making. Yet he was very glad that Gabriel 
 had come to the school, whatever his reason for the visit 
 was ; Noel and Lenwood both liked him, and the two brothers 
 from his form-room regarded him as a pearl among parsons. 
 As for Gabriel, he felt an odd sort of annoyance that Denis 
 was at length contented with school life and had such charm- 
 ing friends. His happiness really made the situation much 
 more difficult ! 
 
i8o 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XXII 
 
 M R. DUROY refused to bring Rosalind to the school 
 for Speech Day, his nerves, as he alleged, being 
 too sensitive to endure the roaring of the various ecclesiastical 
 and political lions who ravened at that function. The long- 
 expected visit did not happen until the end of J uly , when the 
 term was thirteen weeks old, and the dog-star blazed, and the 
 ice in the school shop melted all too soon, and the grasshopper 
 was a burden. Like Searle, Rosalind and her father only 
 came over for the day — a Saturday ; but they managed to 
 arrive exactly when Denis and Noel (and five hundred other 
 persons of less importance) came out of third lesson at half- 
 past twelve. 
 
 Denis had been in a blissful condition of excitement for 
 a whole fortnight before their arrival. Noel, on the other 
 hand, was for once depressed and even irritable during that 
 period, and was actually observed to go for a lonely walk 
 one Sunday morning — a unique event in his gregarious life. 
 Denis went to tea in the study that afternoon with Lawrence's 
 young brother, and found only Lawrence and M'Curdy there. 
 
 * Boosey's gone off somewhere with Arbuthnot,' explained 
 Lawrence ; ‘ I saw them on the terrace looking as sick as 
 dogs. Suppose they 're both cursing because they 're going 
 to leave. Funny, the way it takes people ; I don't seem to 
 care much.' 
 
 ‘ But ye weel,' said M'Curdy, ‘ when ye go up to Auxford, 
 and all the little second-year men who were worrms at school 
 come and pat you on the head and ask if ye 've ever played 
 cricket and footer ; my word ! ye 'll wish yerself back in yer 
 gloory. As a matter of fact, it isn't that which makes Boosey 
 sick. Don't you recollect that his mither would always 
 be coming here on the last Satirday of summer terrm ? 
 Arbuthnot was a greeat friend of hers.' 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 1 8 1 
 
 4 Was she awfully decent ? ’ asked Denis. 
 
 * She was that/ said M'Curdy • ‘ her hair was as black as 
 the binding of a new bat, and when she talked to any one, 
 even me, he became fairrly breeliant. She and Boosey were 
 mighty thick, and she looked about a couple of years older, 
 no more/ At this moment young Lawrence upset his tea 
 over some new books, and was pummelled by his brother, 
 and afterwards the conversation drifted in directions less 
 interesting to Denis. 
 
 When Mr. Duroy and Rosalind arrived, however, Noel 
 seemed to have forgotten his depression. He observed none 
 of the usual decorum of the schoolboy who feels that a 
 multitude of critical eyes are fixed on ‘ my people/ but talked 
 and laughed immoderately, and burst into lyric raptures 
 over the yellow brick of the Sanatorium and the pink pain- 
 fulness of the Tompkins’ Memorial Hall. He walked in front 
 with Mr. Duroy, who beamed like a fine June morning, whilst 
 Denis followed with Rosalind. 
 
 For the first time since he had known her Denis felt shy 
 in her presence. She had grown very much in the last three 
 months, and seemed to have acquired a new dignity with the 
 added inches. When they met at the lodge she had shaken 
 hands with him — a new method of salutation, though 
 perhaps the best in those particular circumstances. It was 
 plain that she was intensely interested in the novel environ- 
 ment of a public school ; she asked many questions, and 
 looked carefully at all the boys whom they met as they 
 crossed the quadrangle. The smaller ones seemed to interest 
 her more than the gorgeous heroes of the Eleven and the 
 Fifteen. 
 
 They lunched at the Heath hotel, where Denis brought 
 Lenwood, and Noel ‘ his little friend Arbuthnot/ Denis 
 had some difficulty in persuading Lenwood to honour them 
 with his illustrious presence. The philosopher, indeed, showed 
 signs of actual terror when he was invited. 
 
 ‘ I ’d better not come/ he said with unwonted humility ; 
 
 * I shall only be a spectre at the feast. I ’m no good at 
 talking the kind of rot that women like. I know there ’s 
 
1 82 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 going to be a woman. I saw her walking across the quad 
 with you.' 
 
 ' But she isn’t a woman ! ’ Denis explained : ‘ she ’s a 
 girl ; she ’s younger than I am, and she ’s fearfully decent. 
 I Ve often talked to her about you ; she ’ll be awfully sick 
 if you don’t come.’ 
 
 ‘ She ’ll be awfully sick if I do,’ said Lenwood gloomily. 
 
 But eventually he yielded. He was very rigid and un- 
 comfortable for the first ten minutes, and used inordinately 
 long words ; but he thawed very soon after Rosalind began 
 to talk to him, and listened to Mr. Duroy with a rapidly 
 kindling appreciation. Rosalind, thought Denis, was more 
 wonderful than ever ; she seemed to hit exactly on the kind 
 of question that made Lenwood give interesting answers, 
 and as for Arbuthnot, — that hero of heroes was conquered 
 as completely as Hercules in the Court of Iole. When he 
 addressed her as Miss Duroy, she instantly demanded to 
 know his Christian name — one had somehow never thought 
 of Arbuthnot having a Christian name ! — and when she 
 heard that it was Ronald she absolutely refused to call him 
 by any more formal appellation. To watch Arbuthnot 
 speaking slow and painfully grammatical French to her was 
 a spectacle worthy of the gods. ‘ Oui, mademoiselle, je suis 
 le capitaine de l’ecole ; c’est parceque je suis tres vieux, 
 j’ai demeure ici depuis six ans. Mais un gargon nomme 
 Lawrence est actuellement capitaine de cricket. Je vais 
 a Oxford, l’universite, vous savez, et j’espere bien que vous 
 viendrez me voir, avec votre pere. If you don’t I shall be 
 simply furious. Noel, make them promise to come up when 
 you come.’ Arbuthnot, in short, was an easy victim. There 
 was a foreign match that afternoon ; he lingered until the 
 last possible moment, and departed with the most apparent 
 reluctance. They were amused by his method of return to 
 the school ; he stood in the road outside the hotel, com- 
 mandeered a bicycle from one of the many boys who were 
 toiling up the hill, and rode madly down to the gates, leaving 
 the owner, who looked quite unruffled by this sudden act 
 of piracy, to follow him on foot. Afterwards, when they 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 183 
 
 watched the cricket, he saw them from the pavilion, and came 
 to talk to them until it was time for him to bat. Rosalind 
 saw him coming and went to meet him, a spontaneous 
 movement which scandalised the whole School and delighted 
 Arbuthnot. They had tea in Noel's study, and no strangers, 
 however distinguished, were invited. Lawrence was absent 
 because of the cricket match, and M'Curdy had gone to play 
 golf with a master on the scene of Denis’s ancient adventure. 
 At tea Noel asked Rosalind for her opinion of their guests. 
 
 ‘ I liked Ronald,’ she said, * he ’s so big and calm and 
 comfortable. He ’s got eyes like a nice dog. And he ’s so 
 friendly. I expect he ’s friends with every one in the school, 
 isn’t he ? Did you see how glad that boy was to lend him his 
 bicycle ? ’ 
 
 Noel laughed. 
 
 ‘ My dear,’ he explained, ‘ it wouldn’t have made any 
 difference if he hadn’t been glad. And as to being friends 
 with every one in the school, I don’t suppose there are more 
 than thirty or forty men who ’d dare to speak to Arbuthnot 
 unless he spoke to them first. He ’s what we call a god : in 
 fact he ’s the chief god. They ’ve got the head of the school 
 in Lister’s — that ’s the house Arbuthnot and Denis belong 
 to — but he hardly dare open his mouth in the house without 
 Arbuthnot’s kind permission. If he does, Arbuthnot spanks 
 him with a fives bat, and that ’s worse for his dignity than 
 keeping quiet.’ 
 
 Rosalind meditated silently for some moments ; she was 
 evidently somewhat astonished by this aspect of her new 
 friend. When Noel asked her what she thought of Lenwood 
 she replied gravely, but without any hesitation : 
 
 ‘ I don’t think he ’s happy.’ 
 
 ‘ He ’s jolly pleased with himself,’ said Noel. 
 
 She was silent again ; the little line showed above her brows. 
 ‘ That ’s not being happy,’ she said. Long afterwards 
 Denis remembered the brief dialogue. Then they talked of 
 more intimate affairs. The Duroys were leaving Parnasse 
 in three or four days ; the grand piano had already departed, 
 with the greater part of the furniture, and Narcisse spent 
 
184 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 the day in wandering restlessly about the house, full of vague 
 foreboding, and little dreaming that he was destined to 
 return to the land of his birth. They had found a house — 
 a real house, not a flat — near the Jardin des Plantes, with a 
 large studio, and a little garden, and a kitchen for Marie, but 
 they did not intend to settle in it until the end of September. 
 ‘ We 've sat still for so long that the moss has grown all over 
 us/ said Mr. Duroy, * and now we 're off on our travels. 
 France first of all, and then anywhere we like, — probably 
 Switzerland, and Como and Maggiore, and Bergamo, and 
 Verona, and China and Peru. Oh ! we mean to enjoy 
 ourselves ! We 've given ourselves, as we intended, two 
 years of real English life in real English country, and now 
 we 're going to enlarge our narrow minds amid the marvels of 
 Italian art, and expand our narrow bodies on the loftier Alps. 
 Noel is coming with us as our private professional jester. 
 Now, Rosalind, force a smile and make a speech.' 
 
 Rosalind didn’t make a speech. She leant across the 
 table, took hold of Denis's sleeve, and said, ‘ We want you to 
 come with us. Do come ! We can't go unless you do.' 
 
 The thought of their imminent departure had made Denis 
 very sad, but for a moment a marvellous light seemed to 
 beam across his gloom. To go abroad — abroad, with them ! 
 It wouldn't matter what happened to him after that ! Then 
 the gloom descended again, stifling, impenetrable — a fog 
 that seemed to invade his eyes and throat. He shook his 
 head slowly. 
 
 ‘ If you 're thinking what I think you 're thinking,' said 
 Mr. Duroy gently, ‘ don't think it any more. It has been 
 the dream of our lives, to have you as a guest, and, once 
 we 've ensnared you, we shall absolutely refuse to part with 
 you until the end of the holidays. So pack your bag and 
 polish up your French accent and come along of us.' 
 
 ‘ Denis, you must ! ' commanded Rosalind. Denis was 
 silent for a moment. 
 
 ‘ It 's most awfully kind of you,' he said, ‘ it 's kinder than 
 anything I ever heard of. But — there 's my father. I 
 suppose I 've got to go home.' 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 185 
 
 * Oh, tell him that you are going abroad to learn French 
 and Italian/ said Noel, ‘ with three tutors who are all wise 
 with a wisdom beyond Solomon's. He can't refuse to let 
 you come ; it 's an unparalleled opportunity to combine 
 learning, pleasure, and perspiring climbs up perpendicular 
 precipices. If you fall into a crevasse, I promise to take your 
 place as his son.' 
 
 ‘ I 'll write to him, if you like,' suggested Mr. Duroy. But 
 Denis begged him rather hastily not to do anything of the 
 kind. ‘ I 'll write myself,' he said. ‘ And if he doesn't 
 answer this time,' he added inwardly, ‘ I know quite well 
 what I 'll do.' 
 
 ‘ Now you 're looking just like you did when I first saw 
 you ! ' said Rosalind, ‘ do you remember ? That night on 
 the moor just before you came here. Oh, what a lovely, 
 lovely time we 're going to have ! ' 
 
 The sun set in scarlet and gold behind the terrace elms, 
 and one by one the lights shone out from study and form- 
 room windows. After the Duroys had gone, Denis wandered 
 up and down the avenue until the bell for locking-up sounded. 
 He looked so very solemn that some acquaintances who passed 
 bombarded him with mocking sympathy ; he heard the 
 words, ‘ Tellier's sister,' and something about Arbuthnot ; 
 but he took no notice of them, and soon the gay voices died 
 in the quiet evening air. 
 
 The scheme for the holidays which Rosalind had proposed 
 seemed, from his point of view, to be quite flawless. He 
 would avoid the depressing atmosphere of the Red House and 
 the too righteous coldness of his father, and instead of losing 
 the Duroys and Noel for ever, he would live in the closest 
 intimacy with them for two months amid lovely surroundings. 
 Yet there was something that made him hesitate, — some 
 queer instinct was driving him in spite of himself towards his 
 home ; yet all the while he knew that the holidays there would 
 be almost unendurable. What was this strange inward voice 
 that seemed to advise one to do things which one knew would 
 be excessively unpleasant ? And not merely unpleasant, 
 but useless ; for even if the feud ended, another would arise 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 1 86 
 
 from its ashes ; of that he was quite certain. This invitation 
 offered a chance of experience that no sane person would 
 willingly miss ; surely even his father would realise that, in 
 spite of his unjust attitude towards the travelling companions. 
 
 After all, to go to France without letting any one know 
 of his departure would be a fair return, he thought, for the 
 complete disregard of his existence that his father had mani- 
 fested all through the term. As his father hadn’t cared 
 what happened to him for thirteen weeks, he probably 
 wouldn’t care what might happen during the following two 
 months. But though he said this to himself, he felt none of 
 the old angry pleasure in an act of defiance, and eventually 
 he went to the form-room and wrote a letter to Dr. Yorke. 
 It was Saturday evening ; Wednesday was the last day of 
 term ; there was plenty of time in which to receive an answer. 
 
 The combined influences of the visit of the Duroys, the 
 perfect weather, the end of term, and the great hope for 
 the holidays, made him feel so happy that he felt at peace 
 even with his father, and actually persuaded himself that 
 if the answer to his letter offered, as he expected, to forget 
 and forgive everything if only he would not go abroad, he 
 would be prepared to acquiesce. It would be a ghastly act 
 of renunciation, but still he would perform it, he believed. 
 Thus, in moments of spiritual exaltation, do we become our 
 own dupes. 
 
 And then the inconstant vane of his emotions veered 
 sharply. Tuesday passed, Wednesday came, and there was 
 no letter. He consulted Noel, who advised a reply-paid 
 telegram. This was sent at half-past twelve, but the pay- 
 ment for the reply was gold cast into the inane ; Dr. Yorke 
 was mute as the shy ghosts of ancestors invoked by mediums. 
 Denis sent another telegram at five o’clock, with the same 
 success, as Noel remarked, perhaps ironically, for he wanted 
 Denis to come to France, and foresaw what would happen if 
 Dr. Yorke didn’t answer. ‘ All the same, he ’s an unnatural 
 old beast,’ thought Noel. 
 
 Noel spent the last evening of term in revelry with 
 Arbuthnot and other choice spirits. He had arranged with 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 187 
 
 Denis to meet at an abnormal hour in the morning ; but as he 
 was going across to his house to submit to the inevitable 
 cheering that sped every popular person who was leaving, a 
 small figure rushed wildly towards him through the darkness. 
 
 ‘ It ’s all right/ said a breathless voice • ‘ I ’m coming ! ’ 
 
 ' Has the wicked old reprobate wired ? ' asked the 
 irreverent Noel. 
 
 'No/ said the voice in a tone of suppressed and violent 
 excitement. ‘ No ! and it wouldn’t make any difference 
 if he did, — not one bit ! I ’m sick of waiting ; I wish I ’d 
 never sent those telegrams to him ; he thinks he scores me 
 off by not answering. He can score me off as much as he 
 likes ; I don’t care if I never see him again ! I don’t really ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Ah ! ’ said Noel : ‘ it ’s his way of testing your character, 
 my dear.’ 
 
 ‘ It ’s his way of bullying me ! ’ retorted the voice, with a 
 huskiness not far removed from a sob. And its owner turned 
 abruptly and began to walk swiftly in the direction of Lister’s. 
 Noel watched him for a moment, and then raised his eyebrows 
 as far as he could, turned the palms of his hands outward, 
 and gazed with eloquent eyes at the stars. 
 
1 88 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 PART II 
 
 XXIII 
 
 W HEN, long afterwards, Denis looked back on his 
 life at school, it seemed to him that all the memor- 
 able events had happened during his first three terms, and 
 that his capacity for receiving impressions of actual life 
 became less and less during the four years which succeeded 
 that period. After Noel had left, his small friend found 
 himself drifting into closer association with boys of his own 
 age ; except Lenwood, with whom he remained intimate, 
 he had no acquaintances who were remarkable for vital and 
 stimulating temperaments ; the majority of them were 
 placid, sober persons who played games and worked more or 
 less regularly, and seemed perpetually contented to limit 
 their conversation to school gossip. It was in their company 
 that Denis ascended from form to form ; it was with three of 
 them that he shared a study, — a delicious privilege to one 
 who had existed for half a dozen terms between the dis- 
 comfort of the form-room and the common-room of the 
 house, which latter retreat was apt to be regarded as the 
 private abode of certain antique and turbulent persons who 
 always remained in too low a form to be ‘ studyable ’ ; it 
 was with them, at last, that he reached the Sixth, and 
 attained a dignity which did not seem to produce any real 
 alteration in their temperaments. 
 
 But though he formed no friendships that were sufficiently 
 intimate to endure beyond that particular phase of his life, 
 he found that most of his associates were very good company, 
 and he was fairly popular amongst his contemporaries. In 
 spite of his wicked devotion to music and reading he was 
 never regarded as a prig, probably because he was quite 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 189 
 
 without fear when he played games and kept his theories of 
 life to himself. The nervous crises which had troubled him 
 during his first year diminished as he became older and 
 stronger, or were absorbed into his ever-growing enthusiasm 
 for music ; and if a day came when the whole world seemed 
 out of tune and dejection weighed down his soul, he contrived 
 to suffer in secret. Loneliness of spirit seemed preferable to 
 the well-meant sympathy of those who could not understand. 
 
 At such times, however, the effort of repressing the violent 
 desire to relieve his pent-up irritation by some passionate 
 outburst was very great, and he would be tormented with 
 headaches for a week afterwards. But he had curbed himself 
 successfully on all but one occasion, which befell, when he 
 was still a small boy, after the service in chapel at which he 
 and a hundred others had been confirmed. The preparation 
 for this ceremony had consisted of a rather perfunctory study 
 of the catechism and various harangues from Mr. Lister. 
 The most fanatical admirer of Mr. Lister would have been 
 obliged to admit that he was not at his best when he con- 
 ducted confirmation classes ; he snorted, he barked, he held 
 forth concerning the solemnity of the occasion, and then 
 addressed a boy with his usual formula, and he was obviously 
 relieved when the hour's instruction ended. 
 
 Denis received various devotional books which he duly 
 read, but they seemed to be written in a language of which 
 he was ignorant, and did not explain the nature of these 
 obscure responsibilities which he was about to assume. It 
 was like Denis to worry himself into a frantic condition of 
 jumping nerves about an affair that the other boys treated as 
 a matter of course. They behaved decently ; it was bad 
 form to make confirmation classes a theme for laughter, 
 however funny Mr. Lister might be, but as to expecting that 
 a solemn change was about to happen in their lives ! — to 
 them confirmation seemed a kind of degree which every one 
 took when he reached a certain age, and certainly not an 
 initiation into a higher sphere of duty. At the actual cere- 
 mony Denis had seen many fashionably dressed mothers in 
 chapel who all seemed to be in a state of almost hysterical 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 190 
 
 emotion, and the spectacle — which, he knew, should have 
 been deeply impressive — irritated him still more ; he felt as 
 if he had been entrapped into sharing in some ritual that was 
 quite beyond his comprehension. The organist contributed 
 to his misery by playing a sentimental voluntary for which 
 some English musician of the Victorian period was responsible. 
 It seemed to him that the Bishop had a sinister face. When 
 the long ceremony was over, Denis went out alone from the 
 school gates and walked very fast until he came to a wood, 
 which he entered. He sat down under a tree, pressing his 
 hand against his throbbing temples and vainly trying to 
 resist an extraordinary impulse to swear, to utter blasphemies. 
 . . . The obsession gradually passed away, and he returned to 
 school with his usual aspect of calm. It seemed to him after- 
 wards that he had really been mad for that strange half-hour. 
 
 He wondered sometimes why he was not thoroughly 
 unpopular at school, for he noticed that, as a general rule, 
 the boys with whom he felt in sympathy were despised by 
 the others. But the question of popularity was really too 
 complicated ; one boy would be condemned for qualities 
 precisely similar to those which made another one liked ; 
 and the causes of offence were innumerable : a pimply face, 
 a certain trick of walking or speaking, stamped a boy as a 
 pariah as soon as he arrived at school, and a pariah he 
 remained to the end of his days unless he developed into an 
 athlete. Even an athlete might be universally loathed ; 
 one boy, who was in the Fifteen, had at one time worn the 
 unpopular article of apparel which is vulgarly known as a 
 dicky, and he never quite contrived to live down the memory 
 of that insolence. Another, who was in the Sixth, was 
 popularly known as Bloody Athanasius, because, when he 
 was younger, he had kept a diary, and being the son of a 
 High Church parson, had dutifully entered all the Saints' 
 days. The privacy of this journal had been violated, and 
 popular tradition affirmed that one of the entries was this : 
 
 ‘ To-day let me remember that the blessed Athanasius 
 bled a bucketful.' Yet another, a boy of mature years, was 
 obliged to go into the studies of certain seniors and to 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 191 
 
 reiterate interminably the mystic phrase ‘ Prince of Bohemia 9 
 with nasal emphasis. The origin of this remarkable ordeal 
 was shrouded in the darkest mystery, but the sufferer was 
 universally despised. Obscure prejudice would develop 
 against quite inoffensive new boys, and people who were 
 really kind and sensible would acquiesce in it blindly. It 
 seemed sometimes as if any malicious rogue had the power of 
 blighting all the years of a school existence. 
 
 Denis often thought afterwards that his peaceful life 
 in term-time was Fate's compensation for the permanent 
 discomfort of his holidays. The last chance of reconciliation 
 with his father had been lost when he joined the Duroys at 
 the end of his first summer term, and enjoyed an ecstatic 
 and ever-memorable holiday with them in France, the Tyrol, 
 and North Italy. Dr. Yorke had never imagined that Denis 
 would dare to go without his permission, and when he 
 received a letter from his son with a French stamp on the 
 envelope, he tore it to pieces without reading it, and worked 
 himself up to a pitch of incoherent rage which frightened 
 even Gabriel. 
 
 Denis, with a face that wore all the hues of antique 
 mahogany, returned to England a fortnight before the 
 beginning of the autumn term to find that Dr. Yorke had 
 left the Red House on the day preceding his own arrival. 
 A strange man with red whiskers was doing Dr. Yorke 's 
 work ; he regarded Denis with suspicion, and expressed his 
 surprise in finding that Dr. Yorke had a son. It was a 
 peculiar home-coming ; Denis stayed for a night with the 
 red whiskers and spent the remaining fortnight with 
 Gabriel Searle. When he returned home for the Christmas 
 holidays Dr. Yorke nodded to him without shaking hands, 
 and thenceforward they did not speak to one another unless 
 it was absolutely necessary to do so. This delightful state of 
 affairs continued for the remainder of Denis's life at school, 
 and eventually he became so completely accustomed to it 
 that he lost all sense of its strangeness. His father, too, 
 seemed to have forgotten that their relations with each 
 other had ever been different. 
 
192 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 During the holidays Denis reverted to the life which he 
 had led before he met the Duroys and went to school. He 
 walked immense distances on the hills and worked at music 
 assiduously. Gradually these two occupations became 
 merged into one, for when he tramped the springy turf of the 
 uplands and breasted the wind he was haunted by most 
 importunate tunes, — fragments of song which were born 
 suddenly, yet seemed to have haunted him in a less tangible 
 shape for the whole of his life, or insistent throbbing rhythms 
 that importuned him with an imperative demand for melody. 
 In that particular part of England the blatant masterpiece 
 of the music-hall had not yet dethroned the old songs of the 
 countryside, the shepherd on the down and the hedger in 
 the valley still warbled uncouth strains, and on Saturday 
 evenings the village alehouse would echo with ancient 
 choruses. For a long time Denis had despised these rustic 
 airs ; their monotony, their odd intervals, and the apparently 
 wrong note on which they ended seemed quite barbarous 
 after Schumann and Schubert ; but gradually he had begun 
 to see that they really had a rugged beauty, a bare austerity 
 of form which had something of the quality possessed by the 
 great tithe-barns where they had been sung so often in old 
 years. He began to write down every tune that he heard, 
 and to set them to simple accompaniments. He even 
 attempted to write somewhat similar music for various old 
 ballads which he found in a copy of Percy’s Reliques of 
 Ancient Poetry , and played some of the settings to Gabriel, 
 who rebuked him for employing consecutive fifths, and 
 showed him that the harmonies were unresolved. 
 
 ‘ But they resolve afterwards inside my head,’ said Denis 
 cryptically. Gabriel would have none of this kind of thing. 
 
 * Music is much more suggestive if it is a definite form,’ he 
 explained, ‘ if it ’s a pattern, so to speak. All art is shapely. 
 Don’t you go wandering after Wagner. A mighty genius, 
 of course, but he attempted the impossible. He was like a 
 great deep-voiced ocean trying to break down the barriers 
 of some iron coast. He wasted his strength in assailing 
 eternal limits.’ Denis thought that if Wagner was like the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 193 
 
 sea, Gabriel was rather like a Canute who warned off the 
 waves from his own particular shore, and that, after all, 
 the great sea was always victorious in the end. But he said 
 nothing. When, however, he changed his poor little settings 
 into more elaborate accompaniments with a careful sequence 
 of chords and with full closes, he found that all the character 
 had gone from them ; they became exactly like the honeyed 
 ballads that were so dear to the fervid heart of the Vicar’s 
 daughter. So he reverted to his old manner, and felt guilty 
 whenever he discussed music with Gabriel. 
 
 He had not lost his old love of open spaces ; there were 
 still great voices at night on the moor, and sometimes the 
 soft sighing of a little wind amongst the dry grasses of the 
 Roman camp would make his heart leap with an ecstasy that 
 was almost pain. But whereas in old days the drift of those 
 voices had been darkly obscure, and sometimes almost 
 terrifying, it seemed to him now that they had a definite 
 tuneful utterance, a message which he could translate, not 
 into language, but into music. Gradually all the vague 
 trouble and yearning in his soul became definite also ; lights 
 began to shine out along the dim path of the future, and the 
 caverns of painful thought in which he had groped so blindly 
 became suddenly radiant. The thrill of ecstasy that came 
 down the wind from some earthly paradise, where the 
 sunlight was eternal and the radiant flowers never lost their 
 sweetness ; the deep peace that seemed to descend visibly 
 when the sun set in a wild passion of fire beyond immense and 
 purple hills ; the awe that made one breathless in the holy 
 silence of dawn, — to translate all these divine sensations, to 
 arrest their fleeting splendour, so that others could share it, — 
 this was the longing which had tormented him, at first 
 obscurely, but at length with a sharp reality that could not be 
 mistaken ! All the splendour of life was concentrated into 
 these tremendous moments ; and that splendour was not 
 transitory, like the pageant of colour or the grave sounds 
 which revealed it, but could be captured and made eternal, 
 perhaps in books, perhaps in pictures, certainly in music, — 
 in music which should bring to the listener, not indeed the 
 
 N 
 
194 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 exact vision beheld by the eyes of the composer, but the 
 great thrill of joy, of hope, of noble sadness that blinded them 
 with sudden tears ! 
 
 And these strange moments of ecstasy were not merely 
 splendid because at such times only did one seem really to 
 live — to feel vitality tingling in every fibre of one's being — 
 they were wonderful because each of them seemed to have 
 a permanent effect on the soul, so that afterwards all the 
 ordinary greyness of life glowed with a new radiance, each 
 experience of this kind rendering one more sensitive to 
 subsequent impressions. But this ecstasy, as Denis realised 
 at school, was not possible to every one ; the feverish hurry 
 or unaspiring comfort of modern life had stifled it ; to recreate 
 it a powerful medium, which appealed to some intimate 
 instinct in human nature, was necessary, and this medium was 
 to be found in art. Art took the great emotions of those 
 great moments and made them eternal in beauty, giving 
 actual form to abstract joy and sorrow, and luring the 
 receptive mind into harmony with noble ideas. 
 
 It need scarcely be said that Denis did not arrive suddenly 
 at these aesthetic conclusions. By the time he was eighteen, 
 however, and a tall though slender pillar of the Sixth form, 
 he had no doubts about his own destiny ; music had become 
 the enthralling mistress of his soul, and his modest ambition 
 was to compose an immense trilogy which should reveal all 
 the secrets of life from the agony of birth to the agony of 
 death, and echo down all future ages, triumphant and 
 immortal. In the meantime he continued to write accom- 
 paniments for folk-songs, and when certain of these were 
 sung at a school concert he felt that he had ceased to be a 
 schoolboy, and that the career of his maturity had already 
 begun. 
 
 The old music-master, who was really proud of the progress 
 of Denis as a pianist, seemed to view his creative efforts 
 with slight disfavour. ‘ You are like a puppy who wants to 
 go hunting before his eyes are opened/ he said. ‘ But it is 
 your nature to be so ; when you first came to me you wanted 
 to learn Chopin's Polonaises, having a little finger like a damp 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 195 
 
 wax match, and stretching the octave with difficulty/ Denis 
 had developed a great affection for the kind, gruff old German, 
 who was despised by the School because of his elastic-sided 
 boots. ‘ A frousty old man ! ’ said the School, and the small 
 boys croaked like frogs outside his windows, not because they 
 were so illiterate as to imagine that Germans, like French- 
 men, lived entirely on a diet of those animals, but because 
 their chorus was supposed to resemble exactly the guttural 
 accents of the music-master. 
 
 The old man lived alone in a cottage on the Heath. During 
 his last year at school Denis had on one occasion entered this 
 abode, being obliged to interview the Professor concerning 
 a school concert which he was helping to arrange. He found 
 him sitting in a small and dingy room whose window over- 
 looked a garden full of sodden cabbages and desolate-looking 
 chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies. On the side- 
 board were some unwashed cups and plates, and the room 
 smelt strongly of stale tobacco. The Professor was clad 
 in a very old dressing-gown of flowered silk on which all the 
 flowers seemed to have run to seed and thrown out wild 
 tendrils that hung down to the ground. A rheumy-eyed 
 dachshound lay at his feet, and barked huskily at Denis 
 when he entered. 
 
 Denis explained his business, and as soon as the affair 
 was settled, took up his cap and prepared to depart. Then, 
 to his great surprise, the Professor said, almost timidly, 
 ‘ Will you not stay for a few moments, Yorke ? I so rarely 
 have an opportunity of conversation with one of my pupils. 
 But perhaps you have an engagement ? ' 
 
 Denis replied that he was delighted to stay, and sat down. 
 He patted the dachshound, who wagged his tail feebly. The 
 old man shuffled about the room, peering behind cups and 
 books with his short-sighted eyes. 
 
 ‘ You like dogs ? that is good/ he said. ‘ Wotan and I 
 have lived together for fourteen years. He is faithful, though 
 he hates music ; but he is very old and blind. Probably he 
 would prefer to be deaf, the poor fellow ! ’ 
 
 Wotan’s hatred of music made Denis think of Narcisse, 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 196 
 
 and with the thought came a sense of the contrast between 
 the life of those happy musicians who annoyed the poodle, 
 and that of this lonely old man in his untidy cottage, engaged, 
 year after year, in the thankless labour of driving music 
 into the unmusical and teaching the scale of C major to 
 impertinent little boys. The Professor, meanwhile, had 
 found the object for which he had been searching. It was 
 a large china pipe painted with the figure of a stout, nude 
 lady with purple flesh. It was apparently full of tobacco, 
 for he lit it at once. After the first few puffs he withdrew it 
 from his lips, and an expression of doubt came over his face. 
 
 ‘ I believe/ he said in his queer precise English, ‘ that the 
 masters are not encouraged to smoke in the presence of boys. 
 It was natural that I should forget, for you are the first boy 
 who has ever entered this room/ He paused, and looked at 
 Denis as if he were some strange animal. 
 
 ‘ I expect you 're always very busy here as well as at 
 school/ murmured Denis. 
 
 ‘ It is not that/ answered the Professor, ‘ but they do not 
 care to come. To an English boy a foreigner is never a 
 human being. It is my misfortune, for I like boys/ 
 
 He sank into a chair, and began to pull hard at his pipe. 
 His conscience apparently ceased to trouble him after the 
 first few whiffs, and in a short time the room was hazy with 
 smoke. For a while they sat in silence, and Denis began to 
 wonder why he had been asked to stay. At length the 
 Professor uttered an abrupt sentence. 
 
 ‘ What are you going to do ? * he asked. He leant back 
 in the chair and regarded Denis benevolently through his 
 smoke-wreathed spectacles. 
 
 ‘ To do ? ’ echoed Denis doubtfully. 
 
 ‘ When you leave, I mean/ explained the Professor. * You 
 have been at school for many years ; I presume that you will 
 leave before long. Has your family any plans for you ? ' 
 
 Denis shook his head. 
 
 ‘ I really haven’t thought about leaving/ he said. 
 
 ‘ English, English ! ’ said the Professor. 1 Laissez-faire — 
 trouble me not with contingencies — that is the principle of 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 197 
 
 your schools and universities here. Then you have no 
 cravings, no inclinations, nothing inside of you that says, 
 44 I must get out, I must get out and be known unto men ” ? 
 You have never felt that ? 9 
 
 4 Oh often/ answered Denis. 4 Have you felt it too, sir ? ’ 
 he asked after a moment. The Professor waved a fat, red 
 hand. 
 
 4 Let us leave me out of the discussion/ he said very grimly. 
 4 To what do you wish to devote your life ? ’ 
 
 4 To music, of course/ said Denis. He half-expected that 
 the Professor would rise and shake hands fervently with him. 
 But the old man sat still and presently uttered a deep groan. 
 
 4 I thought so, I thought so/ he said. 4 Even now, after all 
 these years, I can recognise the old symptoms. I observed 
 them in you long ago, and for many terms I have watched 
 them growing, growing. Ah ! you smile, you think I 
 talk as if you were diseased. And I tell you that it is a 
 disease, a madness, this art. It takes the most kind-hearted 
 of men by the throat, and for it they will forsake father and 
 mother and friends and love itself. It is a monster. It is 
 the Venus of the Horselberg/ 
 
 His voice trembled, his eyes glowed behind his spectacles. 
 After a moment he spoke more calmly. 
 
 4 You will not be able to accuse me of the habit of flattery/ 
 he said, 4 but for once I will say that from the first I realised 
 that you were not merely a clever boy who worked hard ; 
 I perceived that you had the Gift. I tell you this not to make 
 you glad, but because it is a duty I owe to music, to my art. 
 The duty that I owe to you follows now. Listen ! There are 
 certain persons who have the Gift in a small degree, and these 
 are able to restrain it, to dam the torrent, to make it useful 
 to them — mein Gott ! — useful ! They become fathers of 
 families, and professors of music at schools, and specialists 
 on the diaphragm, and live happily and die with money in 
 the three per cents, for their children. But there are others 
 who cannot imitate these excellent persons, — others who 
 are like men that attempt to hold a tiger in leash, and are 
 pulled through thorns and rivers and over rocks, and, at 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 198 
 
 last, eaten — eaten up alive ! For them, what the world 
 calls success is failure ; they labour towards their impossible 
 goal with blood and tears, only to find when they reach it 
 that beyond it is another goal, and beyond that another, and 
 another and another, world without end amen. The ordinary 
 joys of life are not theirs, for who can enjoy while the tiger 
 is always tugging and tugging at the leash ? And they find, 
 when they are old and lonely, that after all their strife and 
 pain they have missed the mark ; they are failures, and the 
 tiger crunches their old bones, and their names are forgotten. 
 You smile again, but I tell you it is true, true, true ! I have 
 known men of genius, men who had the Gift, men from whom 
 one might expect everything, die at last poor and lonely, 
 which doesn’t matter, and die feeling that they were failures, 
 which is the most bitter of deaths. They knew that they had 
 renounced everything that makes life pleasant, and for what ? 
 For a dream, a delusion, a shadow floating in the air.’ 
 
 ‘ But they weren’t failures ! ’ cried Denis. * It isn’t 
 failure to toil on from one goal to another, as you call them, 
 even if one never reaches the last goal of all. I call your man 
 with the tiger a success, even though the tiger ate him in the 
 end. I think he must have had a splendid time, much 
 
 better than the comfort of the prof of the diaphragm 
 
 people, I mean. He was living, and they were just sitting 
 about — like cabbages,’ he added, with a glance towards the 
 mouldering garden. 
 
 The Professor looked at him steadily for some moments. 
 
 * If you think that, it is well,’ he said, ‘ but you must con- 
 tinue to think so. You must never, whilst the tiger drags you 
 along, look upon the comfortable houses of the professors 
 (whom you were too courteous to name) and envy them their 
 armchairs and old wine and magnificent cigars. There is 
 one thing worse than being eaten by the tiger, and that is, 
 cutting him adrift and going to join the sleek, well-fed persons. 
 That,’ added the Professor with immense emphasis, ‘ that is 
 the worst and darkest of all imaginable hells.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh,’ said Denis, 4 1 don’t think I shall become one of the 
 sleek people.’ 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 199 
 
 ‘ Perhaps not/ said the Professor ; ‘ but beware, always 
 beware. I myself, though you will find it hard to believe, 
 was once an enthusiast, a scorner of cheap triumphs. But I 
 had a wife, and it was hard for her. ... So I wrote quickly, 
 too quickly, and eventually I came here. But always I 
 thought, “ Though I am a professor, I am not yet one of the 
 sleek people ; the spark is still glowing within me.” But 
 there came a day when I knew that it was dead. My wife is 
 dead too, but I remain a professor. Mein Gott ! but one has 
 dreams when one is young ! ' 
 
 His voice died away in an incoherent murmur, and 
 Denis was horribly afraid that he was going to break down. 
 After a moment he rekindled his pipe, and uttered an 
 oracle. 
 
 4 There are three things essential to the artist/ he said, 
 4 industry, frugality, liberty. Without industry you will 
 become a feeder on dreams, a smoker, as the great Balzac says, 
 of enchanted cigarettes ; if you are not frugal you will scamp 
 your work when the Christmas bills come in, and you may even 
 become a musical journalist ; and if you have not liberty — if 
 you are another man's slave even for a few hours every day — 
 you will begin to regard the time when you are free merely as 
 leisure, and to fill it with little snippets and snappets of work 
 when you should be devoting every moment and every 
 thought of your life to something great and difficult and noble. 
 Industry, frugality, liberty ; but the greatest of these is 
 liberty. The curse of regular employment of any kind is 
 that it gives a man a taste for holidays. For the true 
 artist holidays do not exist. There is no such word in his 
 dictionary.' 
 
 Denis was jarred by the somewhat prosaic note of this 
 exhortation. 
 
 ‘ I suppose that a man's method of work depends on his 
 temperament,' he said gravely. 
 
 The Professor frowned. 
 
 ‘ You artists in England and France talk too much of 
 temperament,' he cried. ‘ In Germany that does not concern 
 us ; we have it naturally. What we cultivate is the will to 
 
200 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 execute, to create — to plan gigantic edifices of art and to com- 
 plete them. And so we have our B Minor Mass and our Fifth 
 Symphony and our Ring of the Nibelungs, whilst you have — 
 nothing ! You are little amateurs, with your dances for 
 Shakespeare's comedies, and your sentimental songs in the 
 minor ; the high seriousness of art is dead in you ; even your 
 men of undoubted genius take to comic opera in despair. 
 Your critics sit in drawing-rooms furnished in the style of i860 
 and write drivel that exactly matches their surroundings. 
 Your opera is a lounge for fops and a showroom for diamonds ; 
 your church music is an insult to the ears of the angels, and 
 you cannot speak of Paderewski without mentioning his head 
 of hair like a prize chrysanthemum. An Italian fool of a 
 conductor who mops and mows like a dancing-master you hail 
 as a genius, and the beggarly antics of a virtuoso who plays 
 Paganini on a single string are more to you than all the art of 
 J oachim. I have met your great men, your musical divinities; 
 they are all Mus. Docs, of Oxford and Cambridge, and Knights 
 of the Bath and arrant praters, and I tell you that they are all 
 sterile, sterile as dead fish ! They have built up an academic 
 system to suit their own impotence, a system whereby pro- 
 fessors beget professors, and pupils of promise are brought 
 carefully to the degree of accomplishment that is demanded of 
 an organist in the parish church of a provincial town. The 
 only gleam of sense they display is in the training of choirs, and 
 then they make them sing their own ineffable music. That, 
 my dear Yorke, is the condition of things in this year of dis- 
 grace one thousand eight hundred and ninety-six. Are you 
 prepared to face it, or will you become a solicitor, or a haber- 
 dasher ? You smile once more, but I would sooner see you 
 sweeping a crossing or charging poor widows six shillings and 
 eightpence for acknowledging the receipt of their letters than 
 know that you were lost in that inferno and earning a comfort- 
 able income. You must be prepared to struggle, to fight till 
 the last gasp.' 
 
 Denis leant forward, and looked at him with very bright 
 eyes. 
 
 ‘ That makes the struggle all the more splendid, doesn't 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 201 
 
 it ? ' he said : 1 to go in single-handed, I mean, against all that 
 kind of cheap success, and do something really big that shows 
 up its littleness ! Whilst you were talking two lines I read the 
 other day kept on singing in my head : 
 
 Be your own star, for strength is from within , 
 
 And one against the world will always win ! 
 
 If one could always remember that, one would be safe from 
 all the beastly people you talk about.' 
 
 ‘ I don't read English poetry,' said the Professor, ‘ but 
 the sentiment seems good, though over-paradoxical. If you 
 devote your life to music you must be not only a marcher, but 
 a fighter ; you must break up the old false Dagons and throw 
 them out on the threshold ; you must accept nothing blindly, 
 but question everything. Enemies will encounter you with a 
 weapon called tradition ; you must meet it with the bright 
 steel of truth and honesty, and then you will see it break into a 
 thousand flinders. And though all the hosts of the world are 
 gathered against you, and your creative power seems to have 
 gone, you must never despair ; you must always remember 
 that oppression and depression can be lived down, can be 
 conquered by might of will. You may think of me, at such 
 times, as one who despaired too soon, and learnt his wisdom 
 through failure.' 
 
 Abruptly he began to speak of other things — the school 
 concert, and places in North Italy that Denis had visited 
 years back with the Duroys. Only when Denis rose to go did 
 he revert to the subject of his musical career. 
 
 ‘ I wouldn't have said all that,' he explained, ' if I wasn't 
 convinced that you are destined to be a musician. I have 
 had, at rare intervals, pupils who played as well as you, but I 
 have never had one who possessed your originality. You 
 may have thought me unkind about your songs, but I have 
 appreciated a certain durable quality that underlies all their 
 faults. You have the Gift ; I have hopes of you. Only, 
 beware ! ' 
 
 Denis carried away an abiding memory of the old man's 
 shaggy head and admonishing finger as he stood in the door- 
 
202 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 way of that decrepit cottage. And as he walked home in the 
 misty winter twilight the great road of the future seemed to lie 
 before him more vividly than ever. 
 
 He always spent the Christmas and Easter holidays at 
 home, but in the summer he usually went to stay with Gabriel 
 Searle for several weeks. On two occasions Gabriel had carried 
 him off to a delightful old manor-house in the Cotswolds, 
 which was inhabited by his sister, a stout widow with a keen 
 sense of humour and a family which had inherited her good 
 quality. There were two boys and two girls ; the eldest of 
 them was an Oxford undergraduate who had just finished his 
 freshman’s year and wore the most flamboyant waistcoats. 
 The second boy was at Winchester ; he was slightly older 
 than Denis, and rather delicate ; the girls, aged respectively 
 thirteen and fifteen, were very rosy and healthy and adored 
 their brothers intensely. It was not long before they adored 
 Denis also ; and life at the Manor, he found, was very jolly, 
 with its long sunny days of tennis, and laziness, and picnics. 
 The Brabazons were certainly a charming family ; one and all 
 of them positively radiated good-nature ; the undergraduate 
 was a large, gentle creature who reminded Denis of Arbuthnot, 
 and Cyril, the Winchester boy, who had funny yellow hair like 
 spun silk and a beautiful, sad face like the most pathetic 
 Pierrot ever painted, possessed an inordinately adventurous 
 spirit which was always leading them into the most comic 
 escapades ; escapades that in his own case too often ended 
 with a crushing headache and a day of complete retirement 
 from that joyful world. 
 
 It was a delightful household ; yet Denis often thought 
 wistfully of another family that he had known, and wondered 
 in vain what had become of it. For about a year after the 
 great journey in France and Austria and Italy Mr. Duroy and 
 Rosalind had left Paris suddenly and had gone, first to 
 Lucerne, then to Airolo, and then had vanished completely 
 into the vast unknown. It had been arranged that Denis was 
 to meet them at the beginning of the summer holidays, and to 
 accompany them to a village in the forest of Fontainebleau • 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 203 
 
 about a fortnight before the end of term, however, he had 
 received a letter from Rosalind which informed him that their 
 plans were changed and that they were obliged to go to 
 Switzerland. She gave no reasons for the change, but added 
 that they hoped to return to France in a month, and that he 
 was to be ready to join them then. After this, a postcard 
 from Airolo, with a delicious little sketch by Rosalind of a 
 corpulent Mr. Duroy reclining in a carriage drawn by an 
 emaciated horse, and then silence, absolute silence. Noel, 
 apparently, had been left in Paris, but Denis did not know his 
 address, and when he sent a letter to the house near the 
 Jardin des Plantes, it was returned to him through the French 
 post-office. 
 
 Term after term had gone by, and still there was no news 
 of his friends. They had vanished from his life as swiftly 
 and mysteriously as they had come into it ; the only visible 
 memorials of their existence were a few notes from Rosalind, 
 and Noel's name on the boards in the school hall which com- 
 memorated the Fifteens of past years. The sacred precincts 
 of Parnasse were now inhabited by some quite uninteresting 
 poultry-farmers, and Denis most rarely approached it. An 
 army of desecrating fowls in the garden that had once been 
 Rosalind's was a sight not to be endured. But he needed no 
 actual reminders of that incomparable triad, for every detail 
 of the days that he had passed in its company was engraved 
 with intense precision on the tablets of his memory ; even if 
 he heard nothing more of them for the rest of his life he could 
 never be unfaithful to them, and he was certain that they 
 would never forget him. The idea that they were in trouble of 
 any kind did not enter his head ; they had always seemed to 
 be immune from all the shocks and misfortunes that assail 
 ordinary mortals, though there was an exception to this in the 
 death of Noel's mother, of course. Probably they had grown 
 suddenly tired of civilisation and had gone to Timbuktu or a 
 South Sea island, or some other place where the postal arrange- 
 ments were defective. He was quite confident that he would 
 see them again. Three years of silence were powerless to 
 loosen his allegiance ; for him there was still only one house- 
 
204 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 hold in the world, and the Brabazons, notwithstanding their 
 apparent excellence, were mere wraiths by the side of those 
 vanished but most vivid of friends. Even when they were far 
 away in unknown places, the Duroys seemed to be nearer him 
 than any other person who was actually present. And, oddly 
 enough, it was their influence which inspired him, even more 
 than the exhortations of the old Herr Professor, to work 
 tremendously at his music. 
 
 The great Lenwood became Head of the School about two 
 years and a half after he and Denis had entered it. Soon 
 afterwards he won a Balliol scholarship, and when he was 
 nineteen he went up to Oxford. He left school without regret 
 and unregretted ; the three years, he informed Denis, formed 
 an unimportant episode in his life, and he thanked his guiding 
 star that he had passed through it without imbibing any con- 
 ventional foolishness. ‘ My intellect may have developed 
 since I came here/ he said, ‘ in fact, I know that it has de- 
 veloped ; but I owe school nothing on that account. I have 
 hopes of Oxford, however ; it will be possible to meet a few 
 people who have ideas. No one ever had an idea here, of 
 course ; even you, though I must say you aren’t quite ordin- 
 ary, never had one to my knowledge. But then, of course, 
 you ’re a musician, an artist. It is your nature to live in a 
 mental fog. The life of the mind — that ’s the life I hope to 
 lead at the ’Varsity.’ 
 
 ‘ I wonder if you ’ll meet Arbuthnot again,’ said Denis. 
 4 He is captain of the Oxford footer team this year.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t think I shall have much use for Arbuthnot,’ Len- 
 wood had answered. ‘ I understand that football is not 
 compulsory at Balliol.’ 
 
 Lenwood had become vastly superior, and was disliked by 
 the School. His calm air of attainment irritated some of the 
 masters and amused the others, but they were all obliged to 
 admit that he was the finest scholar that the School had 
 possessed for many years. All his fair copies were enshrined 
 in the library, and his description, in the manner of Juvenal, 
 of a football match, was printed by the headmaster at his own 
 expense. His gift of sardonic humour had developed greatly ; 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 205 
 
 his oration on Speech Day, when for half an hour he alternately 
 patronised and goaded an astonished crowd of parents and 
 members of the governing body, was long and angrily remem- 
 bered. Sometimes Denis decided that he was insufferable ; 
 yet their friendship endured until the end of Lenwood’s 
 brilliant school course. Denis hated his conceit, and his trick 
 of taking all the good things of literature in the wrong way — 
 of praising Rossetti for his metaphysics and Shakespeare for 
 his artful affectations ; but in spite of all his irritating airs 
 he possessed a queer magnetism ; he had personality. It was 
 perhaps because his own nature was inclined to be retiring that 
 Denis was attracted by a complete and hardened individualist 
 who knew what he wanted in the world, and seized it with an 
 utter disregard of popular opinion. 
 
 He said farewell to Denis without emotion, and Denis, who 
 was going home by a later train, watched from the lodge gates 
 until his tall figure had vanished beyond the chestnuts, and 
 felt that an episode in his life was ended for ever. He was 
 disappointed — absurdly enough, since he knew the great 
 man’s peculiarities so well — that Lenwood had shaken hands 
 with him as briefly as if he had been a casual acquaintance. 
 As he looked down the avenue he remembered the long-distant 
 day when they had first met beneath its trees. How lonely 
 he had been, and how pleased he had felt when Lenwood spoke 
 to him ! Yet their friendship had been a failure ; he was 
 scarcely more intimate with Lenwood now than on that day ; 
 they had merely drifted along side by side and then parted for 
 ever with a casual word of adieu. 
 
 About three months later, however, Denis received a 
 letter with the crest of the Oxford Union on its envelope, and 
 was greatly surprised to behold Lenwood’s handwriting. On 
 the whole, Lenwood seemed to be disappointed with Oxford, 
 though he only gave his impressions of its intellectual aspect. 
 ‘ Every one, dons included, seems to live in a vicious circle of 
 notebooks/ he wrote, ' and I find the intellectual horizon 
 distinctly limited. I am supposed to keep a time-table of my 
 lectures and to behave altogether as if I were still at school. 
 The man who utters German foolishness to me about Thucy- 
 
206 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 dides pronounces Greek in the beastly English way, and the 
 man who looks over my iambics judges them by some obscure 
 rule which he learnt at Eton forty years ago. I belong to 
 several small debating societies which are frequented by 
 various well-meaning people with misty wits. My fellow- 
 freshmen pretend to find the life here very pleasant, but I 
 observe that they frequently seek oblivion in intoxication. 
 Jowett ought to have lived until I came up.' In a postscript 
 he added, * You must come and stay here some day. They 
 play adequately at the musical club, and have programmes 
 that would please you. Personally, I am becoming dissatisfied 
 with all art/ 
 
 It was strange, Denis thought, that Lenwood should write 
 to him and that Rosalind and Noel should be perfectly silent. 
 The invitation contained in the postscript seemed rather per- 
 functory ; Lenwood surely knew that he would be staying on 
 at school, and that it was impossible for him to get away during 
 term. Rut when a second letter came from Lenwood which 
 repeated the invitation, and pointed out that the Oxford 
 Easter vacation ended a few days before the school summer 
 term began, it seemed to Denis just possible that Lenwood 
 really meant him to visit Oxford. And at length a letter came 
 which actually fixed a day for his arrival. 
 
 ‘ Don't get it into your head that I can afford to send you 
 there,' was Dr. Yorke’s only remark when Denis spoke of the 
 invitation. His former reverence for the public school and 
 the university had changed to suspicion, and he became angry 
 when Gabriel tried to prove that Denis was exactly the kind of 
 boy who would derive immense benefit from a sojourn of three 
 or four years at Oxford. ‘ He can go if he wishes,' said Dr. 
 Yorke, ‘ but he will have to support himself. He has a small 
 sum which his mother left for him ; in favourable years it 
 produces an income of ninety pounds. If he can manage on 
 that he can go.' Gabriel, who had contrived to spend more 
 than two thousand pounds during his four years at Magdalen, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and thenceforward avoided speaking 
 of Oxford to Denis. At that time, however, Denis was only 
 just over seventeen, and was quite untroubled by thoughts of 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 20 7 
 
 the future. It was long before the moment when music be- 
 came the dominant passion of his life. 
 
 He stayed in Oxford for three days. Lenwood could not 
 obtain a room in Balliol for him, and he slept in an old house 
 in St. Giles's, the front windows of which looked out on the 
 great trees that guard the gate of St. John's. He fell an easy 
 victim to the spell of that incomparable city ; the first vision 
 of her cool grey courts, her time-worn towers, and her broad 
 meadows that gleamed in the vivid sunshine of a kindly spring, 
 seemed to initiate him into a life more leisured and ample and 
 generous than any that he could have imagined. Though he 
 was too young as yet to appreciate the subtle contrasts that 
 make her unique — the charm of urbane scholarship and 
 pastoral leisure seen, as it were, hand-in-hand, the mellow 
 antiquity of her walls and the splendid youth that thronged 
 her streets and streams, the old bells and the young voices, — 
 if he did not perceive all this, at least he was able to feel some 
 of the enfolding glamour of her influence, to realise that here 
 was a city whose memory could become a passion to haunt 
 men through the world, in desert sands, in the waste places of 
 the sea ; most of all, perhaps, in the sordid tumult and the 
 grime of London. 
 
 And Lenwood cared for none of these things ! He sat in 
 his rooms hemmed in by books, and let the bright world go by 
 without seeming even to glance at its brimming splendour. 
 Already, Denis thought, he looked quite old ; he had begun 
 to wear spectacles, and his forehead protruded from beneath 
 its thatch of untidy hair. He had the peaked aspect of a grow- 
 ing creature that is deprived of light and exercise, but he was 
 certainly as self-complacent as ever. ‘ It 's an absurdly over- 
 rated place,' he said, ‘ but I can at least lead my own life here.' 
 The process did not seem to have diminished his old powers 
 of irony, and often he spoke in a tone of harsh bitterness that 
 was new to Denis, condemning dons and undergraduates and 
 the whole system of Oxford with an acrid refinement of scorn. 
 
 ‘ They aren't even useful to me ! ' he had cried on one occasion. 
 He seemed to despise all the amenities of life ; his rooms were 
 sparsely and dingily furnished, and nothing hung on the walls 
 
208 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 but bookcases and a couple of photographs of archaic Greek 
 statues. He seemed to have very few acquaintances ; a few 
 somewhat dismal persons came into his room one evening ; 
 they were pallid, and Denis imagined that they were not 
 fervent apostles of cleanliness ; they treated Lenwood with 
 great deference, and talked about the obscurity of Greek 
 writers and the simplicity of Oxford tutors. They were very 
 learned, thought Denis, but they too obviously regarded them- 
 selves as a peculiar people, and their display of their own 
 qualities seemed to contain a sneer at the defects of every 
 one else. They drank large quantities of coffee, wore black 
 leather slippers, and scarcely spoke to Denis. He liked one 
 of them better than the rest, a man with restless eyes and a 
 strained white face who knew something of music. This 
 person, Lenwood informed him afterwards, was a ‘ celebrated 
 anarchist and atheist.' The catchword of the band was ' the 
 herd/ a phrase which reached his ears repeatedly. He 
 discovered at length that it was intended to connote all the 
 rest of the world, including, presumably, himself. On the 
 whole, the band of sages was not exhilarating, but it interested 
 him ; it was unlike any clique he had known at school. Len- 
 wood seemed to be their leader ; had he actually gathered 
 them together ? Surely all the people in Oxford were not as 
 old and wise and bitter as these strange monsters ? Could 
 people really be wise and bitter at the same time ? 
 
 Some of these doubts were dispelled on the following day, 
 when he met the grand Arbuthnot in the High. Arbuthnot 
 had been kind to him at school, with the kindness that a 
 good-natured god displays towards a caterpillar which happens 
 to crawl into his view, but now his attitude was quite different ; 
 he was tremendously genial, walked arm-in-arm with Denis, 
 talking about the school, and invited him to luncheon. The 
 college of which Arbuthnot was a member was on the right- 
 hand side of the High Street as you go towards Magdalen, and 
 had a long fa$ade of gabled grey stone and a porch thronged 
 with idle and beflannelled men who all seemed to be his friends. 
 He led Denis to a room full of deep armchairs and photographs 
 and innumerable athletic trophies — cups and oars and a 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 209 
 
 strange, unimaginable object which proved to be part of a 
 famous boat in which Arbuthnot had rowed. He deposited an 
 enormous silver cigarette-box in Denis's lap, and went out to 
 order luncheon and to compel some guests to come in, returning 
 in a very short time with half a dozen men, who were solemnly 
 introduced to ‘ Mr. Yorke, an old school- friend of mine.' 
 
 The luncheon was a most hilarious affair with an ending 
 that was tragic for Denis. The guests were tremendously at 
 ease, but they treated Denis with great deference, and though 
 the majority of them were athletes, they talked with good 
 sense on a variety of subjects. Two of them — an amusing 
 exquisite with an eyeglass, called Tomlinson, and a gentle, 
 dreamy-faced person whom every one called Graham — were, as 
 Denis discovered almost too late, enthusiastic musicians, and 
 played a ridiculous duet on a very bad piano. Port, explained 
 Arbuthnot, had been poured into the piano to make it mellow, 
 but in vain. At the end of an hour Denis felt that he knew 
 them all intimately — Stenning, a large man who adored 
 Napoleon, but addressed you with a courtly manner which 
 belonged to an earlier dynasty than that of his idol ; Warrand, 
 a Scot with a funny, precise trick of speech and humorous eyes ; 
 and Langley, a gaunt, loquacious person who lolled like a 
 tired snake and was suspected of being literary. 
 
 They were certainly very unlike the people he had met on 
 the previous evening ! Denis wished that Lenwood knew 
 them ; they would do him good— if they didn't fall upon him 
 and annihilate him as a pedant and a prig. When Denis told 
 Arbuthnot that he was staying with Lenwood, Arbuthnot 
 grinned. 
 
 ‘ He 's too lofty for me,' he said. ‘ He cuts me dead in the 
 street, and when I gave a wine to all the men from the school 
 and sent him an invitation, he didn't deign to answer it. Give 
 him my love and tell him that I worship him from afar.' 
 
 ‘ Lenwood,' cried some one, ‘ isn't he the man who made a 
 speech at the Union in his first term about reforming the 
 'Varsity ? He made all the dons as sick as dogs. But he 's 
 supposed to be the hottest scholar they 've had at Balliol for 
 ages.' 
 
 o 
 
210 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 1 And the damnedest worm/ said Arbuthnot cheerfully. 
 ‘ Sorry, Yorke ; but you know I never could stick him/ And 
 Denis thought of his first meeting with Lenwood. 4 I say ! ' 
 Arbuthnot went on , 4 who do you think I saw last January ? I 
 went over to Paris to play against a French club — awfully 
 keen lot, but didn't know the game, of course — and as I was 
 coming off the ground who should turn up but old Boosey ! ' 
 
 4 Noel ! ' cried Denis, so that they all stared at him. 4 Do 
 tell me about him ! ' 
 
 4 He hadn't altered a bit, really,' said Arbuthnot ; 4 but he 
 was a little thinner and had a beastly beard like Frenchmen 
 wear, all fluffy and yellow, like a man in amateur theatricals. 
 We dined together a night or two afterwards at a funny little 
 place across the river, full of extraordinary ruffians in velvet 
 suits and bedizened Jezebels with hungry eyes. Afterwards 
 we went to his room ; he lives in an attic about five stories up, 
 and teaches English all day to Frenchmen, and works at sing- 
 ing and painting. He always was a bit of a singer, wasn't he ? 
 It 's funny to think of old Boosey all alone there looking out 
 over Paris. But he 's making money and seems pretty gay. 
 He was awfully cut up by his uncle's death, though. Have a 
 glass of sherry ? ' 
 
 4 No, thanks,' said Denis. The circle of faces swam before 
 his eyes ; he could scarcely trust himself to speak. One of the 
 guests who had been at the school began to tell anecdotes of 
 Noel, and this gave him time to recover from the first shock. 
 Mr. Duroy dead ! It was impossible, it must have been some 
 other uncle of Noel’s. But he did not dare to question 
 Arbuthnot, and sat for the rest of luncheon trying somewhat 
 unsuccessfully to join in the jests and laughter of the others. 
 
 The company dispersed very soon afterwards, having 
 showered invitations on him which he was obliged to decline, 
 for he was returning to school on the following day. Arbuth- 
 not was going down to the river, and Denis walked with him 
 through Christ Church meadows to the College Barge. During 
 the walk Arbuthnot told him all that he knew. 
 
 4 His uncle died a month or two after Boosey left,' he said. 
 
 4 He was in Switzerland with his little girl, and — I don't know 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 21 I 
 
 exactly what happened, but I think they got into a dangerous 
 place, and the rope wouldn’t support them both, and to save 
 her he cut himself loose and was killed. Boosey wouldn’t talk 
 much about it. It was the beastly guide’s fault, I believe.’ 
 
 Denis could say nothing. The bright green of the meadows 
 danced up and down before his eyes and the path seemed to 
 rise and strike his feet. Arbuthnot continued to speak. 
 
 * The little girl was ill for ages — grief and the shock, you 
 know — but she recovered. For months she couldn’t bear to see 
 any one who reminded her of him. Some American people 
 who were staying in the hotel at the time nursed her, and when 
 she was better took her away with them on a voyage. Boosey 
 heard nothing of her for nearly two years, but he had had a 
 letter not long before I saw him. She was in America then. 
 You remember her, don’t you ? The jolly little girl that 
 every one ragged me about because she came across the 
 Pavilion Field to meet me that day when we were playing 
 the Wanderers.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, I remember her,’ said Denis. 
 
 4 Boosey would tell you all about it,’ Arbuthnot continued. 
 4 Unluckily, I ’ve lost his address, and the old rotter never 
 writes. I ’ll try and get it, and send it to you. Well, here ’s 
 the Barge, and I must go in and change. See you next term 
 if I come down with the ’Varsity A Team. Give my love to 
 old Lister and all the rest of ’em.’ 
 
 Denis wandered about the meadows for an hour, and at 
 length found his way into the botanical gardens and sat 
 beneath an unknown species of tree that was laden with white 
 blossom. He was still half stunned by Arbuthnot’s piece of 
 news ; surely, after all, it was unfounded ; surely it was 
 impossible that Mr. Duroy, of all people, slept for ever in the 
 depth of some crevasse, with the laughter hushed on his lips, 
 and his kind eyes glazed and sightless ! It had been impossible 
 even to imagine him grown old. . . . But Arbuthnot had 
 heard the story from Noel, — and there was Rosalind’s silence. 
 ... It was true ; there was no gleam of hope left, unless his 
 own senses had played him false. He stared blankly at the 
 meadows, and knew the dull wonder of a troubled soul which 
 
212 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 almost expects the great, indifferent Nature to assume an 
 aspect that may harmonise with its grief. Some men in 
 flannels passed him, talking gaily. The birds were singing 
 deliciously in the trees by the Cher well. 
 
 Gradually his thoughts veered towards Rosalind. He tried 
 to picture her life for the weeks that succeeded the dreadful 
 event on the mountain — alone, in a strange^country, with that 
 scene always haunting her whether her eyes were open or 
 closed. If only he had known ; if only he could have gone to 
 her and comforted her ! If he had heard the news when he 
 was at school, he would have left instantly and contrived by 
 some means to reach Switzerland, he knew. 
 
 The fact that the tragedy had happened nearly three years 
 before seemed to deduct nothing from the poignancy of his grief. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when he rose from the seat in 
 the gardens and walked slowly to the long bridge above the 
 Cherwell. Far above him the arrowy vanes of the lovely 
 tower shone like burnished gold against the intense blue of the 
 sky, and the cluster of grey buildings that overhung the river 
 seemed more like the palace of some pensive king who had 
 forsaken the world to live in dreams than the temporary 
 lodging of athletic and tumultuous youth. And suddenly, in 
 the midst of his sorrow — though he hardly realised it then — 
 the beauty of Oxford was wholly revealed to him : the sight of 
 her tranquil loveliness fell like healing dew on the feverish 
 drought of his pain : there was actual consolation in the great 
 curve of her matchless street with its fairy spires and grim 
 battlements. He walked towards Balliol through the Rad- 
 cliffe square, vaguely conscious that a new sensation, which 
 was distinct from sorrow and yet was born of it, had invaded 
 his life. There are some happy persons to whom beauty is 
 revealed through joy alone. Denis was not one of these ; the 
 deeper initiation of pain was needed to quicken his instinctive 
 passion for all that was lovely. 
 
 Mr. Duroy would have smiled if he could have known that 
 even his death was to be a factor in the development of an 
 artist. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 213 
 
 XXIV 
 
 T HE memory of Oxford became sacred to him, because it 
 was there that he had endured those long hours of 
 lonely grief, and found that sudden and indefinable consolation. 
 But though the place had assumed this vivid significance in 
 his thoughts, he did not begin to dream that he might become 
 part of its life until some time after his conversation with the 
 Professor. One evening, in his study, there was a furious 
 argument as to the relative merits of certain colleges to which 
 the various disputants were destined to belong, and as he 
 listened to it he was conscious of a thrill of envy. ‘ It doesn't 
 seem to me to matter what college you go to,' he had said, 
 ‘ so long as you ’re in Oxford.’ 
 
 This remark brought a volley of dissent about his ears. 
 
 ‘ Why don’t you go up, Yorke ? ’ said some one when the 
 storm had subsided. ‘ You ’re just the man for the ’Varsity. 
 You ’ve got culchaw. You aren’t good enough for a classical 
 schol. at any of the best colleges, but they might give you 
 an exhibition for playing the harmonium or something.’ 
 
 Denis meditated over this airy suggestion as gravely as 
 if it were the oracle of Apollo himself, and the more he con- 
 sidered it, the more assured he became of its wisdom. He 
 consulted Mr. Lister, who was unexpectedly sympathetic, and 
 he wrote to Lenwood. The sage’s reply was brief. ‘ If you 
 are going to be a musician you had better go and live on brown 
 bread and onions in a German garret. This place is no good to 
 artists. Every don in it who gives a lecture on the Poetics 
 thinks that he ’s ipso facto a critic of every kind of art, and the 
 aesthete is even now rampant amongst undergraduates. No 
 one is so inartistic as an aesthete, or so depressing to real 
 artists. Go to a place where every one is struggling, and 
 struggle with them. Avoid anything academic as you would 
 avoid hell.’ 
 
214 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 But what, after all, did dons and aesthetes matter, thought 
 Denis, if one could work at music in that lovely town, and 
 wander through that dreamy country ? One could live one's 
 own appropriate life anywhere, even at school, even — though 
 it was difficult — in the Red House ; how much easier it would 
 be at Oxford ! There was only one existence that would be 
 better, and that was to live with Noel in Paris ; but Noel had 
 never written ; no one had any notion of his whereabouts, and 
 Rosalind had vanished as completely as her cousin. Eighteen 
 months had passed since Denis had seen Arbuthnot at Oxford, 
 and there was still no news. Arbuthnot, who returned fre- 
 quently to the school, told him that he had hunted high and 
 low in Paris for the vanished one, but without success, and he 
 had concluded that Noel must be performing his period of 
 military service in some distant garrison town. 
 
 So Denis decided to go to Oxford. The prospect relieved 
 the melancholy of his last days at school, when the grim 
 buildings suddenly assumed a real beauty, and faces to which 
 he had been indifferent for five years became strangely and 
 uncomfortably attractive. Yet though he was depressed at 
 the moment of leaving, the depression could not last very long ; 
 the world was all before him, and he knew that he would be 
 sorry — not at the time, but later — if he was obliged to pass 
 another year in that so familiar precinct. He was over nine- 
 teen, and had stayed there longer than the greater part of his 
 friends. 
 
 He took leave of the headmaster and Mr. Lister with sincere 
 regret. The former, who had grown thinner and greyer and 
 looked more like a Roman tribune than ever, spoilt the 
 occasion by assuming an official manner, and talked to him of 
 the necessity of having a fixed purpose in life — as if Denis 
 needed any exhortations of that kind ! The latter barked at 
 him as usual. ‘ I never thought, my person,' he said, ‘ that 
 you would turn out a decent member of society, but somehow 
 you 've managed it in spite of belonging to the slackest and 
 worst-behaved house in the school. Oh yes ! I know what 
 you 're going to say, we are Cock House as usual, and Phillips 
 got his racquet pair and Tonks won the Divinity Prize, but I 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 215 
 
 don't care, my person, the general spirit in the house,' and so 
 on. He paid Denis no more compliments, but wrung his hand 
 fiercely, and his queer black eyes told him plainly all that was 
 left unsaid — that he regretted his going, and was glad to have 
 known hirn, and if he could ever find time to write to a poor, 
 old, affectionate, irascible schoolmaster, his letter would be 
 welcome. Finally he presented him with a meerschaum pipe, 
 the vapours of which diabolical invention nearly caused 
 Denis's sudden demise in a railway carriage two days later. 
 
 The old Professor said farewell to him with deep, though 
 gruff, affection. ‘ You are the only boy whom I have ever got 
 to know here,' he said, ‘ and I don't suppose there will be 
 another. I am growing old and bad-tempered, and come 
 what may, I will not have the window open in my teaching- 
 room during a lesson. These young barbarians seem to think 
 that air is not air when it is within four walls. They complain 
 always in impertinent language. God be with you, my son. 
 You will succeed, I believe ; better still, you will always strive. 
 You have the essential enthusiasm. But beware ! Beware of 
 Mammon. He lurks to devour young men of talent, and he is 
 a combination of a financier, and a concert director, and a 
 publisher, and a piano-manufacturer, and a writer of evil 
 ballads, and a dam rascal. He will take you by the throat 
 and squeeze you dry, paying you a large monthly salary. I 
 shall think of you when you are gone, and I shall play the 
 Lebewohl in your memory. Don't forget the exercises for the 
 little finger of the left hand and do not compose an oratorio. 
 Good-bye, my dear boy ! ' and for one ghastly moment Denis 
 thought that the Professor was about to hug him. 
 
 When he arrived at the Red House Dr. Yorke came into the 
 hall to meet him. The boy was as tall as his father now, and 
 straight and lissom as a young poplar. He was still inclined 
 to be pale, but it was a healthy pallor ; observing it, you 
 divined that there was temperate blood beneath the clear, 
 delicate skin. In spite of the military methods of the school 
 barber, a dark plume of hair was always curving downwards 
 over his square forehead, and his upper lip was adorned with a 
 
216 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 well-defined line of black. The nervous corners of his mouth 
 seemed oddly at variance with the usual aspect of his eyes, 
 which were dreamy ; their pupils were often extremely dilated 
 — a peculiarity which lent a certain hardness to his expression. 
 Dr. Yorke had grown very grey in the last two years ; his 
 heavy shoulders had contracted, so that he appeared always to 
 be making an effort to draw his head backwards as far as 
 possible, and his air of worried suspicion of everything in 
 general was accentuated by the deep lines about his mouth 
 and eyes. 
 
 He shook hands with Denis — they had regained this stage 
 of intimacy — and went with him into the study. 
 
 ‘ The afternoon train was a little late/ he said as he sat 
 down by his writing-table. Even from the tone of this very 
 commonplace remark Denis was able to realise that something 
 had happened — that Dr. Yorke had for some reason modified 
 his attitude. The boy was on his guard at once. 
 
 ‘ I didn’t notice/ he said shortly. Dr. Yorke fumbled with 
 a small pair of scales that stood on the table, opened his lips to 
 speak, looked at Denis, and then closed them. Denis stared 
 at the ugly pictures that darkened the walls. 
 
 ‘ So your school life is over/ said Dr. Yorke. 4 I suppose 
 you ’re sorry.’ 
 
 ‘ I am just now,’ answered Denis, 4 but I shan’t be in a week 
 or two. I ’ve had more than five years there.’ 
 
 Dr. Yorke cleared his throat. 
 
 ‘ I ’ve been thinking things over lately,’ he said. ' I ’ve 
 looked at your reports for the last two or three years — I didn’t 
 bother about them when they came — and I ’ve come to the 
 conclusion that perhaps I ’ve been a little hard on you. You 
 have done very well at school ; I see that you have been in the 
 Sixth form for nearly two years, and that you have taken 
 various prizes for music. You never told me about them. I 
 was quite convinced that you would do no good, but I see now 
 that I was wrong, and I acknowledge my mistake.’ 
 
 His voice took on its old tone of rather unctuous condescen- 
 sion. He was beginning, Denis knew, to admire his own 
 magnanimity. The boy grew more and more uncomfortable. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 217 
 
 ‘ We ’ve been like strangers for more than three years/ said 
 Dr. Yorke. ‘ I dare say you thought I was very stern, but it 
 was as hard for me as for you, and you never gave me a chance 
 of forgiving you. You were always going off with some one 
 just when I was ready to make it up. I used to think that I 
 didn't care what became of you — and I didn’t, but now it is 
 different. You ’re grown up, and you ’ve made a success of 
 your school life. And, after all,’ he added with a little nervous 
 laugh, ‘ you ’re my son.’ 
 
 Denis clasped and unclasped his fingers convulsively. 
 
 ‘ I was your son all the time,’ he said. f Do fathers only 
 treat sons like sons when they ’re successful ? ’ 
 
 Dr. Yorke stared at him for a moment. 
 
 ‘ Well, I admit you have a grievance against me,’ he said ; 
 * but you must admit that I had one against you as well. I 
 fed you and clothed you and paid for your education when 
 you were defying me by every means in your power. You 
 owe me thanks for that, just as I owe you an apology for 
 having imagined that you were going to the bad. You 
 thought I was unkind and I thought you were wicked. We 
 were both wrong, I admit that.’ 
 
 It all seemed very sordid to Denis, and very illogical. He 
 waited in silence, wondering what was behind this sudden 
 move of his father. He was soon to find out. 
 
 ‘ Gabriel Searle and I have talked it over many times,’ Dr. 
 Yorke continued ; ‘ for a long while it seemed to me that he 
 only took your side, but lately I have begun to agree with him 
 that my attitude too has been — a — unchristian. When I read 
 your reports I realised that you had honestly and patiently 
 made amends for your folly — Gabriel was strong on that 
 point — and that I should be wrong to continue punishing you 
 any longer. You aren’t a child now.’ 
 
 4 I wish Gabriel would mind his own business ! ’ said Denis. 
 
 ‘ You are a grown-up man,’ continued Dr. Yorke imperturb- 
 ably, ‘ about to make your way in the world. You must face 
 the realities of life.’ 
 
 It seemed to Denis that an utterly unreal atmosphere 
 enveloped him each time that his father spoke. A feeling of 
 
218 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 hopeless depression overwhelmed him ; all power of thought 
 or action departed as he listened to that interminable harangue. 
 Why in the world had his father veered round in this way ? It 
 was sentimental, it was useless ; the old state of affairs would 
 begin again as soon as he did anything which earned Dr. 
 Yorke's disapproval. It was a move that baffled him com- 
 pletely. Dr. Yorke added to his amazement by rising from 
 his chair and coming towards him. 
 
 4 Shake hands, Denis/ he said, in a thrilling voice that 
 jarred on every nerve which Denis possessed. The boy 
 obeyed, staring with wide eyes at his father. This ceremony 
 accomplished, Dr. Yorke sat down with a sigh of relief. 
 
 4 Now we can talk like man to man/ he said. 4 You know, 
 Denis, I used to say that you could do what you liked, and go 
 where you liked, and become what you liked, and I shouldn't 
 care ; but lately I have realised that I was wrong. I left you 
 to yourself, and providentially you didn't make a mess of your 
 life, but I feel that I owe you some restitution. I thought over 
 this for some time. 44 The boy,” I said to myself, 44 has got 
 brains and must earn his living. The thing is for him to start 
 at once in some profession : he can’t do this alone, I must do 
 it for him.” So I have arranged for you to start next month 
 with Mr. Boulter.' 
 
 4 Mr. Boulter ? ' cried Denis, aghast. 4 Do you mean 
 Boulter the lawyer in Wychcombe ? ' 
 
 4 Yes,' said Dr. Yorke. 4 I have arranged for you to be 
 articled to him for five years. I shall pay all the expenses 
 myself, and shall not touch the little sum that comes to you 
 when you are twenty-one. It is imperative that you should 
 make an income, and as a solicitor, with your brains you ought 
 to be doing that long before you are thirty. You will be able 
 to become a managing clerk.' 
 
 Denis contemplated this alluring prospect with ears that 
 were absolutely horror-stricken. His tongue seemed to be 
 paralysed ; he gasped for breath. 
 
 4 It is an exceptionally good opening for you,' went on Dr. 
 Yorke. 4 Mr. Boulter almost promised that if you did well you 
 would be able to stay with the firm as a salaried clerk after you 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 219 
 
 had served your articles. So there you are, settled for life ! , 
 concluded Dr. Yorke with arch heaviness. 
 
 Denis rose abruptly from his chair. 
 
 1 It 's all nonsense ! ' he cried. ‘ I don't want to be a 
 lawyer ; I 'm not going to be one. I want to go to Oxford and 
 be a musician. I’ma musician already ; the music-master at 
 school said so, and he 's a German, and used to be a friend of 
 Brahms, so he ought to know.' 
 
 Dr. Yorke's smile turned sour. 
 
 4 Perhaps he doesn't know,' he said ominously, ‘ that you 
 are absolutely dependent on me until you are twenty-one, and 
 that then you will have the large income of seventy pounds a 
 year of your own. Please don't imagine that I am going to 
 support you in luxury and idleness whilst you wile away odd 
 moments by strumming a piano in a half-empty hall or com- 
 pose silly songs exactly like those that a hundred other men 
 are doing rather better. As for the University, you can put 
 that out of your head altogether. You are the last person I 
 should dream of sending there. If you can get a scholarship 
 when you are twenty-one you can do as you please, but I don’t 
 imagine that there is any prospect of that. Till then please 
 remember that you are absolutely in my power. By law, I 
 can do as I like with you, and I order you to go into Mr. 
 Boulter's office. You will live to thank me for it.' 
 
 ‘ I don't think so,' said Denis. He sat down again, and still 
 stared amazedly at his father. There was grim reality in Dr. 
 Yorke's accents now, at any rate ! Denis felt that he was 
 cornered ; he had no money of his own, and no loophole of 
 escape presented itself to his hunted soul. Meanwhile, Dr. 
 Yorke proceeded to elaborate the point which he had made. 
 
 ‘ You are old enough now for me to speak frankly to you/ 
 he said. ‘ You probably know that I am over sixty, and 
 that the practice is a very poor one and has not improved 
 during the last few years. If I make four or five hundred a 
 year I think myself lucky. There seems no possibility of 
 things getting better, and though I have fairly good health, 
 I find the work increasingly difficult. I shall have nothing to 
 leave you, and there is every prospect of my having to pass the 
 
220 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 last years of my life in poverty. The money that I should 
 have saved has been spent on your education. I am sorry to 
 have to say this, but I hope you see now that it is absolutely 
 imperative for you to take this chance — to enter a profession 
 at once. You owe it, I mean, to me as well as to yourself.’ 
 
 Always these phrases ! Denis listened to them with an 
 expression of sullen misery. His father’s exposition of their 
 financial prospects seemed to blunt the edge of every weapon 
 in his armoury of defiance. The vague and lovely shapes of 
 all his musical ambitions dissolved before his eyes, and in their 
 stead he saw the bleak face of Duty, an awful beldame whose 
 soul was set on money, money at any cost, and whose gnarled 
 hands held the throat of his hope in their deadly grip. He 
 thought bitterly of the old Professor’s warning. Here, indeed, 
 was an obstacle that he had neglected to prophesy ! 
 
 ‘ If you work hard,’ continued Dr. Yorke, ‘ you will probably 
 be earning at least two hundred a year by the time you are 
 twenty-six. Not many young fellows whose fathers are poor 
 men have such a good prospect. I trust Boulter’s word 
 implicitly, I know he will do his best for you. Of course he is 
 not quite a gentleman, but he is a thoroughly honourable man 
 of business. He is connected with a first-rate London firm, 
 and you will be able to pass the last year of your articles in 
 their office. I ’ve no doubt this is all rather a surprise to you, 
 but very soon you ’ll find out that there is no blessing in life 
 like a regular occupation. By the time you are thirty you 
 will be practising on your own account, and making an income 
 large enough to support a wife and family.’ 
 
 Dr. Yorke paused as if to gloat over this dazzling vision 
 of future prosperity. It brought no comfort to the soul of 
 Denis ; the boy stared at the Landseer prints — those un- 
 sympathetic spectators of so many dreary scenes — and looked 
 as if he had shrunk physically in the last few minutes. 
 
 ‘ People sometimes make money at music,’ he said at last, 
 quite feebly. 
 
 ‘ Not until they ’ve borrowed extremely freely from their 
 friends and relations,’ retorted Dr. Yorke. 4 My boy, you 
 must put the thought of music as a profession out of your 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 221 
 
 head altogether. I 've no objection to your keeping it up 
 after office hours ; it will be an agreeable relaxation — though 
 of course you will have to read for your examinations in the 
 evening ; but you must look on life from a practical point of 
 view. You wouldn't like to see your father spending his last 
 years in poverty just because you insisted on gratifying an 
 elegant taste instead of settling down to the serious business 
 of life ? That 's the way to look at it, — that 's the way you 
 will look at it, if you 're the man of sense that I think you 
 are.' 
 
 Dr. Yorke looked as if he expected that Denis w T ould be 
 immensely gratified by being called a man, but Denis did not 
 seem to notice the compliment. A strained silence followed 
 it ; Dr. Yorke played with the scales, and Denis stared out of 
 the window. So this was duty ! To renounce everything 
 that made life splendid, to give up doing the one thing that you 
 felt you could and must do, and to set your affections on money, 
 money, money ! One might as well be dead ; the only conso- 
 lation was that one probably would be, very soon ; life couldn't 
 go on under such intolerable conditions. And this Duty was 
 inevitable ; there was no possible chance of escape ; he was 
 completely in his father’s power, and his father knew it, 
 betraying the knowledge in that exasperating, unctuous accent. 
 ‘ Stem daughter of the voice of God ' — that was the phrase 
 applied to Duty by a poet whom he loved. Of God, indeed ! 
 Stern daughter of the voice of Dr. Yorke seemed nearer 
 the truth. Oh, he was cornered ! The family finances, his 
 father's hint of approaching weakness — everything combined 
 to hem him in ; it was impossible even to protest against these 
 unfair yet unanswerable arguments. His father held every 
 trump card in the pack. He rose, looking dazed, and spoke 
 in a voice which sounded strange to his own ears. 
 
 4 I 'll go and get out my things,' he said. 
 
 ‘ That 's right ! ' cried Dr. Yorke genially. ‘ Have you 
 brought back lots of new music ? ' 
 
 Denis uttered a stifled exclamation and hurried out of the 
 room. Dr. Yorke smiled, cleared his throat several times, and 
 then wrote a letter to the imminent Boulter. 
 
222 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Formerly, it had been Denis's custom to visit Gabriel on the 
 first day of the holidays, but this time he allowed a fortnight to 
 pass without going to see his friend. He spent the days in 
 wandering aimlessly about the moor, returning dead tired 
 every evening, and going to bed very soon after dinner was 
 over. His piano remained unopened. 
 
 When at last he sat in Gabriel's study, that excellent person 
 was shocked by the change in him. He was listless and 
 gloomy, paid no attention to anything that was said to him, 
 and hardly spoke. ‘ I suppose you know I 'm going into 
 Boulter’s office,' he blurted out suddenly when Gabriel was 
 talking about music. 
 
 4 I knew that your father was going to suggest it,' Gabriel 
 answered mildly. And Denis laughed like a Byronic hero, and 
 echoed, ‘ Suggest ! ' in accents of the bitterest scorn. He 
 refused to speak of music or to touch the piano. ‘ That 's all 
 done with ! ' he cried harshly, and a moment later Gabriel saw 
 that his eyes were bright with tears. ‘ I understand now,' the 
 boy had said, ‘ why people say that their time at school is the 
 best in their lives. It oughtn’t to be, of course, really, but 
 
 when one compares ' He did not revisit Gabriel, and 
 
 declined an invitation from the Brabazons without alleging 
 any reason for the refusal. 
 
 Gabriel tried to persuade himself that it was good for the 
 ardour of youth to be thwarted, but whenever he thought of 
 Denis's face as it had appeared during that brief interview he 
 smelt calamity in the future. The boy was mentally frost- 
 bitten ; he had lost all his vitality, and the tranquil charm of 
 his manner had given place to a misanthropic dourness. He 
 never spoke of his father, but Gabriel discovered that the long 
 feud between them was supposed to have ended, and wondered 
 whether, after all, its termination was an unmixed blessing. 
 There were moments when he congratulated himself on being 
 childless. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 223 
 
 XXV 
 
 M R. BOULTER'S offices were situated in a fine old 
 Georgian mansion which contrasted agreeably with 
 the tawdry shop-fronts and jerry-built residences of Wych- 
 combe main street. Inside, however, Mr. Boulter had ruined 
 the spacious elegance of the rooms on the ground floor by erect- 
 ing various partitions, green baize doors, and receptacles from 
 which clerks observed you when you entered as if they were 
 hungry rabbits in hutches. Of menial clerks Mr. Boulter 
 seemed to have a large supply — prim-visaged, taciturn persons 
 with somewhat shapeless faces and monosyllabic names who 
 had a trick of walking on tiptoe and were seldom known to 
 smile. In addition to these drudges he employed a managing 
 clerk, Mr. Byng, — a hard-working, red-faced man with a harsh 
 voice who was a keen sportsman and rode to hounds on 
 Saturdays when work was slack, — two articled pupils, and a 
 female typist, Miss Perriam, a tired-looking creature with red- 
 rimmed eyes and a meagre bosom. 
 
 The articled clerks, who were to be Denis's companions in 
 adversity, had been educated at the local grammar school, and ~ 
 were oddly different from the boys whom he had hitherto 
 encountered. The senior, Abrahams, was a J ew with a hatchet 
 face, a florid complexion, and an uncanny habit of moving very 
 swiftly and silently, like a panther. The junior, Greaves, was 
 the son of a rich and blatant landowner who had built himself 
 a dreadful house on the outskirts of the town ; he was a sulky, 
 coarse-featured lout, wore very large check suits, and habitu- 
 ally used obscene language. Denis infinitely preferred the 
 J ew to the Christian ; Abrahams had the shrewdness of his 
 race, and legal argument was the breath of life to him, but he 
 also possessed a sense of humour, and saw the comic side of all 
 the petty chicane of local litigation. His name was Augustus, 
 but he was always addressed as Ikey by Mr. Byng and Greaves. 
 
224 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Wychcombc was nearly four miles distant from the Red 
 House, and it was arranged that Denis should ride a bicycle 
 thither in fine weather, and walk or take the carrier's cart when 
 it was wet. He entered the shrine of Themis for the first time 
 in the beginning of September, and was shown into Mr. 
 Boulter's private room. Mr. Boulter was sitting at a large 
 table which was covered with documents. He was a stout 
 man of about fifty with a florid complexion, short white hair, 
 and a bristling white moustache that was stained yellow near 
 his lips. His eyebrows were almost perfect semicircles, and 
 revealed all the superior eyelids, which were creased and puffy 
 like half-deflated bladders. There were odd white patches 
 amid the pinkness of his cheeks, and his nose was covered with 
 a network of little blue veins. 
 
 Without rising, he held out a hand to Denis. Denis shook 
 it, and noticed that it felt like damp seaweed. Mr. Boulter 
 looked at him for a moment, and his baggy eyelids seemed to 
 expand and contract like the bellows of a photographic camera. 
 
 4 Good morning, Yorke,' he said. ‘ I 'm glad to see you.' 
 His voice was most dulcet ; he pursed his lips to a crinkled 
 oval, and every vowel that he uttered seemed to be wedded to 
 a French closed U. A ridiculous line that a great humorist 
 had constructed occurred to Denis as he stood by the table— 
 ‘ your opulent pagodas strike the sky.' He tried to imagine 
 Mr. Boulter in the act of declaiming it. He smiled, but the 
 smile froze when he saw Mr. Boulter reciprocating it. 
 
 Mr. Boulter had another accent. In a swift, rasping voice 
 he shouted suddenly, ‘ Miss Perriam ! ’ The typist, who was 
 seated at a table near the window, sprang up as if some one 
 had driven a dagger between her sharp shoulder-blades, seized 
 her papers with a terrified gesture, and hurried from the room. 
 
 4 Close the door quietly, please,' said Mr. Boulter as she 
 disappeared. ‘ Now, Yorke, I want to say a few things to you 
 before I introduce you to Mr. Byng and the young men. Take 
 a chair. Your father tells me you're a lad of considerable 
 intelligence — well, fathers will be fathers, won’t they ? ha ! 
 But I also inferred, when I cross-examined him — not that he 
 said anything definite, mind you — I inferred that you were a 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 225 
 
 leetle, a leetle inclined to be a bit wild — only just a bit — and 
 boys will be boys, as of course I know. Well, well ! I may 
 have been right and I may have been wrong, but at all events 
 I shall say exactly the same thing to you that I have said to all 
 the other clerks who come. I expect you to work hard and 
 make yourself useful, and I also expect you to behave like a 
 gentleman — in the town — even when you 're not in the office. 
 You know what I mean by that ? * 
 
 Denis stared at him blankly. That a little beast like Mr. 
 Boulter should lecture him on gentlemanly conduct seemed 
 part of the general ghastliness of life, but still he felt a faint 
 surprise. 
 
 1 I don't think I do, quite,' he replied. 
 
 ‘ Oh, you know, you know,' said Mr. Boulter genially, and 
 he winked three times at Denis. Denis began to think that he 
 was mad. ‘ What I mean is this,' continued Mr. Boulter. 
 * Boys will be boys, as I said, especially when there are girls in 
 the world. I ’ve had a lot of bother with my articled clerks ; 
 one of them was in a paternity case when he was only nineteen, 
 and actually asked me to defend him, the young rascal ! But 
 that won’t do here, Yorke. If we were in London I wouldn’t 
 say a word, but in Wychcombe I won’t have it. If you want 
 
 to ’ (Mr. Boulter used a vulgar word implying fleshly sin) 
 
 ‘ you must go over to Wenderbridge ; there are plenty of bounc- 
 ing bonarobas in Wenderbridge, Mr. Byng tells me. Once 
 and for all, understand that I won’t have my office getting a 
 reputation for that kind of thing. It ’s bad for business ; it 
 shocks all the old women. That ’s all I want to say on this 
 subject, Yorke, and I see you take my meaning. I ’m not a 
 Puritan, thank God, I know what young fellows must have. 
 Don’t be offended because I don’t think you any better than 
 the rest of ’em,’ concluded Mr. Boulter facetiously ; ‘ I ’m 
 an oldish man and I know life, and you ’ve got an eye, you 
 young dog ! ’ 
 
 Denis at that moment had two eyes which were vivid 
 with appalled amazement. Surely the man was mad ! Mr. 
 Boulter thumped the table with his fist and laughed softly for 
 a moment ; then he became perfectly grave and spoke to 
 
 p 
 
226 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Denis sharply and succinctly about his future duties. Denis 
 did not understand a word ; he was only conscious of a mad 
 desire to escape, to rush out of this extraordinary place, to put 
 a thousand miles between himself and Mr. Boulter's blotched 
 countenance. A sensation of physical sickness overwhelmed 
 him. At length Mr. Boulter rose and led the way towards the 
 clerks' room. As they approached the door Denis heard a 
 hurried shuffling of feet and moving of chairs, but when they 
 entered he saw nothing but two mbek youths who leant over 
 books with their heads supported by their hands, and looked 
 up with a reluctant air, as if they were ill-disposed to forsake 
 their engrossing labours. 
 
 ‘ Abrahams,' said Mr. Boulter, ‘ this is Yorke. Do what 
 you can for him ; he 'll be a bit of a nuisance to you for a 
 month or two, but keep him going. I shall hold you re- 
 sponsible for him.' 
 
 Abrahams looked very serious. 
 
 ‘ You may rely on me, sir, to do my very best for Yorke,' he 
 said smoothly. ‘ I trust that he will prove a credit to the 
 place — and to me.' 
 
 Denis had never heard language of this kind before. Mr. 
 Boulter, apparently, had done so. 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes, yes, all right ! ' he said testily. ‘ You had better 
 turn him on to the County Court Practice, and see if he can 
 write a decent hand. That will be your chair,' he added to 
 Denis, and departed. As soon as the sound of his footsteps 
 had died away, Abrahams rose, walked over to the fireplace 
 with his hands in his pockets, and stared at Denis with all the 
 might of his very prominent black eyes. 
 
 ‘ Has he been giving you a jaw on the beauty of virtue ? ' 
 he asked. His eyes scintillated strangely and his lean face 
 puckered into queer creases. Denis answered 'Yes.' He 
 could think of nothing else to say. He felt more wretched 
 than ever. Abrahams executed a little dance on the worn 
 linoleum that did duty as a hearthrug. 
 
 ‘ Wicked old blaster ! ' he said. ‘ He 's got fornication and 
 all other deadly sin on the brain. You live near here ; I 
 expect you 've heard of his goin’s-on. A regular old vampire, 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 227 
 
 he is ; he ain't safe ; I wouldn’t be Perriam for all you could 
 promise me. But he ’s a damned smart lawyer, all the same. 
 Some time I ’ll tell you about all the pickles he ’s got himself 
 out of. Eh, what, Greaves, old man ? ’ 
 
 ‘ old ! ’ said Greaves. And this was his sole 
 
 contribution to the conversation. He sat with his chair tilted 
 back and his feet on the table, chewing a toothpick and staring 
 sulkily at Denis. 
 
 Abrahams was much more communicative, and seemed 
 inclined to be friendly. He gave Denis some very easy work, 
 which poor Denis, who was in a state of the blackest depression, 
 muddled hopelessly. The J ew showed him how it ought to 
 be done, and encouraged him with a vivid description of the 
 delights of legal business ‘ when you once got hold of the hang 
 of things.’ ‘ Wait till you come to the County Court,’ he said. 
 ‘ We have some fun there, don’t we, Greaves ? You should 
 just see old Boulter oppressing the widow and the orphan, and 
 knocking out His Honour. It ’s prime ! It ’s as good as a 
 music-hall any day, and entrance free. A dozen judgment 
 summonses make us all happy for a fortnight.’ 
 
 It was obvious that Abrahams had a deep enthusiasm for 
 his profession. At one o’clock, when they went out to have 
 luncheon at a little tea-shop in the High Street, he discoursed 
 to Denis with agreeable candour on his own future, occasionally 
 breaking off in order to engage in epigrammatic rivalry with 
 the large and blowsy female who served them. 
 
 ‘ Are you ambitious, Mr. Yorke ? ’ he asked. Denis replied 
 in the negative, and implored him not to use so formal a 
 method of address. Abrahams grinned. 
 
 ‘ Thanks for kind permission,’ he said. ' It ’s just as well 
 that you ain’t, and that old Greaves ain’t, for I can tell you 
 that I ’m as chock with ambition as an egg with meat. I mean 
 to stick to old Boulter in spite of his morals. I know how to 
 make myself necessary, you bet. If I could find out some- 
 thing shady about the old rascal, something that he wanted to 
 keep dark, and get him under my thumb for good, I should be 
 a happy as well as nice young man. Hi, miss, your hairpins 
 are all starting off on a voyage of discovery. Allow me to 
 
228 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 replace them for you. Oh ! haughty, is it ? There 's no rule 
 with ladies, you never know how they 'll take a kind offer. 
 Yorke, you ain't been introjuced. Miss Flossie, Mr. Yorke. 
 He 's blushing, Miss Flossie ; love at first sight, but not at 
 second — like all the rest of us.' 
 
 Miss Flossie departed with a melodramatic toss of the head. 
 * To 'ear you little boys talk ! ' she commented scornfully. 
 
 4 Fine piece of meat, ain't she ? ' said Abrahams. ‘ You 
 know a thing or two about girls, I 'll bet, Master Yorke. At 
 a public school, weren’t you ? Wish I 'd been. Not so bally 
 innocent there, I fancy. Master’s daughter, garden wall, 
 boy comes after cricket-ball. Poetry, eh ! You ask Miss 
 Flossie what colour her garters are at Harvest Festival.' 
 
 Denis felt more and more uncomfortable, and loathed 
 Abrahams. Greaves burst into a loud guffaw, and whispered 
 facetiously. The girl returned and looked at Denis. She 
 was hot and cross, but there was something in her expression 
 that brought a tiny ray of comfort into his darkened soul. 
 
 ‘ Whatever you 're doing with them I can't think,' she said, 
 with a contemptuous twist of the thumb towards Abrahams 
 and Greaves. ‘ Take my advice and don't keep low company.' 
 
 Abrahams assumed an injured air. 
 
 ‘ His father has put him in our charge for the good of his 
 soul,' he said. ‘ We 're to see that he has his meals regular. 
 You want him for yourself, miss, that 's the truth of it. Has 
 the old man given you the chuck ? I know all about you, my 
 dear.' 
 
 The girl bit her lip, picked up the money which they had 
 laid on the table, and marched away. When she had gone a 
 few steps she turned, and looked at Abrahams with deep 
 hatred. 
 
 4 Hog-flesh ! ' she said. Abrahams seemed quite unruffled 
 by this ambiguous insult. He laughed and looked at his 
 watch. 
 
 ‘ Time 's up,' he said, with an abrupt change of manner. 
 
 ‘ So long, Miss Spitfire.' 
 
 The girl caught Denis's sleeve as he was going out. 
 
 ‘ Don't you believe what he says,' she muttered ; ‘ he 's a 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 229 
 
 liar. But he ain’t as bad as the other ; you keep clear of ’im, 
 he ’s a real wrong ’un — as bad as bad.’ She nodded abruptly 
 and swung off, looking hotter and more dishevelled than ever. 
 
 Abrahams worked furiously for the whole of the stifling 
 afternoon, Greaves appeared to doze, and Denis stared with 
 blank eyes at page one of the County Court Practice and 
 abandoned his soul to all the demons of despair. This, then, 
 was the kind of life that he would have to lead for five years ; 
 these were the people who would be his companions ! The 
 prospect was too ghastly. That Abrahams and Greaves did 
 not happen to belong to the respectable band of persons whom 
 he instinctively recognised as gentlemen was a fact that did 
 not account for his depression ; it was their annoying attitude 
 to life that staggered his inexperienced soul ; they seemed as 
 completely inhuman as if they had migrated to the earth from 
 some less civilised planet. Mr. Boulter, too — there was some- 
 thing about him that made one shudder ; his ruddy face had a 
 shocking incongruity with his voice, his gestures ; he ought in 
 reality to have looked like a sick monkey. . . . And they 
 would meet every day, and Mr. Boulter would smile, and 
 smile. . . . 
 
 He thought of his father, and a paroxysm of helpless anger 
 made his face burn and his hands tingle. So this was Dr. 
 Yorke’s revenge ! He had waited for years, and then he had 
 dealt the blow. He must have known quite well what manner 
 of man Mr. Boulter was, and what kind of persons would 
 frequent his offices. Denis made no allowances for his father’s 
 short-sighted simplicity with regard to mundane affairs ; the 
 whole business seemed to him deliberately malignant, and 
 there was actual hate in his heart. But, at any rate, his father 
 should enjoy no ocular proof of his triumph ; craft should be 
 met with craft, and Denis told himself that he would rather die 
 than utter a word that might hint his wretchedness. 
 
 He thought of school with a regret that was agony. How 
 could he ever have imagined that it was dull or hateful ? Its 
 incessant routine, now that one saw it in retrospect, had the 
 tranquil charm of a cloistered life and a boundless possibility 
 
230 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 of friendship. What chances he had missed there ! How 
 many delightful people there were with whom he could so 
 easily have been intimate ! And now he was condemned to 
 associate perpetually with these dreadful strangers whose 
 every word was like a douche of icy water on his back, with 
 whom he could never have any interest in common. It was 
 the end of all things. It would be far better to die. 
 
 By cutting himself off completely from music he had shaken 
 all the foundations of his soul ; his sense of humour was com- 
 pletely in abeyance, and he saw life in all its naked horror. He 
 had assumed another personality, and was quite incapable of 
 finding joy in anything which had formerly consoled him. 
 The sunlight, the wind, the upland — all that meant nothing 
 now. He thought of Rosalind without any thrill of pleasure. 
 Parnasse, after all, had only been one of the many fool's 
 paradises that he had visited. Music was another — a lovely 
 palace of dreams that he would enter no more. This was the 
 end, an end that made memory itself a mocking tormentor. 
 His life had been built up so well only to be hurled to the dust 
 by this collision with reality. The only thing left was the 
 avoidance of thought. 
 
 Strange, egoistic anguish of thwarted youth ! It was to 
 haunt him for many days, and to leave him with an enduring 
 bitterness against all in authority who hurt the weak with the 
 intention of benevolence. It was so easy to be kind sensibly, 
 he thought. But it was long before he came round even to 
 this point of view. At present he was firmly convinced that 
 it was his father's savage desire for revenge which had placed 
 him in the clutches of Mr. Boulter. 
 
 The long day ended at last. The only other episode was 
 the visit of Mr. Byng, who addressed him as ‘ young feller-my- 
 lad,' and alluded to Mr. Boulter as ‘ the old 'un.' Mr. Byng's 
 manner was genial, but he had an eye like a vulture's. At six 
 o'clock Denis mounted his bicycle and rode homewards as if 
 all the Eumenides were hot on his trail. He kept his eyes 
 resolutely fixed on the patch of road beyond his front tyre, 
 and did not look at the sun that sank behind the battlements 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 231 
 
 of the hills, or the mature splendour of the hedgerow. Once, 
 when a lark rose trilling from a field near the road, he felt an 
 almost irresistible impulse to dismount and fling a stone at it. 
 When the bicycle rattled over some loose flints he swore 
 violently and blasphemously. His nerves were strung to such 
 a pitch as to cause him actual physical agony. When he 
 reached the Red House he was covered with dust and sweat, 
 and his knees trembled as he walked upstairs. He flung him- 
 self face downwards on his bed, and lay there like a dead 
 thing for an hour. 
 
 He was quite calm, however, when he went down to dinner. 
 Dr. Yorke was in a genial mood, and asked him various 
 questions about ‘ his new life/ to which he made conventional 
 replies. 
 
 ‘ What do you think of your companions ? ’ was one of Dr. 
 Yorke’s inquiries. 
 
 ‘ I Ve hardly had time to get to know them/ said Denis. 
 
 ‘ And on the whole you enjoyed the day ? ’ asked his father. 
 
 ‘ Oh yes/ said Denis. Dr. Yorke shook his hand with 
 unusual warmth when he went to bed. 
 
232 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XXVI 
 
 AUTUMN flung her pageant of brown and gold across 
 j T jL the countryside, and winter came like a grey ghost in 
 the wind of the November night. The dark months of her 
 reign had no promise of spring for Denis ; it seemed to him 
 that thenceforward the heart of the world was to be frozen as 
 irremediably as his own. It was ‘ devil's weather,' said the 
 country-folk — an alternation of black frosts that slew the birds 
 in the hedges and rapid thaws that filled all the valley with evil 
 mist. The hedger whom Denis had known since earliest 
 childhood was found dead by the roadside, frozen stark, and 
 the ailing and the old perished like flies in a frost. The land- 
 lord of the village inn did a roaring trade, died of delirium 
 tremens soon after Christmas, and lay beneath an ugly Keltic 
 cross which was subscribed for by sorrowing members of the 
 local goose club. One of the maids at the Red House died 
 in childbirth at the Wychcombe Union shortly after being 
 expelled by Dr. Yorke, who had observed her condition. 
 Every cottage had some tale of sudden calamity or protracted 
 suffering. Men who were formerly sober saw the error of their 
 ways, and men who drank, drank more. It was as if some 
 baleful influence lurked in the north-east wind that howled 
 incessantly about the shoulder of the hills. 
 
 Throughout the winter Denis went every morning to Wych- 
 combe. The inclemencies of the weather had no effect on him ; 
 if he observed them at all, it was with a careless contempt ; 
 accidents of that kind could not harm him now ; his soul had 
 been brought too low to be affected by any subsequent disaster. 
 He felt no sorrow when he heard of the death of the old 
 hedger who had been his friend for so long, and the Awful 
 Warning that Dr. Yorke read in the housemaid's fate did not 
 impress him. A superficial observer would have concluded 
 that he was on much better terms with his father than had 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 233 
 
 been the case for several years ; the only point on which they 
 were at issue was that of music. In spite of Dr. Yorke’s 
 occasional demands for a tune, Denis stubbornly refused to 
 touch the piano ; and at last, on a certain evening when 
 Gabriel Searle came to dinner and wished to play a new piece 
 which had fascinated him, it was discovered that the boy had 
 lost the key of the instrument. 
 
 He avoided Gabriel as much as possible, greatly to Gabriel's 
 disgust. When they met he scarcely spoke, and there were 
 moments when his laconic answers rose to actual rudeness. 
 
 ‘ You treat your old friends very badly,' Gabriel complained 
 on one occasion. And Denis had replied that he didn't 
 believe in old friendships ; they always reminded one of some- 
 thing or other. During the week he only met Dr. Yorke at 
 breakfast and dinner, and as soon as possible after the latter 
 meal he buried himself in a book. He read insatiably ; books, 
 he discovered, were an admirable preventive to the malady of 
 thought, and he devoted Saturday afternoons and nearly all 
 Sunday to them. Nothing would induce him to spend any of 
 his leisure in walks on the hills. 
 
 But the hours when he was apparently free brought him none 
 of the sweetness of liberty, for even in the Red House the 
 phantom of Mr. Boulter's face seemed to follow him, and he 
 could hear the ghostly counterfeit of his unpleasant laughter 
 and suave speech. As the dark weeks crawled slowly away he 
 regarded the office with a sharper intensity of loathing ; he 
 hated everything in it — the prim clerks, the musty smell of old 
 parchment, the dingy rooms, and the monotonous obscenities 
 of the ineffable Greaves. Greaves, indeed, soon became quite 
 insufferable. The idea that Denis thought himself superior 
 was slowly born in his stupid brain, and thenceforward he 
 devoted himself to annoying the boy with the laborious, deadly 
 malice of the dull. Filthy speech, unredeemed by any spark 
 of humour, was his favourite weapon, and he would revel in 
 language so foetid that even the very tolerant Abrahams would 
 protest. Occasionally Greaves would break out into open 
 invective against Denis. 
 
 ‘ He 's so superior,' he said once in Denis's presence. 
 
*34 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ‘ Thinks he 's a gentleman and we 're not, blast him. I tell 
 you what, Mr. gentleman Yorke, I 'm going to be called to the 
 
 Bar, and barristers-at-law are a damned sight better than 
 
 country doctors any day of the week. Old pillbox may call 
 himself a gentleman, but who was his wife, anyhow ? We 
 
 don't know anything about her ; I dare say she was a 
 
 slavey in a sweet shop, like old Flossie.' 
 
 He was leaning back in his tilted chair as he spoke, and 
 Denis was across the room in two strides and struck him hard 
 in the face with his clenched fist. He went over backwards 
 with a crash, swearing violently. Abrahams picked him up 
 instantly, and turned on Denis. 
 
 ‘ Go to your theat ! ' he cried, lisping with excitement. 
 
 ‘ How dare you do that in ofhth hourth ! Therve you jolly 
 well right, Greaveth, all the thame.' 
 
 ‘ Won't I murder him afterwards, oh no ! I don't think 
 so ! ' said Greaves, rubbing his forehead with a brilliant square 
 of bandana. Denis waited for him outside at six o'clock, and 
 Greaves glared at him for a moment and then walked away 
 with his head in the air. 
 
 ‘ I won't soil my hands on your dirty carcase,' he said 
 magnificently. Denis laughed then for the first time since he 
 had entered the office. After this episode Greaves refrained 
 from direct personalities, but he continued his attempts to 
 annoy Denis. He boasted circumstantially of his prowess in 
 drinking, and on more than one occasion proudly announced 
 that he was suffering from an unnameable disease. 
 
 ‘ Beetht, beetht ! ' Abrahams would cry. Denis would 
 ignore Greaves completely, but his mere proximity disgusted 
 him to the verge of nausea. 
 
 It was not a charming environment for a boy of nineteen 
 whose instincts tended towards decency. Denis often 
 wondered afterwards how he could have endured it, and 
 realised that if his whole temperament had not been rendered 
 numb and helpless by its sudden divorce from the art that had 
 been its vital breath, he would have ended everything with 
 some grim and dreadful act. As things were, he sometimes 
 thought of a certain dark pool in the hills as the only final 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 235 
 
 solution of his wretchedness. But hope never wholly dies 
 in the young ; it only sleeps, with a deep, deathlike 
 slumber. 
 
 The one compensation for the place that he found — and the 
 discovery took him several months — was the personality of 
 Abrahams. Denis had begun by detesting him almost as 
 heartily as he loathed Greaves, but gradually he realised that 
 there were real gleams of decency in the Jew’s peculiar 
 temperament, and that he possessed an extremely keen 
 intelligence. He had no morals, in the conventional sense, 
 and in matters connected with his profession he was completely 
 unscrupulous and wonderfully wary ; Law and Morality he 
 regarded as two parallel straight lines which never met though 
 they were produced ever so far in the same direction. He was 
 often amazingly vulgar ; though he lived correctly, he regarded 
 women from the point of view of an Oriental libertine ; he 
 loved flashy neckties and large rings, and, professionally, he 
 seemed often both a snob and a hypocrite. Yet he was 
 impulsively kind, and had a mania for generosity ; he shared 
 his money ungrudgingly with Greaves, and was always trying 
 to thrust presents on Denis — silver pencil-cases, cigarette- 
 holders, and enormous bouquets which he modestly called 
 buttonholes.. He would sit late in the office re-touching some 
 work which Denis or Greaves had done badly, simply in order 
 to protect them from the wrath of Mr. Boulter ; yet he was 
 furiously jealous if either of them were praised, and would 
 warn them solemnly against infringing on the path of his 
 ambition. 
 
 He often invited Denis to accompany him to his home ; 
 Denis evaded him, not too politely, for a long time, but in the 
 end he was obliged to give in. The family of Abrahams re- 
 ceived him with a fervour that made him breathless : Mrs. 
 Abrahams, who was enormously stout and possessed four chins 
 and a yellow velvet tea-gown of staggering splendour, embraced 
 him heavily ; Mr. Abrahams, who seemed at first sight to be 
 nothing but a nose rampant above a waistcoat, patted him on 
 the back and asked after his ‘ pa ’ ; and Miss Abrahams, a gipsy- 
 like damsel with a beautiful, pale amber complexion and 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 236 
 
 immense, luxurious eyes, looked at him as if he were a fairy 
 prince who had roused her from enchanted slumber. 
 
 They sat down at half-past six to an immense meal at 
 which cold ham and game-pie were flanked with muffins and 
 bread-and-butter and watercress and trifle and all kinds of 
 cakes, and they plied Denis with food to such an extent that 
 the thought of a week's starvation became delicious. They 
 talked volubly, and when any subject arose that merited the 
 disapproval of the ladies — old Abrahams really said most 
 extraordinary things ! — or when some one was mentioned 
 whom they disliked, they assumed the most delicious air of 
 languor and spokedn a mincing and artificial way that had the 
 charm of high comedy. They were often quite ridiculous and 
 extremely affected, but Denis was able to come to one con- 
 clusion about the whole family : there was no doubt about 
 their deep affection for one another. Abrahams was obvi- 
 ously adored by his parents and his sister ; they were con- 
 tinually quoting him, or appealing for his opinion. ‘ Gustus 
 
 says ' ‘ What do you think about it, Gustus, my dear 
 
 boy ? ' 'I always put on a red hat when I go out with 
 Gustus, Mr. Yorke. He just adores bright shades.' And 
 Gustus was certainly quite at his best at home, and made fun 
 of his sister most cleverly and yet kindly, and kissed his 
 mother's hand when she went out of the dining-room, which, 
 Denis thought, was a very pretty custom. 
 
 After * tea ' was over they sat in a room which was quite full 
 of the most expensive and hideous furniture, and listened to 
 Miss Abrahams' rendering of Chopin,' s Second Nocturne, 
 followed by selections from all the latest musical comedies. 
 Denis thought poorly of Miss Abrahams' soul, but her fingers 
 were certainly dexterous, and she made great play with the 
 loud pedal. Her eyelids fluttered beautifully, and her 
 handsome shoulders rose and sank as if she were trying to free 
 them from some invisible weight. 
 
 ‘ I 'm sure you play, Mr. Yorke ! ' she said suddenly, swing- 
 ing round on the music-stool, and clasping her hands as she 
 leant towards him. Denis, as he looked at her, was reminded 
 of an engraving in an old copy of Byron's poems which 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 237 
 
 represented Haidee leaning over the sleeping Don J uan. How 
 extremely red her lips were, and how the lower one seemed 
 always to be on the point of falling away from the upper, and 
 yet kept its place and helped to form a full and quite beautiful 
 bow ! He noticed also that the iris of her dark eyes was 
 flecked with little yellow streaks. 
 
 ‘ I gave up music altogether last summer/ he said, rather 
 curtly. 
 
 ‘ Oh, how sad ! ’ she crooned. ' I ’m sure you played very 
 nicely, Mr. Yorke. I can see it in your face. You have a real 
 high-art expression.’ 
 
 ‘ Cecilia, don’t tease Mr. Yorke,’ admonished Mrs. 
 Abrahams, but without severity. Denis, who was guiltily 
 conscious of a note of roughness in his refusal to play, said 
 that he thought Cecilia was a most appropriate name for a 
 musician. The remark had an almost embarrassing success. 
 
 ‘ We ’ve both got Roman names because we ’ve both got 
 Roman noses,’ cried Gustus. The physical claim that this 
 assertion contained was not strictly legitimate, but it made Mr. 
 and Mrs. Abrahams laugh immoderately. 
 
 4 Gustus ’ll be the death of me some day ! ’ said the proud 
 mother. And Gustus winked gaily at Denis. Then they 
 played absurd round games of cards — Animal Grab, in which 
 Mr. Abrahams uttered the peculiar cry of every species of 
 mammal at the wrong moment, and Old Maid, when he 
 created intense amusement by omitting to remove a Queen 
 from the pack before the game began. They were quite 
 disconsolate when Denis had to depart, and Cecilia insisted on 
 lighting his bicycle lamp with her own fair hands. 
 
 Queer people, but rather jolly and very kind, thought Denis, 
 as he trundled homeward through the slush of another rapid 
 thaw. The cloudy pillar of depression that usually accom- 
 panied him on this journey seemed somewhat less dense than 
 usual. He found himself actually envying Abrahams, — 
 Abrahams, from whom he had turned at first with contemptu- 
 ous aversion ! To be doing the work one liked, whatever it 
 might be, and to adore and be adored by one’s people in a home 
 where laughter and affection entirely atoned for saffron tea- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 238 
 
 gowns and awful furniture, — one couldn’t demand much more 
 than that ! He tried to picture himself brought up in a family 
 of the same kind, but the vision faded when he thought of 
 Cecilia’s rendering of the Second Nocturne. 
 
 When he reached home Dr. Yorke commented, though not 
 in a tone of reproof, on the lateness of his arrival, and he 
 explained its reason. Dr. Yorke made some remarks to the 
 effect that though Mr. Abrahams was a worthy man who had 
 worked his way to affluence from a small grocer’s shop, it 
 was scarcely incumbent upon Denis to associate with young 
 Abrahams after office hours. ‘ Not that I mind,’ said Dr. 
 Yorke, * I hope I am not so foolish as to despise a self-made 
 man. Self-made men are the backbone of England. But 
 people are oddly particular about class-distinctions in the 
 country. Some of my patients would be quite shocked if they 
 knew you were associating with people in a different position.’ 
 
 ‘ Abrahams is an articled clerk, just like me,’ said Denis 
 wearily. 
 
 ‘ Of course, of course, but you know what I mean,’ Dr. 
 Yorke had answered. 
 
 Gradually Denis dropped into the habit of going to see the 
 Abrahams once a week— usually on Fridays ; and if he 
 omitted to visit them Gustus would arrive at the office on 
 Saturday charged with three separate and severe reproaches. 
 Greaves was not invited to these festivities. ‘ I don’t mind 
 old Greaves in the office,’ explained Gustus, ‘ but he ain’t 
 precisely the kind of feller that you want to introduce to your 
 sister, don’t yer know. I did take him round once, and he 
 made a blasted favour of it and was as grumpy as be damned. 
 Pa didn’t cotton to him at all, at all.’ ‘ Pa ’ certainly ‘ cottoned ’ 
 to Denis. ‘ A nice-spoken, gentlemanly young chap,’ he said, 
 as he sat before his patriarchal hearth with his waistcoat 
 unbuttoned ; ‘ a bit quiet, but none the worse for that.’ 
 
 ‘ And so nice-looking ! ’ said Miss Cecilia : ‘ and yet sad, like 
 one of Burne-Jones’s beautiful knights.’ Mrs. Abrahams did 
 not blossom into such aesthetic raptures, but occupied her 
 leisure moments in making a large comforter for Denis to 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 239 
 
 wear when he bicycled between the Red House and the 
 office. 
 
 After a while he began really to enjoy these Friday evenings, 
 and to look forward to them during the dullness of office work 
 and the almost insufferable tedium of the sordid County 
 Court. But in spite of them he was still the prey of intense 
 depression, and when he awoke in the morning his heart would 
 sink at the thought of having to live down another long day 
 that would resemble its predecessors in every dreary detail. 
 There was still no news of Noel, and Denis was almost glad of 
 it. He wanted no reminder of the ancient happiness that was 
 slowly becoming a half-forgotten dream. He began to find a 
 perverse and sardonic pleasure in contemplating the complete 
 destruction of his old self ; at the end of February, when he 
 had been in the office for six months, it seemed to him that all 
 his former tastes and desires were really dead ; the music in 
 his brain was as silent as the piano in the Red House, and the 
 thought of his school life became a recollection of episodes, 
 and not of ideas and sensations. He continued to avoid 
 Gabriel Searle as completely as was possible. 
 
240 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XXVII 
 
 T HE winter ended with a terrific snowstorm, and very 
 slowly spring journeyed northwards, a capricious 
 goddess, niggard of sunshine, and apt to slay her own faint 
 flowers with sudden mimicry of the methods of her forerunner. 
 But she came at last ; her breath mellowed the air of dark and 
 balmy nights of March, and her eyes shone in sunbeams that 
 penetrated even the legal dust of Mr. Boulter’s office windows. 
 Mr. Boulter ignored her, or pulled down the blind in her face, 
 and Mr. Byng growled because hunting was at an end, but 
 Abrahams rejoiced greatly. Spring, he informed Denis face- 
 tiously, was responsible for nine out of every ten breach-of- 
 promise actions in the world. Not that he was only conscious 
 of this particular aspect of her influence ; he liked to see the 
 country, and was jolly keen on nature and all that, though 
 Denis mightn’t think it ; actually felt inclined, some morn- 
 ings, to pitch old Boulter’s parchments at old Boulter’s head, 
 and to dash out into the shining world. Funny how it took 
 people, the spring. Cissy, for instance, when it came, did 
 nothing but read poetry and sing songs about lovers who went 
 sailing on the cruel sea. Old Greaves, on the other hand, 
 made plans for his own reformation and drank an extra pint of 
 beer every day. Boulter wore a white waistcoat and oiled the 
 place where his hair used to grow. 
 
 He wound up this rhapsody by inviting Denis to come for a 
 walk in the woods on the following Saturday. Denis refused 
 at first, but a relentless cross-examination by Abrahams 
 proved that he had no reasonable excuse, and in the end he 
 was obliged, for the sake of his own peace, to consent. On 
 Saturday morning Abrahams arrived at the office with a satchel 
 containing a copious supply of sandwiches and hard-boiled 
 eggs, two bottles of beer and some raspberry vinegar. 
 
 4 The R.V. ’s for Cissy,’ he said. 4 Messy stuff, only fit for 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 241 
 
 women. She ’s going to meet us at the cross-road near All 
 Oaks Wood. It ’s quite warm enough to-day for a picnic/ 
 
 Denis had been wholly unaware that Miss Cecilia was to be 
 included in the expedition, but the news that she was to join 
 them caused him no particular thrill of delight or irritation. 
 During the last two months he had grown quite intimate with 
 the Abrahams family • the Friday evening tea had become a 
 fixed institution, and, on the whole, he liked Cecilia, though 
 her affectations were occasionally fatiguing. She invariably 
 tried to persuade him to play the piano, and tossed her head 
 and flounced when he refused ; and she always insisted on 
 pinning a flower in his buttonhole, an operation which was 
 only accomplished after innumerable writhings, giggles, and 
 cries of ‘ Stand still, you naughty boy ! ' which were quite 
 inappropriate, for Denis was as immobile as a bronze statue of 
 patience. 
 
 She met them at the appointed rendezvous, looking, though 
 Denis omitted to notice the fact, extremely handsome in a 
 white frock and a big red hat. The soft air had dealt kindly 
 with her delicate, pale amber complexion, flushing it with very 
 faint pink, and her eyes were extraordinarily bright. She 
 carried a stick with an iron spike in the ferule. 
 
 ‘ You look a regular daisy ! ’ said her artless brother, 
 striking an absurd attitude in front of her, ‘ don’t she, Yorke, 
 my lad ? 9 Denis said, 'Yes, rather ! ’ with due emphasis. 
 Miss Cecilia looked at him, smiled, fluttered, sighed, and began 
 to stab the road with the point of her stick. 
 
 ‘ Do you mind my coming with you, Mr. Yorke ? ’ she asked, 
 glancing at him sideways. Denis made an appropriate 
 response, and she sighed again, and looked at him with eyes 
 that had become infinitely mournful. 
 
 ‘ Oh, if I only knew what really went on inside that calm 
 face of yours ! * she said. 
 
 ' Well/ said her brother, ‘ I don’t know what ’s going on 
 inside his calm face, but I know what ’s going on inside his 
 uncalm body, and that ’s hunger. I vote we find a sheltered 
 place where there ’s some sun, and have lunch.’ 
 
 They entered the wood, and Cecilia found a glade that was 
 Q 
 
242 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 full of sunshine and quite out of the wind. Here they un- 
 packed the basket, and then the cry went up that has ascended 
 from a thousand picnics in every quarter of the civilised globe. 
 Abrahams clutched his brow with a gesture of extravagant 
 despair, and pointed a reproachful finger at his sister. 
 
 4 Woman/ he said, ‘ the corkscrew ! woe is me, the corkscrew ! 
 and not only the corkscrew, but the water for the rasp, vin/ 
 Cecilia began to shriek apologies, but her brother silenced her. 
 
 ‘ No matter/ he said magnificently. ‘ The keeper's cottage 
 isn't far. I 'll go off and borrow one.' 
 
 ‘ Let me go,' said Denis. ‘ I know where it is, and I don’t 
 believe you do.' 
 
 But Cecilia would not hear of this. 
 
 ‘ He '11 find it quite easily, Mr. Yorke ; you must stay and 
 talk to me,' she said. 
 
 ‘ Right-oh ! ' cried her brother. ‘ I shan’t be more than ten 
 minutes. Don't you eat up everything, you two ! ' and he 
 departed, whistling. 
 
 ‘ Let 's sit down,' said Cecilia ; and they did so, she on a 
 felled tree and Denis on a mossy stump. The boy clasped his 
 hands round his knees and looked up at the delicate greens and 
 greys that were beginning to soften the lovely outlines of a 
 silver birch. This return to the woods that he had avoided 
 for so long was causing him the most odd sensations ; the 
 subtle odour of the earth and of last year’s leaves made him 
 feel almost dizzy ; he stared at the sky beyond the silver 
 birch and half closed his eyes. A bee flew close to his ear, and 
 its humming died away in a swift diminuendo. All the wood 
 was lyric with the songs of the birds • and he was surprised to 
 find that he could still recognise their different voices. It 
 seemed so many years, so black and desolate an age, since he 
 had last heard them ! He felt as if he had been blind and 
 deaf for centuries. 
 
 He had wholly forgotten that he was not alone when 
 Cecilia's voice broke in upon his thoughts. 
 
 ‘ Aren’t you going to speak to me, Mr. Yorke ? ' she asked. 
 
 Denis turned towards her with a startled air. 
 
 ‘ I ’m very sorry,' he said. ‘ I 'm afraid I 'm very rude. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 243 
 
 You must have thought I 'd fallen into a trance. You see, 
 this is the first time I 've been in a wood — since I was — for 
 ages.’ 
 
 She threw her head backwards and pouted. ‘ I see ! ' she 
 said. 4 And of course, oh, of course ! woods are much more 
 interesting than poor girls ! Don't mind me, Mr. Yorke ; go 
 on looking at your horrid old wood.' Abruptly, she dropped 
 her affected manner, and leant forward, looking at him 
 intently. 
 
 4 You are different from ordinary people, aren't you ? ' she 
 murmured. 
 
 The words had a strange familiarity ; for a moment Denis 
 felt as if he had lived through an exactly similar scene at some 
 other time in his life. Then he remembered ; he saw himself, 
 a forlorn, dripping small boy, standing in the rain at nightfall, 
 and near him was a dim figure which spoke — the figure of a 
 little girl in a yellow mackintosh. Something seemed to crack 
 in the region of his heart. His eyes smarted. 
 
 He realised that Cecilia was still leaning forward and looking 
 at him. Her face was so near that he could have counted the 
 queer streaks of yellow in her eyes. He thought then that she 
 had a very peculiar expression. She smiled when he looked at 
 her, and then the smile faded slowly. To his utter amazement 
 she put a hand on his arm. 
 
 ‘ I 'd better tell you,' she said, seeming to fight for breath 
 between the words ; ‘ you 're not like any one else, one has to 
 tell you the truth. I left it out on purpose.' 
 
 ‘ Left it out ? ' echoed the stupefied Denis. 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes ! ' cried Cecilia. ‘ The corkscrew. Oh ! you 'll 
 despise me, I know ; you always do, but I couldn’t help it. 
 I 'd never been alone with you, and I couldn't see a chance, 
 and I knew Gustus would have to go and fetch it, and I knew 
 that he wouldn't know the way to the cottage from here, and 
 I chose this place on purpose. You think me a horrid, hateful 
 girl — I can see it in your eyes — but 1 had to do it, I had to do 
 it! ' 
 
 Her voice became shrill. Denis felt desperately uncomfort- 
 able, and yearned for the sound of Abrahams' returning foot- 
 
244 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 steps. He was quite convinced that Cecilia had gone mad. 
 Meanwhile Cecilia continued to pour out a torrent of words. 
 
 ‘ I know you don’t care for me ; I know you never will ! ’ 
 Her voice was shrill and tremulous, like the sound of a taut 
 wire in the wind. She rolled her eyes in a way that Denis 
 would have thought comic on any other occasion ; her fingers 
 trembled convulsively. ‘ You ’re different to the others, 
 that ’s why I ’m making a show of myself. And they did 
 admire me, though you may not believe it ! ’ She gasped, and 
 produced a tiny lace-bordered handkerchief. ‘ You think 
 I ’ve no shame,’ she said, sniffing violently, ‘ but I don’t care, 
 I don’t care.’ 
 
 Denis’s acute embarrassment began to give place to irrita- 
 tion. Abrahams, he knew, would return in a few 'minutes, 
 and then there would be a scene, and the day would be ruined. 
 He withdrew his sleeve from her clutching fingers. 
 
 ‘ Oh, do stop ! ’ he said. 
 
 She sprang up, trying to assume an air of offended dignity, 
 and stood looking at him for a moment. Then she uttered a 
 strange cry, fell on her knees, flung her arms round his neck, 
 and kissed his mouth again and again. He felt her warm 
 breath on his face, and when he tried to push her away the 
 yielding softness of her body troubled him obscurely. Sud- 
 denly she released him, tearing away her arms with an almost 
 violent gesture, and sat on the fallen tree, dabbing her eyes 
 with her tiny handkerchief. 
 
 ‘ That ’s what I ’ve been wanting to do for weeks ! ’ she 
 remarked. ‘ I feel better now.’ 
 
 Denis did not congratulate her on her changed sensations, 
 but sat on his stump looking red and miserable and feeling 
 supremely ridiculous. 
 
 After another moment of dabbing she leant towards him. 
 
 ‘ I know you think I ’ve no shame, ’she said, rather piteously, 
 1 but it isn’t only that. I don’t love you only because you’re 
 so nice-looking * it ’s because I know you ’re not happy. I 
 knew it when I first saw you, and I ’d have died to make you 
 happier, I would indeed. Gustus laughed at me, and said you 
 only looked like that because you hated learning law, but I 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 245 
 
 knew better. I ’ve told you my secret, won’t you tell me 
 yours ? ’ 
 
 Her eyes were shining now with pure friendliness. The 
 inexperienced Denis was completely amazed by this new 
 development, and stared blankly at her. She became very 
 mournful when he refused to speak. 
 
 ‘ I knew it all along/ she said, shaking her head. ‘ You ’re 
 in love with some one. That ’s why you ’re so sad. That ’s 
 why you hate poor me. But I don’t care,’ she added, with 
 another swift change of tone, ‘ I don’t care, because I ’ve 
 kissed you.’ 
 
 Denis thought with envy of the fate of Dathan and Abiram. 
 His embarrassment grew to absolute fear. As she sat there in 
 her large red hat and too elaborate frock she seemed to become 
 a monstrous and terrifying thing, crafty and hostile as a 
 dangerous animal. He had never thought that women’s eyes 
 could glow with that odd light. He glanced round the wood. 
 It seemed to him that the aspect of all the earth and sky had 
 changed. 
 
 ‘ I don’t hate you,’ he said feebly. ‘ But I wish ’ 
 
 She cut him short. 
 
 ‘ You needn’t be afraid,’ she said rapidly ; ‘ I shan’t ever do 
 it again. You ’re like ice. And though I don’t care now, I 
 shall lie awake for nights crying because of to-day. I have 
 some pride, though you mightn’t think it. I wish you did 
 hate me ; it would mean that you thought about me, instead 
 of taking less notice than if I was an earwig or a blade of grass.’ 
 
 She dabbed her eyes again. 
 
 ‘ Oh, I ’m miserable, miserable ! ’ she moaned. ‘ We 
 mustn’t ever meet again ! I couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t face 
 the shame.’ She tore the lace from her handkerchief with a 
 sharp gesture and flung it on the ground. Her voice was deep 
 with reproachfulness. Denis felt that this was the last straw. 
 
 ‘ But we ’re sure to meet,’ he said. 1 Why can’t we be 
 friends, just as we used to be ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Were we ever friends ? ’ she whispered tragically. Then 
 her whole manner changed. 
 
 4 Good gracious ! ’ she cried f ‘ if we haven’t forgotten all 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 246 
 
 about lunch ! ' She went quickly to the satchel and began to 
 spread its contents on the ground. A moment later Denis 
 realised that she had heard the sound of her brother's 
 return. 
 
 4 Mr. Yorke and I had such an interesting talk that we 
 forgot all about lunch ! ’ she cried gaily when Gustus and the 
 corkscrew appeared in the glade. And when they sat on the 
 tree and consumed the sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs she 
 was positively brilliant, and drank large quantities of diluted 
 raspberry vinegar. Denis soon began to wonder if he had 
 dreamed the whole episode. Her flow of epigram endured for 
 the whole afternoon as they roamed about the woods, and 
 Denis, to his great surprise, found himself laughing as heartily 
 as Abrahams. 
 
 They parted at the Abrahams' garden gate about half-past 
 five. She took the flowers which he had gathered for her, and, 
 in Abrahams' phrase, ‘ chawfed ' him because the stalks were 
 too short. It had been a most successful day, she pronounced, 
 and appealed to him for his verdict with a most frank and 
 friendly smile. Suddenly he saw a strained expression invade 
 her eyes and her lips quivered slightly. She turned and 
 walked slowly towards the front door. 
 
 Gustus accompanied Denis for a short distance, making 
 plans for another excursion. When they were at the end of 
 the High Street he stopped abruptly. 
 
 ‘ Just a word, Yorkie, my boy,' he said. ‘ When I went to 
 fetch the corkscrew did she ask you to kiss her ? ' 
 
 This bald question petrified Denis. He stared at Gustus. 
 
 ‘ Who ? What ? ' he muttered indistinctly. 
 
 Gustus uttered a peculiar low laugh, and smote him on the 
 back with considerable violence. 
 
 ‘ I thought so,' he said, ‘ when I came back and saw that 
 you were the colour of her Sunday hat. Don't you worry 
 about it, old feller. She 's always doing it.' 
 
 ‘ Oh ! is she ? ' said Denis. 
 
 Gustus nodded solemnly. 
 
 ‘ She means nothing by it,' he explained. ‘ It is her nature 
 so to do. You see, I don’t want you to feel sheepish when you 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 247 
 
 come on Fridays. There ’s nothing in it, absolutely nothing. 
 So long, old man.’ 
 
 Denis meditated on these fraternal revelations as he rode 
 homewards on his bicycle. Could they be true ? Was she 
 really ‘ always like that ’ ? He thought of the quivering lips 
 at the garden gate, and felt mentally lost. Then he recon- 
 sidered every detail of the scene in the wood, and his face burned 
 so furiously that he was thankful for the darkness. What 
 disgusting luck it was to be entrapped in so awkward an 
 experience, and what a foolish figure he had cut. He tried to 
 imagine some of his friends in the same position — Noel, or 
 even Gabriel Searle ! — but failed. It seemed impossible that 
 such a piece of ill-fortune could come into their lives. 
 
 So she was ‘ always like that.' Yet when he thought again 
 of Gustus’s condemning words, he was tremendously startled 
 to find that they aroused in him no feeling of consolation, but 
 actually a dim kind of resentment. So she behaved in that 
 way with every one — kissed them on the mouth with her warm 
 lips, and hugged them fiercely with her soft arms ! Denis 
 shivered violently, and mended his pace. Did all girls behave 
 in that way ? His mind went questing in the past which it 
 had shunned for so long, and suddenly the face of Rosalind 
 seemed actually to shine before his eyes, — no tantalising vision, 
 but one which consoled him exactly as it had done when he had 
 been troubled or weary at school. She, at any rate, was made 
 in a finer mould ; she was never ‘ like that ! 9 He thought of 
 her during the remainder of his journey, and the memory of 
 the episode in the wood ceased to torment his soul. 
 
 It continued to recur at intervals, however, and when he 
 went to the usual festivity on the following Friday his blood 
 ran up scarlet signals of embarrassment whilst he was greeted 
 by Cecilia. That young lady was perfectly self-possessed, 
 though she seemed more sedate than was usual, and looked ill. 
 The atrocious Abrahams winked at Denis, and tried to draw 
 his attention to Cecilia with a humorous jerk of the head when- 
 ever her back was turned — a foolish pantomime which was 
 discreetly ignored by Denis. 
 
 They had only sat at the table for five minutes on this 
 
248 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 particular Friday when Denis realised that something had 
 happened to annoy his hosts. A cloud overhung the genial 
 brow of Mr. Abrahams, and his wife’s saffron tea-gown was 
 distended with frequent and very audible sighs. Even 
 Gustus looked grim « he had been comparatively silent during 
 office hours for the last two or three days, announcing at 
 intervals that he was about fed-up with Wychcombe. For a 
 moment Denis had a horrid fear that Mr. and Mrs. Abrahams 
 had heard of the drama in the wood, and were going to 
 betroth him to Cecilia ; but he realised very soon that he was 
 not the cause of their indignation. 
 
 When tea was ended Mrs. Abrahams and Cecilia went to the 
 drawing-room, and Mr. Abrahams lit a very large, pale cigar. 
 He smoked somewhat noisily for several minutes, then looked 
 at Denis, and removing the cigar, opened his lips to speak. 
 But when Denis looked at him expectantly, he appeared to 
 change his mind, avoided the boy’s eye, and continued to 
 smoke. These manoeuvres seemed to make Gustus restive. 
 
 ‘ Out with it, pa,’ he exhorted his parent : ‘ now or never ! 
 The more you look, the wider the water. Shut your eyes and 
 pull your socks up. Hold your nose and make a bolt for 
 fresh air. Get it off your chest like a man.’ 
 
 Thus encouraged, Mr. Abrahams again removed his cigar, 
 smoothed the creases from his colossal waistcoat, said ‘ Hem ! ’ 
 three times in crescendo, and fixed Denis with a solemn stare. 
 
 ‘ My young friend,’ he said, ‘ what is your private opinion of 
 Mr. Boulter ? ’ 
 
 The question disappointed Denis, who was expecting 
 something tremendous. 
 
 ‘ I believe he ’s a very clever lawyer,’ he answered. Mr. 
 Abrahams wagged a fat finger. 
 
 4 Now, now, my dear Master Yorke ! ’ he chuckled. ‘ That ’s 
 only your public opinion of Mr. Boulter. I want the real 
 thing, the real thing.’ His voice assumed a rich succulency. 
 
 ‘ I think he ’s a slimy old beast ! ’ said Denis. 
 
 ‘ But I presume that you intend to pursue your studies in 
 Mr. Boulter’s office for some years ? ’ continued Mr. Abrahams. 
 
 ‘ I ’m obliged to, worse luck,’ said Denis. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 249 
 
 4 Well, don't ! ' said Mr. Abrahams. He leant back in his 
 chair and regarded Denis with immense solemnity. 
 
 4 Please, what do you mean ? ' asked the boy. He was 
 convinced that Mr. Abrahams was bringing off some elaborate 
 jest at his expense. 
 
 4 What I said/ answered Mr. Abrahams. 4 Don't. You 
 aren't, or you won't be, so don't.' He met the gaze of Denis's 
 astonished eyes for a moment, and then chuckled slowly. 
 
 4 What my respected pa means is this,' explained Gustus. 
 4 Don't think you 'll put in all your time at old Boulter's, 
 because very soon there mayn't be any old Boulter to receive 
 you in his office with smiles of affection and esteem, as his 
 custom was. And don't think you 're bound to old Boulter, 
 for an event may shortly happen which may release you from 
 all obligations. There you have it in legal English/ 
 
 4 Do you mean that he 's ill ? ' asked Denis. 4 He was all 
 right yesterday morning. I heard him having a row with 
 Byng.' 
 
 4 He wants a change of air,' said Gustus, and at this remark 
 Mr. Abrahams laughed so immoderately that the tears came 
 into his eyes. 
 
 4 That 's it,' he said, 4 a change of air, a little voyage ! 
 Boulter by name and Boulter by nature. Haw -haw ! ' 
 
 Suddenly he became serious. 4 He 's a dam scoundrel,' he 
 said, thumping the table, 4 and in a couple of days every one 
 in the county '11 know it. I happen to know it earlier than 
 most people. Now, look here, my boy ; I 'm a man of business, 
 take my advice. Don't go to the office to-morrow. By 
 Monday your father won't want you to go, I reckon. Any- 
 how, you stay away. Don't mind about your articles ; all 
 that can be settled later, — luckily Gustus has just finished his. 
 You keep clear of a wasp's nest that is going to be smoked out/ 
 
 The essential factors in the case of Mr. Boulter were at 
 length explained to Denis. Boulter had been solicitor to a 
 large local trust for many years, and had systematically 
 defrauded the trustees from the first year of his appointment. 
 He had managed to conceal his thefts with amazing cleverness, 
 and only the most absurd accident had revealed the truth 
 
250 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 to one of the trustees, a local magnate who had been Mr. 
 Abrahams’ partner. This personage had come to Mr. 
 Abrahams on the Thursday evening in a condition that 
 hovered between paralysis and apoplexy. It did not take long 
 for the experienced eye of Mr. Abrahams to discover the truth 
 about the solicitor’s career. A warrant for the arrest of Mr. 
 Boulter was about to be issued. 
 
 ‘ But they won’t get him,’ said Gustus ; ‘ he ’s too smart 
 for ’em ! Went off to Birmingham yesterday morning, eh, 
 Yorkie ? He must have known it was all U.P. By now he ’s 
 on the Bay of Biscay, ho, and I hope he ’s being sick. We 
 shan’t see him any more till we meet in heaven. It ’s awkward 
 for me, as I meant to be his partner. Silly old fool ! ’ Denis 
 had an uneasy feeling that Gustus was not in the least appalled 
 by Mr. Boulter’s crime, but despised him heartily for allowing 
 his iniquities to be detected. 
 
 As he walked home — for his bicycle was at Boulter’s office — 
 he was at first conscious only of a deep disgust at being in- 
 volved, however slightly, in so sordid an affair. The old, 
 implacable resentment surged up in his breast ; how like his 
 father, he thought, to make him the pupil of a thief ! Gradu- 
 ally, however, a new train of ideas, inspired in part, perhaps, 
 by the balmy evening air and the physical pleasure of walking 
 through the darkness, began to invade his mind. This 
 collapse of Mr. Boulter meant freedom ! — the freedom which 
 he had almost ceased to desire until his return to the woods, 
 on the day when the birds sang and Cecilia behaved like a 
 lunatic, had awakened the old craving and overwhelmed him 
 with vague, bitter-sweet memories. There would be an end of 
 conveyances and county courts, and Mr. Byng would cease to 
 be genial ; best of all, there would be an end of the foul- 
 mouthed Greaves. His spirits rose when he contemplated the 
 vision of liberty, and as he looked back on his imprisonment 
 he felt a thrill of hatred that was almost pleasure. How he 
 loathed the office ! Was it possible that he had only been 
 chained there for seven or eight months ? In retrospect it 
 seemed a lifetime. It was ended, now, at any rate ; his father 
 would not dream of sending him back to a place that was 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 251 
 
 tainted with theft ; his attitude towards dishonesty had 
 always been pitiless. But would Dr. Yorke insist that he 
 should continue to learn law in another office ? It was almost 
 certain that he would. Denis squared his shoulders and drew 
 a deep breath ; nothing, he told himself, should make him 
 obey. He had been weak before ; he had been taken by 
 surprise and was too bewildered to resist, and escape had 
 seemed impossible. It seemed equally impossible now, but 
 he was suddenly strong, his old vitality had returned. He 
 would find a way. 
 
 He strode along vigorously, drawing the night air deep into 
 his lungs, and feeling an ecstasy of pleasure in the rhythmic 
 play of the muscles in his legs and back. He could almost 
 imagine that he was a dead man who had returned to life, so 
 novel and splendid seemed the world. Mr. Boulter had really 
 performed a miracle ! The new moon edged her way through 
 a wreath of mist, and he took off his cap to her solemnly. He 
 halted to watch her as she rose, and when her dim radiance 
 showed the dark outline of the hills he greeted them with an 
 exulting cry. For a moment he felt a passionate longing to go 
 to them at once, to ascend by some well-remembered path, and 
 standing on the edge of the crest, to listen to the sigh of the 
 sleeping earth. They seemed to him living and faithful 
 friends whom he had long neglected. But very soon he 
 realised that there was a fiercer yearning in his heart ; his 
 pulses throbbed swiftly, and when he began to walk, the inner 
 voices which he had imagined to be dumb for ever began to 
 murmur a triumphant melody. His blood ran hot and cold, 
 and fiery lights flashed before his eyes. The old sense of some 
 imminent, wonderful event began to haunt him with an irre- 
 sistible obsession. 
 
 When he reached the Red House he went straight to his 
 room and began to ransack the wardrobe eagerly, flinging 
 the clothes in all directions in the manner of a character in 
 farcical comedy. At length, apparently, he found the object 
 for which he was searching, and leaving the clothes to lie in 
 fantastic disorder throughout the room, he rushed down- 
 stairs. A moment later the long-abandoned piano was open ; 
 
252 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 he struck several loud chords and, without pausing, began to 
 play. 
 
 No creation of another composer, however noble, could 
 satisfy him that night ; he was whirled into an extraordinary 
 improvisation in which all the pent-up vitality that belonged 
 to eight months of youth found a violent and delirious outlet. 
 The great chords boomed through the house like the voices of 
 giants, and high above them echoed the cries of Maenads who 
 streamed across the upland with waving torches that shone on 
 their tossing hair and maddened eyes. A brief silence, and 
 then came the awakening murmur of the forest at the hour of 
 dawn, swelling gradually to a great climax of rejoicing that 
 hailed the resurrection of the sun. From the loud splendour 
 of this paean was born a melody that sang the loveliness of 
 spring, and the flower spirits of the dim woodland took hands 
 and danced in the glades, and there was laughter on the gleam- 
 ing faces of the rivers. The shining soul of freedom passed 
 through the world, and the sorrowful forgot their sorrow, and 
 the joyous were dowered with a finer and more pensive joy. 
 The great sea shouted when she passed, and the trumpets of the 
 wind thundered her praise. 
 
 This, at any rate, was what Denis felt and heard. He 
 played for nearly an hour, and ultimately was interrupted by 
 his father, who entered the room looking greatly surprised. 
 
 ‘ I thought you had given up the piano/ he said ; ‘ I suppose 
 you found the key. Denis, I have just heard a piece of news 
 which concerns you. There is an unpleasant rumour going 
 about the county ; people are saying that Mr. Boulter has 
 been behaving dishonourably, and that he has gone away in 
 order to avoid the consequences. Have you heard anything 
 about it ? We must never condemn a fellow-creature hastily, 
 of course.’ 
 
 Denis swung round on the music-stool. 
 
 ‘ I heard all about it from Mr. Abrahams/ he said. * It ’s 
 quite true. I suppose/ he added after a moment, ‘ I needn’t 
 go back to the office.’ 
 
 Dr. Yorke seemed surprised by this assumption. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! ’ he said : 4 I don’t know about that. The business 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 253 
 
 will be carried on by Byng, I should think. After all, the 
 man Boulter may be innocent ; Mr. Judkins, who discovered 
 the error, is notorious for his prejudices. At present, at all 
 events, you must continue to go ; I can't have you shirking 
 the work of your life. After a time I must arrange to transfer 
 you to another office, if necessary.' 
 
 ‘ Ah ! ' said Denis. He turned slowly, and struck a soft 
 chord on the piano. If Dr. Yorke could have seen his face 
 he would have been somewhat startled. But Dr. Yorke was 
 engaged in fumbling in his pockets. 
 
 ‘ I met the postman on my way home,’ he said ; ‘ there was 
 a letter for you. Now, where on earth did I put it ? It had a 
 London postmark. Whom do you know in London, Denis ? 
 I didn't know there was any one. Ah ! here it is.' 
 
 He handed the letter to Denis. The boy looked at it 
 casually for amoment, and then a shiver of surprise ran through 
 his body, and his eyes glowed strangely. He gave one swift 
 glance at his father and thrust the letter in a pocket. 
 
 ‘ Thank you,' he said. ‘ It 's from an old schoolfellow.' 
 
 ‘That's right!' said Dr. Yorke, ‘don’t neglect to keep 
 up school friendships. Look at Gabriel Searle ; his school 
 friends come to stay with him even now, and he 's getting on 
 for fifty. Don't make too much noise, Denis, I 've some 
 letters to write. I never heard anything like the row you were 
 making as I came in.' 
 
 ‘ I shan’t play any more,' said Denis. As Dr. Yorke entered 
 the study he heard the shriek of a scale that rang through the 
 house and then the thump of the piano-lid as it was closed. 
 A moment later Denis rushed upstairs to his room. 
 
 Once again an event had happened to prove the wisdom of 
 his prophetic sense. The address on the envelope which he 
 tore open was written by Noel Tellier. 
 
2 54 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 O N the afternoon of the Sunday that followed Mr. 
 
 Boulter’s abrupt retirement from his profession, 
 Augustus Abrahams was sitting in the tiny room that he called 
 his study, smoking a cigarette and reading a comic paper. His 
 brilliant patent-leather boots rested on the mantelpiece, his 
 lurid waistcoat, still glowing from the hands of Cecilia, was 
 unbuttoned in accordance with the principle of heredity, and 
 his attitude and his expression denoted the extreme of physical 
 and mental ease. A gold cigar-case lay open on the small table 
 by his side, and near it stood a large glass that was filled with 
 very purple port. It was his invariable custom on Sunday 
 afternoons to retire with his wine to his own room, leaving Mr. 
 Abrahams to slumber stertorously on the dining-room sofa. 
 
 He had been reclining in this attitude for about half an hour, 
 and was beginning to feel that a pleasant languor was invad- 
 ing all his senses, when a knock at the door caused him to sit up 
 with a jerk. He looked round with an expression of annoy- 
 ance, that changed instantly to delight when he saw who the 
 intruder was. 
 
 ‘ Yorkie, my boy ! ’ he cried : ‘ charmed to see you, old 
 feller ! Sit down and have a glass of magenta. Port after 
 stormy seas and bike rides doth greatly please, says the poet. 
 Oh, you walked, did you ? Bike at Boulter’s and you ’ve 
 come to shake the dust off your tyres on his doorstep, eh ? 
 He ’s gone for good, Yorkie, they won’t get him. I suppose 
 you aren’t going back to the office ? ’ 
 
 ‘ No, I ’m not,’ said Denis. 
 
 4 What are you going to do, then ? ’ asked Gustus. He 
 stared hard at Denis for a moment. * What the jooce has 
 happened to you, Yorkie ? ’ he cried ; ‘ you look different, 
 somehow. You’ve got an eye on you like a diamond solitaire. 
 Has your long-lost uncle left you a fortune, or did you meet 
 Cissy in the hall ? 9 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 255 
 
 Denis flushed absurdly. 
 
 ‘ Oh, do shut up/ he said. 
 
 ‘ Well, you look top hole/ went on Gustus ; ‘ I do believe 
 you 've grown since Friday night. You 've been up to 
 something, you young dog. Who is she ? All right ! don't 
 get angry ; only my funny way. I 'll be polite and formal. 
 To what, Mr. Yorke, am I indebted for the doubtful honour 
 of this dreary visit ? ' 
 
 Denis was silent for a moment. 
 
 ‘ Look here,' he said, ‘ swear you won’t tell any one ; swear 
 you won’t breathe a word even to your own people, and I ’ll 
 tell you what I ’m going to do. Will you promise ? ' 
 
 Gustus put one hand on his waistcoat and raised the other 
 towards the ceiling. 
 
 4 1 swear,' he said in sepulchral tones, ‘ by the sun and moon, 
 and the Pope of Rome, and the Scarlet Woman mentioned in 
 Revelation, and the President of the American Republic and 
 the tail of Beelzebub. Will that do for you ? Heave ahead ! ' 
 
 * I 'm going to London,’ said Denis solemnly. Gustus 
 stared at him with feigned rapture. 
 
 ‘ My word ! ’ he cried. ‘ Only think ! that 's a thing that 
 no one 's ever done before, anyhow ! Going to London ! My 
 stars ! Then I suppose, my little hero, that your respected pa 
 is going to put you in a London office. You take care of 
 yourself ; it 's a wicked, wicked place, full of sweetshops and 
 painted Jezebels.' 
 
 'No, he ’s not going to put me into an office,' answered 
 Denis with vehemence. ‘ I 'm never going into an office again. 
 I 've done with the loathsome Law. I ’m going to London to 
 be a musician.' 
 
 Abrahams whistled softly. 
 
 ‘ O ho- ! ' he said. ' You 've cut off your respected pa with 
 a shilling, I presume. When exactly did you become a 
 musician ? Was it all of a sudden on Friday night ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I 've always been one,’ said Denis : ‘ that 's why I hated 
 Boulter’s. And now I 've got the chance of escaping, and I 'm 
 going to take it. I 'm off to-morrow morning.' 
 
 Abraham realised that he was serious. ‘ You 're going to 
 bolt, in fact ? ' he inquired. 
 
256 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ‘ Yes ! ’ said Denis. He shivered with excitement. Gustus 
 sipped his port meditatively. 
 
 ‘ Rather rough luck on the old man, ain't it ? ’ he asked, 
 without looking up. 
 
 Denis made an impatient gesture. 
 
 ‘ I don’t care, I don’t care,’ he muttered. * I ’ve got to go.’ 
 
 The grim determination in his voice surprised Gustus. To 
 think that quiet little Yorkie should turn out such a Tartar ! 
 There must have been a family row ; old Yorke was an awful 
 old sanctimonious ass. He looked steadily at Denis. 
 
 ‘ I don’t know much about music myself,’ he said, ‘ but I 
 suppose it ’s all right. Cissy seems to think so ; she pounds 
 away at her love-songs all the blessed day. But is there any 
 money in it ? that ’s the thing. Didn’t all these big musician- 
 chaps have to go round with a barrel-organ for years before 
 they did any good ? That ’s what I gathered from hearing 
 Cissy talk about ’em.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, you don’t understand ! ’ cried Denis. ‘ Music — it isn’t 
 a thing you do for money, it ’s a life — it ’s your life ! Money 
 doesn’t matter if you ’re free — if you ’re doing the right thing, 
 the thing you ’re meant to do.’ 
 
 Gustus nodded slowly and sympathetically. 
 
 ‘ Have you ever been hungry and not been able to get any- 
 thing to eat ? ’ he asked. ‘ I haven’t, but I ’ve met fellers 
 that have. Even money begins to matter a bit then.’ 
 
 Denis meditated. 
 
 ‘ But they come through,’ he said ; ‘ the musicians, I mean. 
 Hunger doesn’t kill their music as other things kill it — working 
 in an office or living with some one who can’t understand.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh well, you know best ! ’ said Gustus, but without con- 
 viction. ‘ But now we ’re on the subject, may I ask if you ’ve 
 any money to get along with until you make your fortune by 
 giving concerts to the Queen in the Albert Hall ? Or is the 
 Lord Mayor going to board and lodge you free of charge at the 
 Mansion House ? ’ 
 
 Denis smiled. 
 
 ‘ That is what I ’ve come to see you about,’ he said. ‘ I ’m 
 very sorry, but I shall have to borrow two or three pounds 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 257 
 
 from you. Once I ’m in London I shall be all right ; I ’vea 
 friend there, and I shall get some musical work to keep me 
 going. I ’ve thought it all out.’ 
 
 He showed no embarrassment in offering to elevate Gustus 
 to the position of creditor. Gustus stared at him, then 
 laughed softly. 
 
 4 This beats cockfighting ! ’ he said. ‘ So you Ve put your 
 pride in your pocket at last, eh ? D’ you remember how you 
 always refused cigarette-holders and things ? Yorkie, you 're 
 a changed man/ 
 
 ‘ It ’s only because I Ve got to go/ said Denis. ‘ I ’ll pay 
 you back as soon as I can, but it may be some weeks/ 
 
 Gustus rose and smacked him on the shoulder. 
 
 ‘ Damn paying back/ he said ; 4 we ’re friends, ain’t we ? 
 You can give me a free seat in the Albert Hall next to Queen 
 Victoria. But what ’s the good of two or three pounds ? Is 
 your friend a rich man ? ’ 
 
 4 No,’ answered Denis, ‘ I don’t think so. He ’s a musician 
 too — a singer.’ 
 
 ‘ Then I bet the first thing he does when he sees you is to 
 borrow a fiver. You ’d better have twenty, Yorkie ; I ’m 
 flush of money just now, and I can always go to the governor 
 if I run short. And if you do get into low water, don’t forget 
 your little friend Augustus. I ’ll be proud to do anything in 
 that line, I will indeed.’ 
 
 His kindness made Denis feel ashamed. Gustus produced a 
 bundle of notes from a cash-box/ Ha ! I ’m richer than I 
 thought,’ he said. ‘ Make it thirty, Yorke, just to oblige a 
 friend. You ’ll want ’em all.’ But Denis refused to accept 
 more than ten pounds. 
 
 ‘ That ’ll keep me going for ages,’ he said. ‘ You can live 
 on thirty shillings a week in London. I ’ve got a lot of songs 
 that I can sell, too. I ’ll pay you back in a month, I hope.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, drop it ! ’ cried Gustus, with real annoyance. He 
 fidgeted about the room for a while. ‘ I ’m jooced sorry 
 you ’re going, Yorkie,’ he said at length, coming to a halt in 
 front of Denis. ‘ I took to you from the first, though you were 
 so jolly quiet. I shall never forget the way you punched old 
 
 R 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 258 
 
 Greaves in the face. He ’d been wanting it for ages, but I ’m 
 not good in that line. You 're a fighter, really, you know, and 
 I reckon you ’ll come through the crowd even in the music 
 trade. Cissie ’ll be the colour of cold veal when she hears that 
 you ’ve gone.’ 
 
 Denis looked frightened at the sound of that redoubtable 
 name, and resolved to employ every art that would help him in 
 avoiding its possessor. By a most unlucky coincidence, how- 
 ever, they almost collided with Cecilia when they opened the 
 study door. She gave a little shriek and smiled at Denis. 
 
 ‘ Oh, Mr. Yorke,’ she said, ‘ who ’d have thought of seeing 
 you ? I was just coming to tell Gustus to take me for a walk.’ 
 
 ‘Oh! we never go for walks on a Sunday,’ said Gustus, 
 rather rudely. * Cissie, Mr. Yorke and I have to talk business. 
 We ’re in the thick of this Boulter affair.’ 
 
 Cecilia flounced and bridled. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! I wouldn’t interrupt you for worlds ! ’ she cried in 
 shrill accents. ‘ Good-bye, Mr. Yorke.’ 
 
 ‘ Good-bye,’ said Denis. Thank Heaven, this was the last 
 of Cecilia. He shook hands with her, and then realised that 
 she was regarding him with an absolutely bewildering expres- 
 sion. He was becoming used to her infinite variety, however, 
 and forgot her completely before he reached the garden gate. 
 He gave Gustus an address in London where letters would 
 reach him, and said farewell to him with real regret. 
 
 ‘ Keep on smiling ! ’ shouted Gustus as Denis turned the 
 c >rner. 
 
 Wychcombe High Street was wholly deserted when he went 
 to Boulter’s office for his bicycle. After some trouble he was 
 able to borrow a key of the shed where it reposed, and as he 
 stood ready to ride away for ever from those unhallowed 
 precincts, he looked at the grimy windows and felt a deep thrill 
 of defiant joy. No more Boulter, no more Greaves ! The 
 shining road lay plain before him at last ! He mounted his 
 bicycle and rode to the Red House, and played Mendelssohn’s 
 Lieder ohne Worte to his father until dinner- tjme. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 259 
 
 PART III 
 
 XXIX 
 
 THICK fog had descended on Chelsea, and the long 
 
 room was full of tobacco smoke, so that when he 
 
 entered it he could not distinguish between the faces of the 
 men who were sitting by the fire. But a figure rose instantly 
 from the circle — a figure which for a moment seemed to him no 
 other than that of Mr. Duroy — and strode towards him. It 
 was Noel, at last ; a very large Noel, with a beard and an 
 immense pair of shoulders, but with the same voice and the 
 same gestures that he had known so well at school. 
 
 ‘ This is great ! ' he said, and Denis writhed in a most power- 
 ful hand-clasp. Noel held him by the shoulders for a moment, 
 and stared at him, beaming. ‘ You don't look so very legal, 
 after all ! 5 he cried. 
 
 ‘ Oh, I altered during the journey,' Denis answered. He 
 was overcome with joy at meeting Noel at last, and noticed 
 that the room smelt like the studio at Parnasse. ‘ Then 
 you 're painting ! ' he said. 
 
 ‘ A masterpiece now and then,' said Noel airily. ‘ You 've 
 come at exactly the right moment. I 've a tame, pet musician 
 here waiting to be introduced to you. Sandys, this is Denis 
 Yorke, who is great and not famous ; Denis, this is Archibald 
 Sandys, who is famous and will never be great. You can't be 
 great if you 're christened Archibald, a name the Muse abhors.' 
 
 A short man with very square shoulders rose from his chair 
 by the fire and marched solemnly towards them. He had a 
 pale face with a queer prim mouth and large melancholy eyes. 
 He gazed up at Denis, who overtopped him exceedingly, and 
 smiled a shy smile. ‘ How d' ye do ! ' he said in a high stac- 
 cato voice, and shook Denis's hand as if it were a rat that he 
 
26 o 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 desired to slay. Still clinging to it, he made a gesture in the 
 air with his left, and cried fiercely : 
 
 ‘ Curse all claptrap ! ' 
 
 4 Curse all claptrap ! ' said Denis, laughing, hardly knowing 
 what impelled him to re-echo the words. The astonishing 
 little man said ‘ Good, good ! ' and went back to the fire. Noel 
 explained him to Denis. 
 
 4 Don't mind him,' he said ; ‘ he 's mad, but honest. This is 
 James Grimshaw, the painter. His great ambition is to get 
 into the Academy ; but they 've no use for him ; he can't 
 paint seraphs and sofa-cushions and women who cheat at 
 cards.' 
 
 Denis was thrilled. He knew that Grimshaw was already 
 famous as one of the protagonists of the modern revolt against 
 the oleaginous prettiness of the mid- Victorian Academic 
 tradition. He had often read articles in the daily papers 
 which protested shrilly against the painter’s brutal heaviness 
 of line and violent orgies of colour, and he looked at him with 
 respectful interest. Grimshaw, at that moment, hardly repre- 
 sented his ideal of an iconoclast, a champion of new faiths and 
 noble innovations : he was lean and unkempt, with sandy hair 
 and a moustache like a superannuated nailbrush, and he 
 seemed somnolent and morose. His face, Denis thought, 
 would have been dignified but for the deep lines that ran from 
 the side of each nostril to the corner of each lip. His forehead 
 was magnificent. 
 
 He shook hands without rising from his chair or speaking, 
 and then stretched out his legs towards the fire and lay staring 
 at a picture above the mantelpiece. Denis disliked him 
 instinctively ; if Greaves, he felt, could by any possibility be 
 an artist, he would certainly resemble Mr. Grimshaw. But he 
 had no time in which to think about this idea, for Noel began 
 to ask him innumerable questions. 
 
 Denis told him the story of Boulter's office, and alluded 
 briefly to his absolute incapacity for music whilst he had been 
 a prisoner there. Little Sandys listened to this revelation 
 with deep interest and smiled his beautiful sympathetic smile. 
 4 I was once in a bank,' he confided to Denis : 1 banks are very 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 261 
 
 bleak places/ Denis refrained from mentioning his father ; 
 Grimshaw’s presence was inimical to the unveiling of domestic 
 secrets, and Noel knew from his letter that he had absconded 
 from home. 
 
 ‘ Well, now we ’ve got you we mean to keep you/ said Noel, 
 when the chronicle was ended. ‘ I Ve no spare room here, but 
 I Ve found you an attic a few doors away. The landlord is a 
 methodistical beast, but it ’s cheap, and there ’s a big window 
 looking south across the river, and you 'll have room for a 
 piano. You ’ll find a pale apology for lunch here every day. 
 In the evenings I generally walk across to Soho and dine in one 
 of the French or Italian places and try to persuade anarchists 
 that I ’m a detective. Archibald always gives me away, 
 though ; he looks so wicked. When I ’m really rich I go to 
 the gallery of the Opera, whence, with the aid of a powerful 
 telescope, I can see Grimshaw, R.A., in a box, making love to 
 duchesses of heroic stature. It ’s a squalid life, mon Denis, 
 and you ’ll soon get sick of it. When you do, we ’ll disguise our- 
 selves as troubadours and tour the world with a mechanical 
 piano.’ 
 
 4 I shall never get sick of it ! ’ said Denis. ‘ It ’s what I Ve 
 wanted ever since I can remember. I ’m going to begin work- 
 ing to-morrow. When I got to Paddington and smelt the 
 London fog, I suddenly felt that I had only played at music all 
 these years. Now I mean to do something serious. I used to 
 think that one could only write music and poetry or paint in 
 the country, but I see already how wrong I was. Just to drive 
 through the streets on a dark day makes one feel alive all over.’ 
 
 Grimshaw rose, looking somewhat bored. 
 
 ‘ London ’s a monstrous pustule,’ he said briefly ; 4 it cries 
 to Heaven for extinction.’ He strode heavily to the fireplace 
 and knocked out the ashes from his pipe. Denis felt as if a 
 cascade of icy water had been poured down his back, and hated 
 the painter. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! London ’s not such a bad old cesspool,’ said Noel 
 cheerfully ; ‘ she looks rather grim when you ’re down to your 
 last sovereign, but she ’s full of extraordinarily jolly people. 
 She ’s full of idiots, too, of course, but you needn’t see them. 
 
262 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 You can always find your friends and you needn't bother about 
 acquaintances.' 
 
 ‘ Oh ! ' said Denis suddenly : ‘ where is Rosalind ? ' 
 
 Grimshaw turned quickly, stared at him, and then looked at 
 Noel. 
 
 ‘ Does he know her ? ' he asked in his surliest manner. 
 
 ‘ Do you ? ’ asked Denis. 
 
 Grimshaw stared at him again, and then replied, ‘ Oh yes ; 
 we all know her.' 
 
 Denis loathed him still more heartily. ‘ Is she in London ? ' 
 he asked Noel. 
 
 ‘ I don't know exactly where she is at this particular 
 moment,' Noel answered. ‘ Hurtling about, I expect, in the 
 manner of her sex.' Denis thought this a very unsatisfactory 
 response to his eager inquiry ; Noel, however, gave him no 
 chance of reiterating it, but began to perform sleight-of-hand 
 feats with Grimshaw's hat, which was of the shape that one 
 vaguely associates with race-meetings and seemed most un- 
 fitting for an artist. Grimshaw rescued the hat without smil- 
 ing, and eventually removed himself and it from the room, 
 much to the relief of Denis. 
 
 Little Sandys came towards Denis and stood staring at him 
 with his funny pale eyes. 
 
 ‘ May I ask if you are going to take lessons ? ' he said 
 timidly. 
 
 Noel laughed him to scorn. 
 
 * Lessons ! ' he cried. ‘ He 's a genius, Archibald, a purple 
 prodigy. He ought to have been turning the crowned heads of 
 every court in Europe when he was fifteen instead of conjugat- 
 ing the second aorist of tvtttio at an ordinary, stuffy English 
 public school. He 's a great man, a composer, nom de nom de 
 nom ! By the way, Denis, have you got any money ? It 
 doesn’t matter, of course, if you haven’t ; I 'm rich beyond the 
 dreams of Croesus ; I 've twenty-four pounds eighteen shillings 
 and fourpence in the bank ; only we must make Archibald find 
 you some temporary and lucrative employment to support 
 your great soul until you drown the world with melody. 
 Archibald, I may tell you, is a potent and terrible figure in the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 263 
 
 ranks of those who look after English music. He can crush 
 even a German artist.’ 
 
 Sandvs smiled his little deprecating smile. 
 
 4 You probably know by this time that all Noel’s geese are 
 swans,’ he said gently. ‘ I am quite unknown as a musician, 
 but I happen to be connected — unfortunately, as I think — 
 with the commercial side of the art in London ; in other words, 
 I am that last of outcasts, a musical hack.’ 
 
 * Lord save us, what ’s that ? ’ cried Noel histrionically. 
 
 The little man took no notice of him, but still gazed at Denis 
 with his lips parted in that unwavering smile. 
 
 ‘ I put on a frock-coat, by request of the heads of the firm, 
 and go round every day to read manuscripts for Wallaby, the 
 big music publisher,’ he explained. ‘ I read a great number of 
 ballads that are sent in by all sorts of people who aren’t artists, 
 and I decide which of them are likely to be commercially 
 successful. I am afraid that my decisions are not very wise, 
 from Wallaby’s point of view ; still, for his purpose, a nega- 
 tive test is as good as a positive. If I say that a song has a 
 certain artistic merit, he knows that he will be wise in reject- 
 ing it ; if I say that it is sugared beastliness, he knows that it 
 will probably have a success at one of his damnable Saturday 
 orgies.’ He spoke quietly, without heat, looking up at Denis 
 with an expression of shy confidence. 
 
 ‘ It must be hateful work,’ said Denis. 
 
 ‘ Oh yes, it ’s quite hateful ! ’ Sandys replied with a little 
 laugh. Noel patted his head. 
 
 ‘ Never mind, my child,’ he said. ‘ It won’t last for ever. 
 There ’s a good time coming when we ’ll all sail away for 
 Eldorado in a big white steam-yacht, and compose fugues and 
 symphonies all day, and walk in rose gardens all night to the 
 sound of flutes and soft recorders. And Wallaby shall come 
 with us. He shall have a camp-stool in the stoke-hole, and 
 shall dance, fatly naked, for our pleasure. If he refuses, we ’ll 
 tickle his toes with hot tuning-forks.’ 
 
 Sandys giggled. 
 
 ‘ I may be able to help you,’ he said to Denis. ‘ It would 
 give me real pleasure to help some one who was keen ; but I 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 264 
 
 know nothing about your work except what Noel has told me. 
 According to him, you are a very big swan indeed. I under- 
 stand that you play as well as compose ; perhaps you would 
 be so very kind as to play something now. Noel's piano is 
 concert pitch ; 1 hope that will not annoy you. Could you 
 manage a little Beethoven ? Noel has the sonatas.' 
 
 Denis felt at that moment as if he could play anything in the 
 world. Sandys requested timidly that he would select a piece 
 of music which he really loved, and indicated that it ought to 
 be of sufficient difficulty to show up his faults. Denis chose 
 the Waldstein sonata. He felt that he was in magnificent 
 form throughout the performance, and liked Noel's piano 
 immensely. He really surprised himself. Consequently, 
 when he rose from the piano to find that Sandys was contem- 
 plating the ceiling with an expression of intense melancholy, 
 he felt sharply disappointed. He had expected that the little 
 man would be full of smiles and timid compliments. 
 
 ‘ Oh, you 've come on ! ' cried Noel. 
 
 Sandys said nothing for a moment ; then, without looking at 
 Denis, he said, ‘ You 're badly in need of practice.' 
 
 He looked sternly judicial — seemed, indeed, quite a different 
 person from the gentle, apologetic creature that he had been 
 before the performance of the sonata. ‘ What you want,' he 
 continued, ‘ is a course of lessons from a really good man. And 
 you must have them at once.' He spoke like a doctor address- 
 ing a patient. He turned to Noel. * I '11 see Landberger,' he 
 said ; ‘ he 's in London for the Spring. I 'm not certain, but I 
 think he might take him on, as a great favour.' 
 
 Denis's heart sank. He had heard of the great music- 
 master. ‘ I 'm afraid, even if he did, I couldn’t afford it,' he 
 said. ‘ I 'd better tell you that I 've no money ; I shall have 
 seventy or eighty pounds a year when I 'm twenty-one ; but 
 that won’t be for another ten months.' 
 
 Sandys did not seem to be listening. ‘ Let us have some 
 of your songs,' he said. f I suppose you 've brought them to 
 London.' 
 
 So Denis produced various manuscripts from his bag, and 
 played the accompaniments whilst Noel sang. Noel’s voice 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 265 
 
 had become remarkably good, and Denis was so completely 
 overcome with pleasure at hearing it once more that he was 
 almost unable to play. When they had performed half a 
 dozen of the songs little Sandys seized the manuscripts and 
 began to turn the pages excitedly. 
 
 ‘ But these are new ! ' he cried, almost in falsetto. ' You 
 fortunate boy ! they 're new, and yet they may actually 
 become popular. The folk-song is only just beginning to be 
 exploited, and your settings are admirable, really admirable, 
 upon my word ! Give me the whole lot and let me see what I 
 can do with them. They 'll redeem Wallaby's reputation and 
 they 'll give you a splendid start.' 
 
 He shook Denis's hand violently. ‘ No claptrap in these ! ' 
 he said, waving the songs in the air. ‘ I 'll take them away 
 now, and go through them all this evening.' 
 
 But Denis refused to acquiesce in this proposal. 
 
 ‘ You really can't have them to-night,' he said ; ‘ I want to 
 go through them again with Noel when we 're alone.' He 
 turned to Noel. * Why are you painting pictures when you 
 can sing like that ? ' he said. 
 
 ‘ Yes, that 's what I say to him,' cried little Sandys. ‘ He 's 
 a renegade, an apostate, a beastly pluralist. You should hear 
 him sing the Don. You should hear him at the Dichterliebe. 
 Instead of which, he paints impressionistic curiosities of 
 Chelsea bathed in lemon light and Trafalgar Square in blood- 
 red.' 
 
 Noel looked down at him with a bland smile. 
 
 ‘ It is my misfortune,' he said, ‘ to be famed in all great 
 arts, in two supreme. You may not know it, but I write 
 beautiful French poetry about autumn in the woods and autumn 
 in the soul, and I once made a clay model of Coquelin aine that 
 was Pheidian, my dears, absolutely Pheidian. All art, all life, 
 is my domain, and till lately I earned two pounds a week by 
 teaching lovely Latin languages to persons who all appeared to 
 possess defective roofs to their mouths. Such is my tragedy. 
 Go away and weep over it, for Denis and I are yearning to 
 unburden our souls to one another, and your presence irks us. 
 He shall come round to you to-morrow morning, bringing his 
 
266 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 sheaves with him. Begone, Archibald, and Heaven protect 
 you/ 
 
 Sandys tapped Denis’s waistcoat solemnly with his fore- 
 finger. 
 
 * Stick to it ! ’ he said, ‘ and mind — no claptrap. You ’ll be 
 tempted. Good-bye. Come to-morrow ; Noel will direct 
 you.’ 
 
 He stood in front of Denis, smiling, and hesitating to depart. 
 Noel picked him up in his arms and bore him calmly from the 
 room. ‘ I always have to do this,’ he explained, ‘ he ’s too 
 artistic to make an abrupt exit, and too shy to make an 
 appropriate one.’ Little Sandys pulled Noel’s beard and 
 swore gently during his removal. 
 
 It seemed to Denis during that evening that all his woes had 
 ended for ever. To sit with Noel by the fire in Chelsea, where 
 Carlyle and Rossetti and Meredith and Swinburne had written 
 immortal works, and where, if you were lucky, you might 
 still meet Whistler, fantastically garbed, Mephistophelean, a 
 wraith from the old artist life of Paris ; to sit with Noel, 
 whose infinite variety was unchanged by toil and a beard, to 
 contemplate the prospect of immense labour at the art for 
 which you were born, and to know that you had at last really 
 escaped from Boulter’s office and other darknesses — could any- 
 thing be finer ? The only drop of bitterness in the flowing 
 bowl of his contentment was the fact that Noel became darkly 
 mysterious with regard to Rosalind — spoke of her as if she had 
 altogether passed out of his life, wagged his head gravely, and 
 warned Denis that the subj ect was a painful one. Denis didn’t 
 believe him. * You haven’t altered, and of course she hasn’t,’ 
 he said. 
 
 ‘ You ’ll know all about her later,’ Noel had answered, and 
 with this Denis had to be content. 
 
 He was shown his bedroom and his landlord ; the former 
 was bare but airy, with a prospect of budding trees and an 
 oblique glimpse of the river ; the latter had a red nose and a 
 perpetual snuffle. Then they walked along the Embankment 
 and the Grosvenor Road, and took an omnibus in Pimlico 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 267 
 
 which conveyed them to Piccadilly. They dined at a little 
 French restaurant in Soho ; the company was mixed, but the 
 food was excellent, and Denis had the supreme felicity of 
 renewing his acquaintance with mille-feuilles and babas-au - 
 rhum. He thought that the restaurant was the most delightful 
 place in the world ; everything amused him — the majestic 
 lady who bowed to her clients as they entered and went out, 
 whose magnificence the casual guest greeted with a mispro- 
 nounced ‘ bon soir/ and the real habitue with ‘ Madame ! ’ and 
 a low bow ; the pretty daughter, with her insolent slanting 
 eyes and blue-black hair and swinging hips ; the quiet, grey- 
 haired patron, whose manners were those of an ambassador on 
 his best behaviour ; Alexandre, who brought you wine from 
 the shop at the corner and looked like a Russian prince who 
 had been out all night in the rain ; and the company of diners, 
 a curious medley of French rastaquoueres, highly respectable 
 English burgesses, and evil-eyed, blotch-faced youths, the off- 
 scourings of the drama ; some healthy, calm-looking actresses 
 and a couple of chorus-girls whose crowning glory, apparently, 
 was their teeth ; self-conscious adolescents in frock-coats who 
 were bank-clerks engaged in seeing life ; goggle-eyed men with 
 large bellies who might have been company-promoters or 
 editors or managers of theatres ; and a sprinkling of anarchists, 
 poets, artists, young men lately from Oxford and young 
 persons lately from Cambridge. All this in a dense cloud of 
 smoke that blurred the fiercely glaring lights which are so dear 
 to the heart of the minor French restaurateur, and hung like a 
 decent veil about the nakedness of the stucco cherubim who 
 staggered beneath the weight of the ceiling. There was a 
 great deal of unnecessary and amusing noise : frantic French 
 commands were vociferated down a flight of stairs that led to 
 the kitchen, and on a bad piano behind a curtain some mis- 
 guided wretch was hammering out Olivier Metra’s Valse des 
 Roses. Noel grumbled at the din, and asked Denis if he hated 
 it, but Denis found it enthralling, and wondered why the patron 
 looked so tired and bored, and why Madame’s face grew hard 
 when she ceased to smile so brilliantly, so gaily. The room 
 was like a picture by some modern French painter, he thought, 
 
268 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 all patches of colour and broken shafts of vivid light, and 
 shifting faces that were very red or very pale. He thought it a 
 jolly and invigorating place, though, perhaps, it was not the 
 one you would choose if you had a headache or wanted to think 
 out some music. 
 
 After dinner they walked “back through the Soho streets, 
 which were crowded with most fantastic people, and smelt like 
 a large and smoky railway station in which innumerable boxes_ 
 of oranges had been upset. They went down Oxford Street to 
 the Marble Arch and then walked across the dusky park. The 
 fog had lifted, and beyond the trees Denis could see a few faint 
 stars. Shadowy figures drifted by them as they walked, and 
 grotesque shapes were huddled on the seats near the railings. 
 The roar of the traffic diminished to a mysterious and persistent 
 undertone. Seen through the trees, the rows of electric lamps 
 in the streets were like festoons of strange pale fruit. 
 
 They reached Chelsea by way of Sloane Street. As they 
 went along the Embankment a fresh breeze from the river blew 
 in their faces, and Denis discovered that even in London you 
 could feel the advent of spring. Noel told him the names 
 of many famous people who had lived in the lofty solemn 
 houses that lined the river-bank, and they paused to watch 
 the moon that rose above the square tower of the ancient 
 church. 
 
 Then they ascended to Noel's studio, and went through all 
 the songs that Denis had brought, and Denis inspected Noel's 
 pictures and sketches, which he thought very clever, and 
 smoked caporal cigarettes, which at first nearly choked him. 
 The sketches and figure-studies were a surprise to him, for he 
 had not previously associated Noel with patient industry* 
 There were halfa dozen portfolios in the studio which were full 
 of sanguines, sepias, and water-colours, and innumerable chalk 
 drawings on brown paper adorned the walls. Denis knew 
 nothing about painting ; his only chance of seeing great 
 pictures had happened when he had visited France and Italy 
 with the Duroys nearly five years before. Yet he felt that 
 there was some excellent quality .in Noel's work of which a 
 more mature j udgment would approve. Although it was often 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 269 
 
 difficult to discover the exact meaning of some of his pictures 
 until you retreated to the other side of the studio, you couldn't 
 help realising that there was nothing mechanical or artful 
 about them ; they were full of light, he thought — of real light, 
 not mere painted brightness — they had the luminous freshness 
 of a sunny, showery day in spring, and were never formal and 
 limp, like the pictures at the Red House, in which, you felt, all 
 the straight lines had been carefully ruled and all the colour 
 * had been piled on laboriously with smalt brushes. His chalk- 
 studies of the nude were delightfully vigorous ; Denis was full 
 of admiration for the way in which he managed to give a com- 
 plete idea of contour with a single line of varying breadth. 
 The majority of the studies were mere fragments — bodiless 
 legs and legless bodies, a girl’s arm and shoulder, the neck- 
 muscles of an athlete — but they filled Denis with deep regret 
 that men and women were so degenerate as to walk the earth 
 in trousers and petticoats, at any rate during their youth. He 
 made the amazing discovery that the ordinary work-a-day 
 human body was a divinely beautiful affair. ‘ Not invariably/ 
 said Noel ; ‘ haven’t you ever seen fat men bathing ? ’ But 
 Denis held that if no one wore clothes no one would dare to 
 grow fat. 
 
 Then they sat by the studio fire and talked of the splendour 
 of ancient days and days to come, of the memorable tour in 
 Italy and Mr. Duroy, and of school. Of course Noel had no 
 excuse for not writing to Denis ; he never wrote letters whilst 
 he was in Paris, he explained ; and had been working day and 
 night for the whole period of his existence in France except 
 when he went off on long walking-tours. He had scoured the 
 whole country from the Vosges to Marseilles, and had pene- 
 trated, unaided by railways, into Germany, Spain, and Italy. 
 He had made some money by teaching English to French 
 students and commercial persons, and after a long course of 
 Parisian Art Schools had come to London in search of old 
 friends and new experiences. The artistic facility that seemed 
 to be the peculiar heritage of any member of the Duroy family 
 had developed very swiftly in him when he left school ; he had 
 studied singing seriously for a while, as Arbuthnot had in- 
 
270 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 formed Denis long ago, and it was actually true that he had a 
 considerable gift for sculpture. But now painting claimed his 
 undivided allegiance, and singing had become merely an 
 amusement for his leisure. 
 
 After all, thought Denis, his own theory was vindicated ; 
 splendid people didn’t change, they only mellowed to a greater 
 brilliance, and after a long absence you could take up your 
 friendship with them on exactly the old terms. As he sat 
 opposite Noel, watching the gestures that he had known so 
 well and listening to familiar inflexions of his voice, countless 
 scenes from the old days at Parnasse were born again in his 
 mental vision : he saw Mr. Duroy, vast and benevolent, sway- 
 ing from side to side as he played so softly, so masterfully, and 
 Rosalind, with her firm white chin pressed to the shining wood 
 of the violin, and her pigtail, and her eyes that were dark and 
 dreamy. . . . Once again he heard the clash 01 foils, the noise 
 of sliding feet, and the dry click of castanets. He remembered 
 Rosalind’s laughter as they set up the French notice-board in 
 her garden, and the writhings and frenzied barks of Narcisse 
 when he was held up to read it. Dear, absurd sights and 
 sounds ! The most frivolous of them, somehow, didn’t seem 
 to stand by itself, but had a background, as it were, of grave 
 music — a fugue or a prelude of Bach, a solemn movement from 
 the sonatas of Beethoven. How one’s memory, even, seemed 
 to be changed by the actual condition of one’s life ! At 
 Boulter’s the thought of old days had been intolerable, a 
 torture to be avoided grimly ; but now it had risen above any 
 aching bitterness of regret, even though Mr. Duroy was dead 
 and Parnasse the prey of the poultry-farmer. 
 
 He was aroused from such reveries by Noel, who accused 
 him of wanting to go to sleep. Denis denied this charge with 
 indignation. ‘ And if you won’t tell me about Rosalind you 
 might tell me about Narcisse,’ he said. Noel replied that 
 Narcisse was still alive ; he had grown old and wise, and no 
 longer moaned at good music, but in appearance he was un- 
 changed. 
 
 ‘ And where is he ? ’ Denis asked. 
 
 ‘ With Rosalind, back o’ beyond, back o’ beyond,’ said Noel, 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 271 
 
 with a mocking smile. And though Denis returned to the 
 attack he could elicit nothing more. 
 
 They sat up till two o'clock, in order, as Noel said, to 
 christen the new latchkey. At last, when Denis was on the 
 point of departure, Noel said, ‘ I suppose you are going to send 
 a postcard to your disconsolate parent ? ' 
 
 Denis's face became inscrutable as that of a granite Pharaoh. 
 ‘ I suppose so,' he said ; 4 though I don't know how I should. 
 He 'll never have anything to do with me again. I left him a 
 letter with my address in it.' 
 
 ‘ You did ! ' cried Noel. 4 We shall have him up here to- 
 morrow, and he 'll beat my pale, passionate body with his 
 beastly big stick. What 's the point, anyhow, of levanting 
 from home to become a genius if you leave your address behind 
 you ? It 's against all the rules of romance.' 
 
 ‘Oh! I don't think he 'll come here,' said Denis. 
 
 Something in his voice seemed to startle Noel. He came 
 over to Denis and gripped his shoulders with his strong hands. 
 
 ‘ You feel that you 've scored him off finally this time, don't 
 you, Denis ? ' he said. 
 
 p Denis writhed. * Yes, no — I don't know,' he said. ‘ I 'd 
 really forgotten all about that.' 
 
 Noel increased the pressure of his fingers. ‘ Observe me,' 
 he said, ‘ give ear unto the oracle. Don't go trying to score 
 him off still more by doing all sorts of things just because you 
 know he would hate them if he knew. Oh, I know my Denis, 
 I believe ! If you 've done with him for ever, you 've done 
 with him, and there 's no earthly good in being bitter. Bitter- 
 ness is the one thing that rots everything, especially your kind 
 of work. You '11 have to toil like ten giants. And now the 
 oracle has spoken, and you may go to the devil. I 'm sleepy.' 
 
 4 Yes, I 'm going to work,' said Denis. 
 
272 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XXX 
 
 E ARLY next morning he went to the abode of Sandys 
 with an armful of manuscripts. The musician lived 
 in a room near the World's End, which contained little besides 
 himself except a grand piano and some chairs that were piled 
 with music. He greeted Denis with enthusiasm, took off his 
 coat, rolled up his shirt-sleeves, and sat down at the piano ; 
 but in spite of these athletic preliminaries he played with 
 great delicacy — with too great a delicacy, sometimes, Denis 
 thought — but at any rate he was a perfectly accurate reader. 
 He was exceedingly deferential to Denis. ‘ Is that your con- 
 ception of the part ? ' he would demand at frequent intervals, 
 with a shy smile, rubbing his thin arms with his bony fingers, 
 and he would listen to the suggestions of the composer with 
 profound attention. Yet, at moments, he was severe ; three 
 of the songs were condemned as blatant, and when he indicated 
 their defects Denis wondered how they could ever have seemed 
 anything but detestable. 
 
 Little Sandys worked at the songs for nearly two hours ; 
 then he rose from the piano and announced his intention of 
 taking them at once to Mr. Wallaby. He became hugely 
 embarrassed when Denis began to thank him. ‘ I 've done 
 nothing yet ; there may be difficulties,' he protested. ‘ Wal- 
 laby is sometimes as blind to his own advantage as can be 
 possible. But I 'll do my best.' He spoke of the great Land- 
 berger ; a meeting must be arranged between him and Denis 
 as soon as possible. ‘ He 's a queer fellow,' he explained. 
 
 ‘ You 'll think him rather rude and er — even vulgar, but he 's 
 the man for you. A single course of lessons from him '11 do 
 wonders, and he has a charming wife.' 
 
 They walked together to Sloane Square, where Sandys 
 plunged into the mephitic vaults of the Underground Railway. 
 On the way there Denis spoke of Griinshaw. ‘ A dour beast/ 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 273 
 
 said Sandys, ‘ but good, oh, very good in his line. Quite the 
 best of the younger men. Knows how to use his imagination 
 — and he 's got one. Yes, indeed ! — without painting alle- 
 gories. He 's a magnificent etcher, too, but tries to do too 
 much in that way. The size of some of his plates ! ' After 
 an interval of silence he confided to Denis that, in his opinion, 
 much of Grimshaw’s surliness was due to an unhappy marriage. 
 ‘ A model, you know ; a strapping, black-browed, handsome 
 baggage with the temper of a fiend, and, on occasions, the 
 tongue of a fishwife. I 've had the pleasure of hearing her 
 descanting on her theories of life to Grimshaw. Married her 
 when he was a student ; nearly wrecked his work altogether ; 
 he has only got near greatness since they were separated. In 
 spite of his surliness he 's a good fellow, I believe. I Ve heard 
 of several very generous things that he has done for other 
 painters. He was the man, you know, who put Wintermeyer 
 the dealer through his own window. Great scandal, of course, 
 but it helped both of them so much, commercially speaking, 
 that we all concluded it to be a case of collusive action, in spite 
 of the glass splinter in Wintermeyer's behind.' 
 
 Denis liked Sandys, partly for the little man's own sake, 
 partly on account of his deep admiration for Noel. ‘ I don't 
 know what it is about him, I suppose it's personal magnetism,' 
 said Sandys, ‘ but he makes all other people seem pale ghosts. 
 If you won't think me a traitor for saying it, I may tell you 
 that I don't think he 'll ever be a great painter, and I know he 
 won't be a musician ; he 's irresponsible, he 's unstable as 
 water, he doesn't care. Every artist must, to a certain extent, 
 he self-centred, and he 's not got a bit of that — not a tiny bit ! 
 He 's one of those rare creatures who occasionally appear in 
 the world to make it brighter — unconsciously, without any 
 effort — for other people. Even if you merely sit in his studio 
 for an hour when he is painting hard and won't speak, you go 
 away feeling — feeling like an electric battery that has been 
 recharged.' 
 
 It was a handsome tribute, and a just one, Denis felt. 
 
 ‘ I know two other people who were like that ' he began. 
 
 ‘ I only know one other, and she 's a woman,' said Sandys. 
 s 
 
274 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Then he looked at Denis, and blushed so obviously that Denis 
 almost laughed. They had reached the door of Sloane Square 
 station, and the little musician nodded to Denis, and dived 
 into the interior. ‘ See you again soon ! 9 he cried over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Denis began to feel that his particular star was in the 
 ascendant. He had only been in London for a few hours, yet he 
 was already perfectly at home • he was practically living with 
 Noel ; his songs were on the way to a publisher, and he was on 
 his way to hire a piano that would aid in the production of 
 something finer than he had ever before achieved. His soul 
 sang within him as he walked ; he seemed to tread' on air, and 
 felt atrociously self-confident. Everything delighted his eye : 
 the shifting crowd in the streets, the spring sunshine that 
 flooded the parks with soft light, the vivid colours of the 
 omnibuses — how enormously splendid it all was ! What a fool 
 he had been to waste more than half a previous year in the 
 dungeons of the unlamented Boulter ! Now that one felt life 
 tingling in every nerve of one's body, one realised that to be 
 sunk in hopeless apathy was an actual crime, a sin against 
 Nature for which there should be no forgiveness. This was 
 reality, at last, and he had lived so long in a vague land of 
 nightmare ! 
 
 He hired a grand piano, after trying several, and being 
 complimented on his touch by a sleek personage in beautiful 
 raiment who presided over the instruments. He returned to 
 Chelsea, warned his landlord of its advent, and ran up the 
 stairs to Noel's studio. He flung open the door, and then stood 
 on the threshold as if some strange enchantment had been laid 
 upon him. 
 
 A girl who was quite naked was standing on a kind of dais 
 beneath the big window. Her head was turned away from 
 Denis, her right knee was bent, and her left hand rested on her 
 hip. Even in that amazing moment Denis realised that the 
 attitude was extremely graceful. She did not move a muscle 
 when he entered so abruptly, but said something to Noel, who 
 was working at the other side of the studio. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 275 
 
 Noel looked up, saw Denis, and in a voice of cheerful un- 
 concern called to him to come in. Denis felt that he would 
 have given his soul to flee, but he reflected instantaneously 
 that if you lived among artists this was one of the queer 
 things that you had to put up with. He closed the door and 
 entered, keeping well out of range of the model's eyes. He 
 had once heard his father describe the sensations which 
 attended a medical student's first sight of an operation, and 
 felt that his own at that moment were very similar. He was 
 acutely uncomfortable. Noel did not seem to observe his 
 condition. ‘ You can stand at ease, Topsy,’ he said to the 
 model ; 1 this is Mr. Yorke, who 's going to live with me. 
 He 's a musician, not a painter, so you won't hate him.' 
 
 The lady called Topsy relaxed her limbs, turned her head 
 and inspected Denis. 
 
 4 Musician ! ' she said in a high, brisk voice, with a decided 
 London accent ; 4 I just love music myself, Mr. Yorke, though 
 you mightn't think it to look at me. Those musical plays 
 fairly match my style. Have you seen the Circus Girl ? ' 
 
 As soon as she spoke it seemed to Denis almost natural that 
 she should be standing there with no clothes on her beautiful, 
 slender body, and that he should be looking at her. Her 
 voice was so cheerfully commonplace that he nearly forgot his 
 embarrassment. 
 
 ‘ I only came to London yesterday/ he answered. 
 
 She nodded comprehension of this fact, looking at him with 
 an air of cool yet good-natured patronage. ‘ Lived in the 
 country ? ' she said. ‘ The country 's all right for a day — 
 Epping Forest and a lunch basket, and that — but give me old 
 Smoky for real sport. Chelsea 's dull, and you can’t get a 'bus 
 unless you go to King’s Road. I wouldn’t live here if it 
 wasn’t for my profession. I 'd be off to London in the inside 
 of half a minute.' 
 
 Denis hardly noticed the peculiarity of her last remark. He 
 was thinking that her face was quite unworthy of her figure ; 
 it was pretty, but commonplace and too highly coloured, and 
 her mouth was too large. That she had no objection to a 
 stranger's presence in the room seemed to him quite dreadful, 
 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 276 
 
 but at any rate she was obviously good-natured, though rather 
 foolish. When Noel asked her if she would like a cigarette, 
 she uttered an affected little scream that reminded Denis of 
 Cecilia. 
 
 ‘ As if you didn't know quite well, Mr. Tellier, that I can't 
 abide to see a lady smoking ! ' she said. ‘ Don't you hate it, 
 Mr. Yorke — to see it, I mean ? I s'pose I 'm old-fashioned, 
 but I never think it looks respectable.' 
 
 That she should talk of respectability in her present circum- 
 stances seemed to Denis very remarkable, but Noel, who was 
 squeezing some paint on his palette, did not even smile. 
 
 ‘ I don’t think I 've ever seen a woman smoking,' said Denis. 
 
 ‘ My word ! ' said Topsy ; ‘ you are from the country, aren't 
 you ? ' 
 
 ‘ Attention, please ! ' said Noel. 
 
 Instantly she assumed the graceful pose that he needed, and 
 then, without moving her head, continued to talk to Denis. 
 
 * Then I bet you haven't met a model before,' she said ; r I 
 thought you hadn't seen an ongsomble when I heard you come 
 into the studio. I can tell in a minute what any one 's like by 
 the way they come in when I 'm posing. Not that I allow 
 people to come in, you know ; you quite startled me, I can tell 
 you, for Mr. Tellier won't have any one near him as a rule 
 when he 's working.' 
 
 ‘ Oh, I 'm very sorry,' said Denis. 1 Would you like me to 
 go, Noel ? ' 
 
 But Noel, with his eyes fixed on his canvas and his diction 
 impeded by a large brush that he held in his mouth, protested 
 heartily against this suggestion. ‘ You don’t put me off,' he 
 said; 'it's only a painter that I really can't stand near me when 
 I 'm at work. Grimshaw took it into his head for about a 
 month that he could only print etchings at night, and used to 
 lounge about here all day long.' 
 
 ‘ Oh ! Mr. Grimshaw ! ' said Topsy disdainfully. ‘ He 's 
 worse than ever ; keeps you at it till you feel as if you 'd break 
 in half if any one touched you, and never says a word except 
 “ Damn it all, can't you stand still ? " He 's a terror, he is I 
 It 's a pity you can’t draw like him, though.' 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 277 
 
 Tellier grinned, but did not reply to this candid criticism. 
 Denis went over to look at his canvas. It seemed to his partial 
 eye that the picture was a wonderful work of art ; the girl's 
 figure, silhouetted against a black background, was painted 
 with a breadth and vigour that seemed almost coarse until he 
 retreated from it a few yards, and then all the delicate outline 
 and supple curves dawned delightfully on his vision ; the 
 beauty of that quiet, untroubled dignity of pose was revealed 
 to him, and as he looked from the canvas to the model he saw 
 a dozen perfections of line and light and shade to which he had 
 been blind. But the face in the picture was the face of Topsy, 
 sanguine, good-natured, vulgar ; and this distressed Denis. 
 Topsy's hand, too, looked red and coarse against the warm 
 pallor of her body, and Noel had reproduced this contrast with 
 great fidelity. Denis would have liked to protest, but felt 
 that this was impossible whilst Topsy was present. 
 
 Meanwhile Topsy continued to talk in an animated manner, 
 which contrasted funnily with her statuesque attitude. ‘ You 
 see those things on the wall, Mr. Yorke,' she said ; ‘ they 're 
 all me — joints and necks and legs and shoulders. They 're 
 the best Mr. Tellier 's done ; he can’t finish a picture to save 
 his life, but he knows all about sketching the figure. Yes, I 'm 
 all there, as you might say, in sections ; they'd fit together like 
 a puzzle and you 'd find Me. Do you think it 's bold of a girl 
 to stand for the figure, Mr, Yorke ? Some think it 's dread- 
 ful ; there was a young man who lived in a boarding-house 
 where I stayed once who was real fond of me and used to take 
 me to Earl's Court Exhibition and sent me chocolates and 
 wanted to marry me, but when I told him how I earned my 
 living he cried, and said it was all over, and called me all sorts 
 of names, so I boxed his ears and remained single, but I was 
 sorry at first, for he was quite genteel and a clerk in one of the 
 big banks in the Strand. And he married a girl on the stage 
 who played boy's parts in the pantomime and treated him 
 shocking, and he stole the bank's money and got locked up, 
 and sometimes I feel it was my fault. But there ! it 'd be a 
 poor sort of world if you had to arrange your profession to suit 
 the taste of every young fellow you met, and if he 'd had any 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 278 
 
 sense he ’d have known that respectable people don’t become 
 wicked just because they haven’t any clothes on. You ’re 
 always yourself,’ concluded Miss Topsy, ‘ and you can’t get 
 away from it.’ 
 
 Denis listened to these agreeable revelations with interest. 
 Women certainly were very odd creatures. Topsy, who stood 
 naked in the presence of strange men, worshipped a queer god 
 of respectability, and spoke with a Cockney accent, seemed to 
 him kinder and more human than most of her sex whom he had 
 previously encountered. Cecilia, of course, would think her 
 dreadful, but in spite of Cecilia’s Chopin nocturnes, and melt- 
 ing eyes, and languorous graces, Topsy was indubitably her 
 superior in vitality and good sense. The Vicar’s wife, if she 
 could have entered the room at that moment, would have 
 bellowed like an insane cow and swooned on the threshold ; 
 nevertheless, contrasted with Topsy, she would have seemed 
 vulgar, actually vulgar, though she spoke the mincing English 
 of her aristocratic forerunners, and was morally so exalted 
 a being that even her husband found it difficult to remember 
 that she had ever been guilty of an undignified attitude. 
 Topsy gave you the impression that she had her way to 
 make through a not too sympathetic world, and had there- 
 fore no time to waste in sickly pretences of any kind. 
 She was quite genuine, perfectly frank ; her body was her 
 means of livelihood ; why should she pretend that it didn’t 
 exist, or that it was a mysterious secret to be mentioned with 
 breathless awe ? She informed Denis of her methods of keep- 
 ing it healthy — calisthenics and a cold bath every morning all 
 the year round, fresh air and no late midnights. ‘ I can’t 
 afford to get run down,’ she said ; ‘ and nothing runs you down 
 like worry. I don’t worry and so I don’t touch whisky. 
 London water ’s my tap, and stout for a treat on birthdays. I 
 don’t know why I tell you all this, Mr. Yorke, I don’t suppose 
 it interests you and you can’t put it in a book. Mr. Surtees’s 
 brother — he ’s a journalist, writes for no end of papers — wrote 
 a book called Charming Chelsea and put me in, under another 
 name of course ; but nobody recognised me — I didn’t myself 
 — and he was very angry. You can’t put me into a bit of 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 279 
 
 music, can you, Mr. Yorke, unless you write a musical 
 comedy ? ’ 
 
 Denis answered that he supposed he couldn’t, and did not 
 reveal his real thought, — that the vision of her body as he 
 entered the room was indelibly printed in his mind, and would 
 eventually go into his music ; indirectly of course, but 
 inevitably, like everything lovely in life. 
 
 4 She ’s quite a good sort,’ said Noel, when Topsy had 
 departed, 4 but she ’s so pleased with her figure, her life, and 
 her conversational powers, that I ’m afraid she ’ll grow fat. 
 Did you ever meet any one in the least like her, Denis ? ’ 
 
 4 No,’ said Denis. He blushed ingenuously. 4 And I never 
 saw any one — like that,’ he added. 
 
 Noel laughed. 
 
 4 Oh, that ’s nothing,’ he said, 4 At least,’ he added, 4 it ’s 
 nothing if you ’re a painter. I forgot that you weren’t, I 
 suppose.’ 
 
 4 It ’s nothing if you ’re any kind of an artist,’ said Denis 
 gravely. 4 But it ’s a pity that her body and head don’t 
 match.’ 
 
 4 He ’s beginning to take notice,’ remarked Tellier to his 
 picture. ‘ I say, Denis, suppose that your stern progenitor 
 had arrived whilst Topsy was here ! I must have a new bolt 
 put on that door.’ 
 
 4 I wish he had,’ said Denis. ‘ It would have broadened his 
 mind. It ’s narrow minds that make the world wretched. 
 I ’m so hungry, and I ’ve ordered a concert grand — a real 
 beauty ! ’ He sat down in front of Noel’s piano and evoked a 
 travesty of the Walkuren-ritt. Then he sprang up. 
 
 4 Life is splendid ! ’ he announced. 4 I always felt that it 
 ought to be, and now I know. I should like to live a thousand 
 years. Work, and seeing people, and walking about London — 
 that ’s all I want ! ’ 
 
 Noel was amused by this outburst of the usually tranquil 
 Denis. He looked at him for a moment. 4 Well, if that ’s all 
 that you want, it ’s all right,’ he said cryptically. He ignored 
 the light of challenge in Denis’s eyes, and added, ‘ Apropos of 
 seeing people, a friend of mine — a painter — wants us to go to 
 
280 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 tea in a studio in Hampstead this afternoon. You had better 
 come ; the piano won’t arrive till this evening. They ’re 
 really rather nice people,’ he concluded, with a peculiar grin, 
 ‘ and the only Archibald will be there.’ 
 
 4 I love the only Archibald,’ said Denis, ‘ and I want to come 
 to Hampstead.’ 
 
 ‘ All right,’ said Noel. 4 We ’ll start at four.’ And he 
 began to sing Ich grolle nicht and to produce the various assets 
 of a fragmentary luncheon from his cupboard. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 281 
 
 XXXI 
 
 S HORTLY before the hour appointed for their departure 
 to Hampstead Denis went to his room, and found, not 
 the piano, but a letter in an ornate and unfamiliar handwriting 
 which was stamped with the Wychcombe postmark. When 
 he opened it he discovered, to his great surprise, that it con- 
 tained eight five-pound notes and half a sheet of writing-paper. 
 
 His first thought was that Gustus had been moved to further 
 extremes of generosity, but when he looked at the note he 
 realised his mistake. ‘ You 'll think me worse than ever/ it 
 ran * ‘ I can't help writing to say that I was listening outside 
 the door when you were talking to Augustus on Sunday, 
 because I somehow knew that you were going away. Do 
 keep this and I wish it was more, but it 's all I can get at 
 present — and try and forgive yours, C. A.' 
 
 Cecilia ! Only Cecilia, he thought, would be capable of 
 listening at a keyhole to a private conversation and of confess- 
 ing afterwards. How decent she was, in her queer, disingenu- 
 ous way ! The eight five-pound notes probably represented a 
 serious act of self-denial, for though Father Abrahams was 
 very liberal towards his children, he believed in teaching them 
 business habits, and never permitted either of them to antici- 
 pate the quarterly allowance. Cecilia, no doubt, had made up 
 her mind to wear the scarlet hat for two months after it was 
 out of fashion. Denis wrote her a grateful letter in which he 
 hinted that he was already well on the road to extreme 
 opulence, enclosed the five-pound notes, and posted it on his 
 way back to Noel's studio. 
 
 The journey to Hampstead was performed on the top of 
 various omnibuses, a method of travelling which seemed to 
 Denis one of the most delightful in the world, and compar- 
 able only with gondolas and Arabian steeds. Noel was in the 
 highest spirits ; he warbled, he beamed extensively on London, 
 
282 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 he addressed superlative compliments to the statues which 
 they passed. Supremely indifferent to the exigencies of 
 fashion, he wore a shaggy grey suit and a soft hat which had 
 lost both contour and hue in the process of ages, talked with 
 point and ease to the drivers, and smoked his short black pipe. 
 Denis thought him magnificent ; he made such a splendid 
 contrast with the neat, sombre-garbed, shaven persons who 
 crept about the streets. Though London was Life, it seemed 
 to Denis that a great number of its inhabitants looked as if 
 they were semi-animate. If they only knew what they were 
 missing ! 
 
 Hampstead, with its quiet streets, and old houses, and little 
 gardens where primroses gleamed beneath dwarf willows, 
 seemed a hundred years behind the rest of London. He would 
 not have been in the least surprised to see a gentleman in knee- 
 breeches and a wig taking snuff at the street corner ; but its 
 charm did not make him waver in his enthusiasm for Chelsea. 
 It was a place for peaceful retirement, he thought, for leisured 
 reading and a constitutional at a certain hour, and not an 
 arena where you wrestled with the gigantic problems of your 
 art. But it was certainly unique, and its air, on that balmy 
 spring evening, made you think of ploughed land where the 
 young corn had begun to push its way through the rich soil, and 
 of purple uplands, and birds that sang energetic serenades in 
 very tall trees. 
 
 The first thing that Denis recognised as they entered the 
 twilight studio in Church Row was the figure of little Sandys, 
 who was sitting on the edge of a high chair and eating a large 
 slice of cake. There were two other persons in the room, — 
 women, as he observed with some surprise, for Noel had not 
 led him to infer that members of the other sex would be 
 present. Little Sandys waved his slice of cake and said 
 ‘ Hullo ! , but did not rise from his chair. One of the female 
 figures came towards him. Denis could see that she was no 
 longer young ; her abundant hair was almost white, but she 
 had the figure of a girl of twenty and extraordinarily keen, 
 interested eyes. 
 
 Noel propelled Denis towards her. ‘ Amory/ he said, 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 283 
 
 ‘ I 've brought you the young person I told you about. Denis, 
 this is Miss Amory — Mr. Denis Yorke.' 
 
 There was a cry from the other end of the studio, a cry in 
 which joy and incredulity were strangely blended, and some 
 one came forward very swiftly. It was the other female figure. 
 Even as he shook hands with Miss Amory he felt that something 
 tremendous was about to happen. 
 
 4 Noel, it can't be ! Is it really ? ' cried a voice by his side, 
 and then, whilst he was still looking into Miss Amory 's face, 
 he knew. A mist seemed to obscure all his vision, and once 
 again he saw the old room at Parnasse, and heard the dry 
 click of castanets and the staccato rhythm of a Spanish dance. 
 When the mist cleared away he found himself standing with her 
 hand in his, staring stupidly at her eyes, and realising that they 
 had not altered, that they were still dark as a lane at midnight, 
 and that a light grew and grew in them like the lamp of an 
 ascending diver. . . . He could find nothing to say, and when 
 she called him 4 mon Denis,' he felt for a moment as if the 
 slender fabric of his self-control was about to collapse utterly. 
 
 He realised that she was speaking. 4 I always knew that 
 we should meet again ! ' she said, very gently. 4 But Noel 
 never told me that his new friend was — you ! ' She smiled — it 
 was the swift, infectious smile that he remembered so well. 
 4 He said that his friend had a black beard and played the 
 organ ! ' 
 
 ‘ Well, Denis used to play the organ,' said Noel, 4 and he 'd 
 have a beautiful black beard if he didn't shave it off on 
 Sunday mornings. I may plan joyful surprises, but I never 
 sacrifice the truth.' 
 
 She was still looking at Denis as if she half expected him to 
 vanish in a thin spiral of mist. 4 And you 've grown immensely 
 tall, and you 're a musician,' she said. * Oh ! I always felt 
 that we should meet again — at the right moment.' 
 
 4 After all these years,' murmured Denis. 4 And I knew that 
 you wouldn’t be changed,' he added slowly. 
 
 4 Oh, you 're rash to assume that ! ' cried Miss Amory. 
 But Denis felt that, essentially, Rosalind was the Rosalind 
 whom he had adored at Parnasse, though she was tall and 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 284 
 
 grown up and incomparably fair, and there were no freckles on 
 her nose, and she did not kiss him on both cheeks. Oh, there 
 was no doubt that she was unchanged ; there was no doubt, 
 also — in his mind, at least — that she was more beautiful than 
 any one whom he had seen or dreamed of. Her skin had the 
 clear, warm pallor which had startled him in Italy when he had 
 observed a woman or a child who possessed it ; a pallor which 
 defied the southern sun, and gave a value to facial outline that 
 no colouring, however delicate, could possibly afford. Her 
 deep eyes and sensitive lips were in passionate contrast with 
 this rare tone, which, when her hands were silhouetted by any- 
 thing dark, had a kind of pearly glow, became almost luminous. 
 
 He sat with her on an ottoman in a corner of the studio, 
 whilst Noel went on a tour of inspection with Miss Amory, and 
 little Sandys ate another slice of cake. She did not besiege 
 him with questions, but gave him a brief history of her own 
 adventures since her father’s death : how she had seen all the 
 shores of the world from the yacht of the Americans who had 
 befriended her during her long illness in Switzerland ; how she 
 had passed a delightful year at their estate in Virginia and 
 another at their house in the Champs Elysees, where she met 
 Miss Amory, who exhorted her to remain in Paris and devote 
 herself to painting ; how Miss Amory came to London to nurse 
 her sister in a long illness that proved fatal, settled in Hamp- 
 stead, and persuaded Rosalind to join her. 4 And here I am 
 for ever,’ she added ; 4 I feel as permanent as St. Paul’s 
 Cathedral, especially now that I ’ve got Noel, and you. I ’ve 
 finished my wanderings ; I’m on the shelf, and it ’s extremely 
 comfortable.’ 
 
 4 You never wrote to me,’ Denis reproached her. 
 
 4 I couldn’t,’ she said ; 4 for a year I couldn’t bear to do 
 anything that seemed like trying to renew — to get back into 
 that old life. And then — and then I suppose I felt that if I 
 wrote to you it might spoil our meeting when we met at last, — 
 as I knew that we should. Do you remember the day when 
 you said good-bye to us at the Gare du Nord ? I feel quite 
 certain now that it was only yesterday, and that we ’ve both 
 grown to gigantic stature in one night like the beanstalk in the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 285 
 
 fairy-tale. If I ’d written to you and you ’d written to me I 
 shouldn’t feel that, I expect. Letters often seem to blur one’s 
 impressions of one’s friends.’ % 
 
 ‘ You might have risked a postcard ! ’ said Denis. But 
 Rosalind shook her head, with a smile implying that if letters 
 were dangerous, postcards were absolutely fatal. A delicate 
 shade of pink had invaded her cheeks, and her eyes shone with 
 a most friendly light as they rested on him. Looking at her, 
 watching every change in that lovely, expressive face, he 
 ielt agitated with the dumbness of his soul. If he could only 
 tell her how her memory had been the abiding solace of those 
 years, and that to the casual meeting on the night-robed hill he 
 owed all the joy of his life, the few poor powers that he pos- 
 sessed — everything, everything ! But he was tongue-tied, and 
 seemed, no doubt, almost morose ; it was impossible to 
 express a thousandth part of all that he felt, except, of course, 
 in music. He had a queer idea that if he could play to her 
 she would understand. 
 
 They spoke of Parnasse, and, at last, of her father. Denis 
 seemed to remember everything that Mr. Duroy had said ; he 
 astonished Rosalind with his extraordinary recollection of the 
 most minute details of the old life. Her voice did not tremble 
 when she talked of Mr. Duroy, but her eyes told the boy what 
 she had suffered. 
 
 ‘ He did everything for me,’ said Denis. ' He taught me 
 what joy was, what a beautiful thing the world ought to be. 
 He seemed like a king — a king of life.’ 
 
 ‘ And we never knew him,’ she said. ‘ Even I never knew 
 him — until the end.’ 
 
 He stared at her. 
 
 ‘ Never knew him ? ’ he repeated. 
 
 * No,’ she said. She paused for a moment. * You never 
 knew, did you, that beneath it all, — beneath his gaiety, his 
 gentleness, his wonderful kindness, he was sad ; he felt that he 
 was a failure, but hid it because he meant to allow nothing to 
 come into my life that wasn’t happy and beautiful ? ’ 
 
 Denis protested warmly. ‘Oh! it ’s impossible,’ he said. 
 4 His, of all lives, a failure ! It was a triumph, a glorious 
 
286 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 triumph ; even the end ' He paused, fearful of hurting 
 
 her. 
 
 ‘ At the end/ she said very slowly, ‘ when we were beginning 
 to slip down the ice towards the edge of the crevasse, the guide 
 began to curse and to pray, and shouted that father's weight 
 was dragging us down. Father said, “ If I cut the rope will 
 you be able to take Mademoiselle home in time for tea? ,, — those 
 were his words, and the guide asked God to forgive him for 
 answering “Yes.” Father told me to be brave and not to be 
 frightened if I saw him fall down the crevasse, because there 
 was only a small drop, and they would find him quite well, 
 with at worst a sprained ankle, when they came to look for 
 him ; and I believed him. He took out his knife and began to 
 cut the rope ; when the knife was almost through it he looked 
 at me once, smiling, and told me to be sure to practise my violin 
 that evening. He was so calm that I didn't believe there was 
 any danger. Then, as he cut the last strand of rope, I heard 
 him say, “ A chance at last, a chance at last ! ” in a voice that 
 I had never heard. That terrified me and I cried out to him - 
 and then — the rope gave way where he had cut it.' 
 
 Her mouth quivered convulsively for a moment, then 
 straightened to the firm line that Denis remembered. 
 
 ‘ Those words haunted me perpetually,' she went on after a 
 while ; ‘ he spoke them so strangely, as if he were about to 
 realise the great desire of his life. Then, one day after I came 
 back from America, I found amongst his papers a book that 
 was full of all sorts of notes, as if he had intended to write an 
 autobiography, — and then I knew. He looked on himself as 
 an idler, a dilettante, a hopeless, useless encumbrance on the 
 earth, a slave of all arts and master of none. And he was 
 always afraid that I would grow up like him — as if I wouldn't 
 have given my soul to do that ! Do you remember how he 
 insisted that I should renounce music altogether when I began 
 to work seriously at painting ? The chance that he spoke of 
 was the chance of doing something definite and prompt and 
 irrevocable ; of sacrificing his life to save mine and the 
 guide’s.' 
 
 Her lips trembled again, and she smiled rather wanly at 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 287 
 
 Denis. ‘ And now tell me about everything that you ’ve done 
 since I saw you/ she said. Denis obeyed, but cursorily, for 
 the last four years of his life seemed to him now to possess no 
 interest ; in a very short time, he felt, they would have faded 
 wholly from his memory. But they seemed to interest 
 Rosalind ; she really was wonderfully sympathetic, he 
 thought. Only when he described how he had left his home 
 secretly did her sympathy seem to wane. She asked Denis 
 several questions about his father. 
 
 ‘ I ’m afraid that he ’s very unhappy/ she said. Her tone 
 implied the regretful acceptance of an unpleasant fact rather 
 than any condemnation of Denis, but it chilled him. 
 
 ‘ It can’t be helped/ said Denis. ‘ It had to come sooner or 
 later, and sooner means less misery than later. You remem- 
 ber how badly we got on together ? It was much worse after 
 you went away. And he ’d have chained me up in another 
 solicitor’s office/ 
 
 ‘ No, I suppose it couldn’t be helped,’ said Rosalind. ‘ But 
 the nearer you live to people the more you misunderstand 
 them, I believe. I always used to think that he was kind, 
 really ; at least, he wasn’t, as it happened, but he meant to be. 
 His kindness would have come out in some queer way sooner 
 or later, and then you wouldn’t have misunderstood each other 
 any more. You never really got to know each other, did you ? * 
 
 Denis smiled at this funny idea. 
 
 ‘ I ’m afraid we did/ he said. 
 
 She shook her head gravely, and rose. * Now, I ’ll show 
 you my pictures,’ she said. 
 
 He was astonished to find that her work was as unconven- 
 tional and vigorous as that of Noel. It consisted entirely of 
 portraits and figure-studies which were mostly arrangements 
 in brown and black and grey, and seemed to his unsophisti- 
 cated eye to be wonderfully original, modern, and daring. But 
 he realised gradually that it possessed, too, a certain suggestion 
 of restraint, a strength and tranquillity which were denied to 
 Noel ; he felt that the painter had always known exactly what 
 she meant to do before she began her picture, and had care- 
 fully and triumphantly done it. Noel’s work had the wild 
 
288 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 charm of a breathless experiment, but it often meandered away 
 into pure eccentricity. 
 
 He did not lapse into superlatives. There was a certain 
 grave directness in her glance that held a warning against the 
 usual methods of approval ; and he was almost afraid to in- 
 dicate the particular works of art which he preferred. But he 
 was vastly impressed by her ability, and thought that she 
 regarded her successes far too lightly. Had she really thrown 
 herself heart and soul into her work, or had it all come to her 
 easily, instinctively, as it came to Noel, as it had come to Mr. 
 Duroy ? There were moments, while he listened to a self- 
 criticism that was none the less impertinent because it was 
 delightfully gay, when he felt as if he was not far from the 
 presence of the ghost that haunted the Duroy family, — the 
 ghost that her father had exorcised with that ultimate amazing 
 outcry on the brink of death. An art, he thought, was a god 
 who demanded a painful tribute of blood and tears ; a master 
 who gave supreme exaltation, but at the price of lonely 
 anguish and bitter striving. He found no trace of this in 
 Rosalind or her pictures ; it was easy to her, he felt, this 
 accomplishment, and how much finer than the productions of 
 inferior spirits who had been through the fires of the god ! Yet 
 if she could do so well easily, what might she not do in the 
 teeth of difficulty ? In her pictures he saw no hint of her ever 
 having come face to face with the blank wall of her temporary 
 limitations. He had a peculiar impression that her art was 
 only the outlet, as it were, of a tenth part of her temperament. 
 This was splendid, of course, but wasn’t it essentially wrong — 
 for an artist ? His preferences were duly approved of by the 
 painter. ‘ You have picked out the best/ she said. ‘ Oh ! 
 not the pictures that I think the best, of course ■ you almost 
 ignored them ! — but the three that my wisest and fiercest critic 
 approves of/ 
 
 Denis disclaimed any real preferences. ‘ I see you in all of 
 them/ he said simply ; ■ at least, a part of you/ And he 
 demanded the name of the critic in question. 
 
 ‘ Mr. Grimshaw/ she answered. ‘ You have heard of him, 
 haven’t you ? * 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 289 
 
 * I met him yesterday/ said Denis. He looked at her. His 
 lips parted for the egress of a corollary, and then he became 
 silent abruptly. The expression in her eyes was quite new to 
 him. Girl's faces, he felt — even Rosalind's — could speak a 
 language of which he was dismally ignorant. Surely she must 
 detest Grimshaw, even though he was a genius ? That his 
 sullen eyes should stare at her pictures or at her was a profana- 
 tion. 
 
 ‘ I suppose he is very wise,' he said. 
 
 ‘ Oh yes — about pictures,' she answered. ‘ And you 've 
 met Archibald too. He was raving about his new discovery, 
 though he, too, insisted that you had a black beard and played 
 the organ.' 
 
 ‘ I ought to feel flattered, for he 's very wise too, isn't he ? ' 
 asked Denis. 
 
 ‘ Very wise — about music,' she said. Another expression 
 invaded her face, and in it, too, Denis discerned little but a 
 bewildering novelty, though it was not so inscrutable as its 
 forerunner. It seemed to imply complete friendliness for the 
 excellent Sandys, — and yet, there was a reservation, a hint of 
 something that might almost have been tolerance. He was 
 still wondering what it meant when Miss Amory called to them 
 across a rampart of teacups. 
 
 He discovered that Miss Amory was a most amusing talker, 
 and one who found in Noel the appropriate flint for her 
 epigrammatic steel. She was a painter of allegorical pictures, 
 an art-form which Noel held, or affected to hold, in extreme 
 abhorrence, and at that moment she was defending her 
 vocation and pouring out tea with a dual dexterity. Little 
 Sandys, who was in disgrace because he had prematurely 
 attacked the cake, was basely attempting to regain favour by 
 agreeing with everything that she said and by shaking his 
 head sadly at every rejoinder made by Noel. When, however, 
 Miss Amory turned her attention to Denis and began to deliver 
 herself of her musical theories, Archibald forgot all about 
 his own equivocal position and contradicted her frequently 
 and emphatically. Their argument was interrupted by the 
 entrance of a smiling personage who carried a plate of hot toast, 
 
290 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 and the problems of art vanished like smoke in the wind from 
 Denis's mind as he recognised Marie — the inimitable Marie of 
 Parnasse, the creator of mille-feuilles and babas-au-rhum. She 
 was quite unchanged ; she hadn’t even learnt to speak English ; 
 and when Denis sprang from his chair and went to greet her 
 she overwhelmed him with compliments in her own tongue, 
 appealing to the assembled company for their confirmation, 
 and devouring him with her small, intensely bright black eyes. 
 ‘ Quel beau garcon, quel beau garcon ! ’ she kept on repeating, 
 and when, after the toast had been deposited in the fender, 
 Denis shook both her hands repeatedly and violently, the black 
 eyes seemed actually to scintillate with joyous lightnings. He 
 felt that he would certainly have kissed both her rosy cheeks if 
 Miss Amory had not been present, and Marie looked as if she 
 needed very little inducement to return that kind of greeting. 
 As it was, she talked so rapidly that she had to pause and pant 
 for breath, with her hand pressed dramatically on her broad 
 bosom. ‘ And Mademoiselle, you find her beautiful ? ’ she 
 gasped. ‘ Tiens ! you make a beautiful pair, a match to 
 refresh the eyes. And Monsieur Noel, with his big beard, is he 
 not fine ? Ah ! how it makes one remember the old time, 
 les beaux jours d' autrefois ! And there is another, another ! ’ 
 She pointed to the doorway, where, as if he had been waiting 
 for his cue to enter, stood a white poodle, wonderfully fleecy, 
 with a blue ribbon tied in a bow between his ears. He came 
 solemnly towards Denis and uttered a little nervous whine. 
 ‘ Surely you haven’t forgotten this old friend ! ’ it seemed to 
 say. Denis went down on his knees and fairly hugged 
 Narcisse, and then the dog bounded about like a riotous lamb, 
 and barked, and tried to lick his face. It was obvious that 
 Narcisse’s old contempt for music did not include the ex- 
 ponents of the art. 
 
 They made music, after tea; Rosalind played her violin 
 and little Sandys accompanied her, and Noel sang Schubert 
 and Brahms. When Denis closed his eyes he found it im- 
 possible to believe that he was not at Parnasse once more, and 
 when he reopened them he seemed to see the figure of Mr. 
 Duroy standing in the deep shadow of the window curtains, 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 291 
 
 watching Rosalind with kindly, critical eyes and moving his 
 head from side to side as if he were a mute human metronome. 
 She played as well as ever, Denis thought, and her face had the 
 well-remembered expression that he had always associated 
 with that particular music ; her eyes were dreamy, but her 
 mouth was very firm, and there was a tiny perpendicular line 
 between her dark eyebrows. Little Sandys, with his chubby 
 face and staring eyes, and his oddly tubular frock-coat, bore 
 an absurd resemblance to one of the figures in a child's Noah's 
 ark. 
 
 Afterwards they made Denis play. As usually happened 
 when he was in the state of nervous exaltation which was pro- 
 duced by any deep happiness or sharp regret, the works of the 
 mighty dead seemed incompetent to express all that was cry- 
 ing for release in the prison of his soul, and he improvised, 
 looking always towards the shadow of the curtains ; translat- 
 ing into sound all haunting memories of old years, of the 
 happy days which were undimmed even by the thought of 
 Mr. Duroy's death. That strange, last outcry of Rosalind's 
 father rang in his ears like a released prisoner's paean to the sun 
 and the living world, rising above the sound of the notes that 
 he played. He had an odd impression that it had an even 
 deeper meaning than Rosalind had realised ; he imagined Mr. 
 Duroy to have felt that his self-sacrifice, his death, would do 
 more for her than all his care if he had lived, — that she would 
 become a rarer and richer personality because of it, just as a 
 land or a city for which men have thought and struggled and 
 died nobly gains an eternal splendour from their great devotion, 
 — a splendour completely apart from the actual result of their 
 toil, — a splendour in which earthly failure and earthly success 
 shine equal, like twin stars. The idea, possibly, was fantastic, 
 but it haunted him vividly as he played on and on, forgetful 
 of his audience, heedless, even, of the sounds that he evoked 
 from the piano, and intent only on the dreamy pageant which 
 seemed to pass across the velvet darkness that lay beyond the 
 curtains of the window. 
 
 The consciousness of actual life returned to him suddenly, 
 and he ceased to play. There was silence in the studio for a 
 
292 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 moment, and then Miss Amory's voice murmured, ‘ Do you 
 know, that was very beautiful/ 
 
 Little Sandys sprang from the sofa and went over to Denis. 
 
 ‘ Oh yes, very beautiful, of course/ he squeaked, ‘ but it 
 wants form, it wants pattern. You have a poet's mind, and 
 you ramble like any poet, my young friend. They can't help 
 it, poor beggars, of course ; they 're untrammelled, practically; 
 that 's their misfortune ; but you 're different. Don't become 
 vague ; stick to fugues ; put your folk-songs in canon. Don't 
 think you can treat music as a French impressionist treats 
 painting or Mallarme treats language. Any unbridled ass can 
 wander ; it 's when he works in limitations that the master 
 reveals himself, as a German gentleman of intellect once 
 remarked. I must confess that I didn't understand you.' 
 
 Denis was bewildered by this sudden onslaught, and looked 
 helplessly round the room. His eyes met those of Rosalind ; 
 she smiled at him. 
 
 ‘ I think I understood,' she said. 
 
 ‘ And did you really make it all up as you went on ? ' cried 
 Miss Amory. 
 
 ‘ Not he ! ' said Noel. ‘ He stole it. It 's part of one of 
 Wagner's unpublished manuscripts, a pantomime written for 
 the Theatre Imperial, Potsdam. You ought to hear the 
 harlequinade, and the song of the clown with the poker — a 
 parody of Siegfried and the sword. It 's getting late, we 
 must go. They won't invite us to dinner here, Denis, because, 
 like all lone females, they live on culture and Crosse and Black- 
 well's potted meats.' 
 
 But Miss Amory protested against this impeachment, and 
 made them all stay to supper. And afterwards they made 
 more music, and Denis talked to Rosalind of his toils and 
 aspirations, and found that she was even more sympathetic 
 and enthusiastic than he had imagined, and little Sandys sang 
 three comic songs of his own composition (with the accompani- 
 ments strictly in canon), and Noel recited a duologue between 
 Grimshaw and a Royal Academician which reduced them to 
 helpless laughter. It was a splendid occasion, Denis thought, 
 and oh, so like one of the great days at Parnasse ! Through- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 293 
 
 out it he kept the impression that Mr. Duroy was standing in 
 the shadow of the curtain, and would presently steal forward 
 to say something delightful, — an apparition which would 
 astonish no one. 
 
 It was after eleven o’clock when they took their departure. 
 Rosalind held Denis’s hand tightly in her own small, strong 
 one, and made him promise to come to Hampstead at least 
 twice a week. ‘ And you will write to him, won’t you ? ’ she 
 added. A shadow of disappointment darkened her eyes when 
 he understood to whom she referred and looked doubtful. But 
 a moment later he had given the promise, and then she smiled 
 at him as if he had presented her with an empire. Oh, 
 wasn’t she different from Cecilia ! Poor Cecilia ! 
 
 ‘ You ’re a black beast,’ he said to Noel as they went into 
 the quiet street. ‘ If you hadn’t played that trick I might 
 have seen her yesterday evening. I ’ve lost a whole day of 
 my life.’ 
 
 Noel began to laugh. * Hullo ! ’ he cried ; ‘ who said they 
 only wanted London and work ? ’ 
 
 * And friends,’ corrected Denis. Little Sandys, who was 
 trotting by his side, looked up at him quickly. 
 
 4 Miss Duroy has a genius for friendship, hasn’t she ? ’ he 
 said, and sighed melodiously. Noel turned to him and asked 
 him somewhat abruptly if he felt ill, but Sandys did not answer. 
 After a short silence the little man caught hold of Denis’s arm 
 and said, ‘ I showed Wallaby your things, and he ’s impressed, 
 obviously impressed ; he ’s beginning to bite. He wants you 
 to go and see him on Monday. You must be very careful to be 
 the fisherman and make him be the fish ; he ’s a model father 
 and a pattern husband and gives a lot away in charity, but 
 he ’ll have no scruples in reversing your respective positions if 
 he can. When he spoke of you I knew by the peculiarly 
 indifferent tone in his voice that he had sighted a prize. He 
 was interested, too, when I told him that you played decently ; 
 I believe he wants a tame accompanist for his ballad-concerts — 
 tame, I mean, in the less offensive sense. And I ’m going to 
 see Landberger to-morrow.’ 
 
 Denis thanked him warmly, wondering meanwhile how he 
 
294 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 would pay the great Landberger’s presumably immense fees, 
 and Sandys turned quite pink in the moonlight. But the boy 
 was in too exalted a condition to permit any financial problems 
 to depress his soul ; he felt as if he were walking on sun-flushed 
 clouds, and the great road before him rang with celestial 
 melody. He transmuted the melody into song as he went to 
 bed, and dreamed of Rosalind all the night. At daybreak he 
 opened his piano, which seemed as finely in tune as all the 
 invisible golden strings that thrilled with the lyric splendours 
 of his new life. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 295 
 
 XXXII 
 
 TER a delirious fortnight of new sensations Denis 
 
 settled to his work in grim earnest, feeling already as 
 if he were an old inhabitant of Chelsea. It must be confessed 
 that he did not go early to bed ; Noel's conversation was too 
 fascinating, and there was always the endless and delightful 
 amusement of criticising the day's work ; but at any rate he 
 arose very soon after the sun had stained the river with pale 
 gold and set all the sparrows chirping in the plane-trees. He 
 lived frugally, for he had a sharp consciousness that behind 
 any extravagance lurked a grim spectre which was eager to 
 seize his wrist and hale him from his present environment, 
 and he had long ago acquired a healthy habit of exercise. 
 Walking suited him admirably, and was very cheap. 
 
 Noel half expected that Denis would overwork tremen- 
 dously, but there was a certain solidity in the boy's tempera- 
 ment that preserved him from this common pitfall for young 
 and breathless artists. He spent a long morning at his songs, 
 practised after luncheon for about a couple of hours, and was 
 ready for a walk with Noel when the light began to wane in the 
 studio. Never was there such a visitation of London ! They 
 wandered over it all, from Hampstead Heath to the Crystal 
 Palace, from the Pool to Richmond, from Westminster Abbey 
 and St. Paul's Cathedral to the humblest of City churches — 
 some dusty place that seemed still to distil the faint odour of 
 domestic, respectable, eighteenth-century worship, where every 
 tablet commemorated an alderman, and every alderman was 
 an epitome of all the virtues, moral and civic. Little Sandys 
 often accompanied them on their expeditions, and proved an 
 invaluable adjunct to the party. He knew London as an 
 antiquary knows his collections ; he could lead them directly 
 to a picture in the National Gallery, an elusive beast in the 
 Zoological Gardens, or a street in Wapping where a murderous 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 296 
 
 conflict had taken place between Chinese and Lascars. He 
 knew, too, all about the music that was being played in every 
 part of the city ; Denis listened to Bach in Soho, and to 
 Palestrina in Clerkenwell ; and several obscure gentlemen of 
 talent, when they peered from the organ loft into their usually 
 lonely church, were flattered to observe that they had an 
 attentive audience of two persons. 
 
 It was all very delightful for Denis, and very good for him as 
 well. He certainly repaid any trouble to which his guides 
 might have been put ; he was intensely interested in every 
 detail of this new, amazing life, and took the whole teeming 
 vat of humanity to his heart — ‘ swallowing London by acres/ 
 as Noel called the process. He flung himself into the whirl of 
 life like a boy who leaps into the summer sea after long hours 
 in a stifling schoolroom ; he had a royal hunger for new im- 
 pressions, and nothing seemed to tire him. Noel watched him 
 with curious interest from behind a mask of irresponsible 
 gaiety ; ever since the ancient days in the Sanatorium he had 
 always taken a deep, obscure interest in Denis, — obscure, 
 because as a rule he took people as he found them, and was not 
 addicted to the analysis of character. He had long ago come 
 to almost the same conclusion about Denis which Denis had 
 reached with regard to Rosalind — that there was a reserve, a 
 latent strength in his temperament that made him interesting, 
 and would one day manifest itself in some remarkable way. 
 Certainly, whatever might bethe strictly moral aspect of Denis’s 
 abrupt departure from his father’s house, there was no doubt 
 in Noel’s mind that its actual results were all in the boy’s 
 favour. Each day his eyes seemed brighter and his step more 
 elastic ; he had lost a certain brooding aspect, which, in spite 
 of the excitement of his arrival, he had not been able to leave 
 behind him in the train ; he was gay, natural, and obviously 
 happy. ‘ And if the ancient parent comes to take him away, 
 I rather fancy that I shall be under the necessity of wringing 
 his ancient neck,’ concluded Noel, whenever he considered the 
 present condition of affairs through the mists of his latest 
 nocturnal pipe. 
 
 Denis, too, was immensely pleased with himself, for he was 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 297 
 
 confident that he had never done better work than in these few 
 weeks that succeeded his long winter of discontent. All the 
 songs that had apparently died in his brain when he went into 
 Boulter's office were born anew, and matched with them his 
 earlier efforts seemed the most feeble of all amateur im- 
 potencies. Each new song revealed a successor, and he was 
 able to look down a long vista of prolific toil, across which his 
 progress, like a stone's down a mountain, would continue to 
 give him added momentum — would afford him strength, keen- 
 ness, and wisdom. Irritating little difficulties of technique, 
 which had formerly worried him for days, seemed to solve 
 themselves miraculously ; and he had no hesitation in deleting 
 parts of a composition, which, though not in honest relation 
 with the whole, would have seemed to him formerly far too 
 lovely to be sacrificed. He was realising the great consolation 
 of the creator — that such sacrifices are not eternal ; that the 
 beauty of which the deletion wrings the artist’s heart is not 
 really lost, but will dawn again, modified, transmuted into a 
 shape exactly appropriate to some later environment, or 
 perhaps, in process of time, will grow up on its own account 
 into a complete and perfect reality of loveliness. 
 
 He had an appointment to meet Mr. Wallaby, and one 
 evening, after traversing two large rooms which were furnished 
 with many pathetically mute pianos, he found himself in the 
 private office of that important personage. Mr. Wallaby, who 
 was tall and stout and plentifully garnished with whiskers, 
 received him genially, almost gaily ; he seemed to regard the 
 visit as a pleasant and quite respectable jest, and called Denis 
 his dear young friend twice during the first five minutes of 
 their interview. Mr. Wallaby had certainly a most engaging 
 manner ; when he spoke of modern music he wore an aif of 
 almost fraternal sympathy. ‘ These poor fellows,' it seemed 
 to say, ‘ do their best, of course, their little best, but you and I 
 know the secret.' Quite by accident, apparently, he let slip a 
 little phrase which hinted that he found actual genius in the 
 songs of Denis, — 4 but genius, my dear young friend, is like a 
 voice crying in the wilderness, — a beautiful voice, but a lonely 
 one. And a voice isn't a voice until it has an audience, as the 
 
298 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 philosophers tell us. You yourself are a 'Varsity man, Mr. 
 Yorke ? Indeed ? You have all the air ; when you came in 
 I felt quite certain that you were, or had lately been, an Oxford 
 undergraduate.' Denis found him very amusing, though 
 somewhat florid, and occasionally the publisher's eye reminded 
 him of the falcon glance of Mr. Byng. When, however, Mr. 
 Wallaby hinted that he found Denis more agreeable to meet 
 than the usual type of musician, Denis felt inclined to emulate 
 the cry of the Carpenter in Alice who criticised the bread and 
 butter. ‘ It 's so awkward, so difficult, when they 're not 
 gentlemen,' wailed Mr. Wallaby : ‘ but you and I, of course, 
 can talk as friend to friend, if you 'll forgive my saying so.' 
 He patted Denis on the shoulder, but even during that brief 
 action the candid stare of the boy seemed to embarrass him. 
 He hovered round the room for a moment, and then announced 
 that they must talk business, serious business. ‘ Oh, the 
 unpractical artist nature ! ' he moaned comically. He sat 
 down, crossed his legs, and clasped his hands beneath his chin. 
 ‘ We must be serious,' he said : ‘ we have to benefit each other ; 
 it 's a mutual act of kindness ; the more I make out of you the 
 more you make out of me, and vice versa. I 'll give you twenty- 
 five pounds for the eight songs that I have seen — the money 
 to be deducted from a five per cent, royalty on each. You 
 understand that clearly, don ? t you ? We mustn't be accused 
 afterwards of grinding down the aspiring artist. You will 
 have twenty-five pounds at once, and then, after a short 
 interval, I hope that you will receive five per cent, on all the 
 songs. All the rights of every description will be mine.' He 
 beamed at Denis with a smile that seemed to say, ‘ I am really 
 a philanthropist, you know, though I cloak my charity with a 
 thin disguise of business.' 
 
 Denis was silent for a few moments, but only because he 
 thought that silence was appropriate to the occasion. He 
 made up his mind at once to accept the offer : twenty-five 
 pounds meant the possibility of many weeks in Chelsea, 
 though of course some of it would have to be sent to Gustus. 
 Mr. Wallaby watched him with his philanthropic smile 
 admirably sustained. ‘ Of course, between ourselves,' he said 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 299 
 
 at length, ‘ I don’t mind confessing that this offer is in the 
 nature of a bait. I ’ve no doubt you ’ve heard that publishers 
 are in the habit of entrapping their unfortunate victims with 
 all sorts of dainty devices, and I tell you frankly that now 
 I Ve seen you I want to keep you. I believe there ’s a future 
 for you, — a vulgar, commercial future, I mean, you know, for 
 I ’m a vulgar, commercial man.’ He passed his hand across 
 his brow, and looked, thought Denis, like a Prime Minister or 
 a Prince of the Church in disguise. ‘ I won’t try to tie you 
 down ; genius has wings, it must be free ; it mustn’t become a 
 barn-door fowl ; but I want you,’ said Mr. Wallaby, using a 
 metaphor that nearly upset Denis’s gravity, ‘ to come flying 
 back with your golden wings and to lay your eggs in my barn. 
 I shall be very glad to see all your future work.’ 
 
 At this moment a telephone bell rang somewhere in the 
 room. Mr. Wallaby went to the instrument, listened for a 
 moment, and then spoke quite sharply and angrily down the 
 tube. When he returned to his chair, however, he looked as 
 serenely beneficent as before. ‘ I took your things home to 
 my wife,’ he said ; 4 she is an accomplished musician, and I 
 have great faith in her judgment ; more, I may tell you in con- 
 fidence, than in that of our poor friend Sandys. She played 
 them, and my daughter sang them. I listened over a cigar — the 
 ideal method of hearing music.’ He paused, as if to enjoy this 
 retrospect of domestic bliss, and then continued : ‘ She thought 
 them capital, capital. And that reminds me — the mention of 
 Sandys reminds me that I have two other questions to ask you. 
 First, you play accompaniments very well, he says. Would 
 you care to do so at some of my Saturday concerts — you ’ve 
 heard of them ? The fees, I ’m afraid, are trifling, but it ’s a 
 distinction, in a kind of way, to appear at them. How do you 
 feel about it ? ’ 
 
 Denis felt cold to the bone at the idea of appearing on a 
 public platform, but after all, he thought, it could not be 
 more terrifying than the occasions when he played the piano 
 before the whole school at the end of the Michaelmas term. 
 He said that he would like to meditate on the suggestion, and 
 Mr. Wallaby was full of sympathetic approval. 
 
300 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ‘ Wise man/ he said. ‘ Think it over. Don't accept en- 
 gagements in a hurry that may interfere with your creative 
 work. I 'll send you particulars of the concerts. And now 
 for my other question ! It 's a very rude one, but you 're young 
 and I 'm old enough to be your father. You must consider me 
 privileged on this occasion. Have you any private means ? ' 
 
 Even if Denis had been quick to take offence, Mr. Wallaby’s 
 voice was so gentle, it thrilled with such exquisite considera- 
 tion, that he could not possibly have resented the question. 
 He replied that at present he had no private means, though he 
 hoped in about a year to inherit a small regular income of 
 seventy or eighty pounds. Mr. Wallaby glowed with almost 
 affectionate sympathy. 
 
 ‘ Very nice,' he said, ‘ seventy or eighty pounds ! But you 
 must embroider it, my dear young friend, you must embroider 
 it. Then if that is the case,' he went on, ‘ I believe I am 
 justified in making a proposal to you. Sandys has more work 
 than he can get through ; we are positively deluged with 
 manuscripts ; every country vicarage bombards us with 
 sevenfold Amens, and you may not believe it, but there are at 
 this moment half a dozen Oxford Doctors of Music who are 
 turning out comic songs by the score. Do you care to help 
 us ? Your hours would not be long — about ten to twelve a 
 week, for Sandys would continue to wrestle with the bulk of 
 the work. He finds it tedious, but he is made that way ; you, 
 I believe, would be amused by the remarkable efforts of 
 amateurs, and there 's always the chance of discovering a 
 genius. To descend to the vulgar question of cash, — we will 
 pay you two pounds a week and give you a room to work in.’ 
 
 The man was a perfect Maecenas, Denis thought, and little 
 Sandys had certainly misjudged him. For a moment he 
 resented the idea of anything extraneous being allowed to 
 interrupt his other work ; but after all, he thought, money 
 was necessary, not for its own sake, but for the sake of that 
 work ; it was worth making a small sacrifice in order to con- 
 tinue that heavenly existence in Chelsea, and also, it was 
 obviously the only way in which he could pay back the money 
 which he had borrowed. His conscience had begun f o be 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 301 
 
 uneasy about that high-handed demand for Gustus's five- 
 pound notes. He told Mr. Wallaby that he should like to 
 try the work of reading manuscripts, and then a remark of 
 Sandys recurred to him. 
 
 1 Shall I have to wear a frock-coat ? ' he asked. 
 
 Mr. Wallaby stared for a moment, and then laughed very 
 heartily. 
 
 4 I know what you mean ! ' he cried ; ‘ it was a joke, of 
 course ; a joke of my junior partner's, and Sandys took it 
 quite seriously. But we never enlightened him, for he looks 
 so much more respectable ; he used to appear in the most 
 awful hat ! Wear what you like, my dear young friend. 
 Sandys dressed like a combination of a German professor and a 
 Paris art student, — that was what annoyed my partner, who is 
 young, and very smart, a regular man of fashion, you know. 
 Neglects his business to go calling on duchesses, and gives tea- 
 parties for them here. I must entice you to one of them ; 
 they 're amusing enough.' 
 
 Mr. Wallaby's intonation implied that his soul gyrated in an 
 empyrean far remote from the dubious paradise of British 
 aristocracy. Denis left him soon afterwards, having promised 
 to write to him in a few days, and agreeing to accept the terms 
 offered for his songs. Mr. Wallaby made him sign a contract 
 then and there, which seemed to Denis agreeably straight- 
 forward and businesslike on his part. ‘ You must come and 
 see us at home,' was Mr. Wallaby's final utterance ; c we live in 
 Wimbledon- — ms in urbe , you know, and my wife will be 
 delighted.' He shook Denis's hand warmly. ‘ Good- bye, 
 goo^-bye, my new genius, my dear young friend ! ' Denis felt 
 a tiny twinge of uneasiness at that word ‘ new.' Had there 
 been other geniuses, and if so, where had they disappeared ? 
 He thanked Mr. Wallaby for all his kindness, and threaded his 
 way between the grand pianos. In the dim light of early 
 evening they looked like a multitude of heavy beasts who were 
 waiting to devour him. 
 
 When he recounted his adventures to his friends in the 
 Chelsea studio, Noel seemed to think that, on the whole, he 
 had got off fairly easily, but Sandys almost danced with rage. 
 
302 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ‘ The wicked old bloodsucker/ he cried, alluding, I am 
 afraid, to his august employer ; ‘ the infernal old body- 
 snatcher ! He knows perfectly well that he 'll make fifty 
 pounds out of each song, if he produces them at his hideous, 
 degrading ballad-concerts, — and then you go selling the whole 
 lot for twenty-five ! Royalty ! a lot of royalty you 'll see ! 
 Five per cent. ! You ought to get not a penny less than fifty. 
 He knows that there 's absolutely no risk with stuff like that. 
 As for the accompanying, and the reading — that 's all right if 
 you can stand it, but I should just like to know how long it 'll 
 last. As long, I suppose, as you keep on turning out stuff at the 
 pace he sets you. That 's his game ! he wants to get hold of you 
 altogether ; he scents money as a hyaena scents blood, and he 
 holds up this offer of regular work as a bait. Kind ! my dear 
 fellow, do you suppose he invites an untrained accompanist to 
 play beastly tunes at his concerts, and an absolutely inexperi- 
 enced beginner to be his reader, from purely altruistic motives? 
 He 'll throw you away like an old hat if you don't turn out 
 enough stuff — at a five per cent, royalty — for his market, or if 
 you change your manner, or take to writing symphonies. I 
 should like to tell him what I think of him. I should like to 
 thump him hard in his fat paunch/ And Sandys shook his 
 fist at Noel, who laughed, and prodded him with a mahl-stick. 
 
 * You 're jealous because Denis is going to share your work,' 
 he said. ‘ It 'll all be fun for Denis, anyhow, and twenty-five 
 pounds is a mint of money for his young eyes to gloat over. 
 He can throw up the other work when he feels inclined, and 
 starve ; meanwhile he will be able to support me in luxury.' 
 
 But Sandys refused to be consoled. 
 
 ‘ It 's dangerous,' he said ; ‘ it 's putting pressure on him 
 at the very beginning of his career, when he ought still to be 
 a toiling student, not a producing machine. If I 'd known 
 what depths of depravity that old Machiavelli was capable of, 
 I 'd have shot myself before I put the boy in his clutches. 
 Luckily, I 've fixed it up with Landberger ; he 'll be a useful 
 counter-irritant. There 's no oiliness about Landberger.' 
 
 Denis soon discovered the truth of this last remark. He 
 visited the great music-master by appointment on the follow- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 303 
 
 ing day, and found a personality that rewarded inspection. 
 Landberger was a fat old man with very bright red cheeks and 
 deep-set, irascible eyes ; he wore an embroidered smoking-cap 
 and a frayed velvet jacket, and his manners were distinctly 
 inferior to those of Mr. Wallaby. He shook hands with Denis, 
 stared at him for a moment, and then remarked, with a side- 
 ways jerk of his head, ‘ Well, there *s the piano/ 
 
 Denis went to the instrument, and sat down on the music- 
 stool. ‘ What would you like me to play ? ’ he asked. 
 
 ‘ Oh, I don’t care,’ said Landberger, as if his presence in the 
 room was a mere accident. ‘ It ’s quite immaterial,’ he added 
 grimly ; ‘ I know everything.’ And he began to read a news- 
 paper. Denis felt a wicked inclination to improvise ; but he 
 restrained himself, and played the first four pages of the Sonata 
 Pathetique. Whilst he was playing he could hear the noisy 
 rustle of Landberger’s paper, and when he ceased, that gentle- 
 man was apparently absorbed in the leading article. Denis 
 waited patiently, and presently Landberger folded the paper 
 with extreme deliberation, and spoke. 
 
 ‘ Young man,’ he said, ‘ are you often nervous ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Not when I ’m actually playing,’ answered the truthful 
 Denis, swinging round on the stool. Landberger glared at him. 
 ‘ Are you nervous to-day ? ’ he growled. 
 
 ‘ No,’ said Denis. The master reopened his newspaper. 
 
 ‘ Then God help you,’ he said briefly, ‘ for I can’t.’ 
 
 Denis stared at him with wide eyes, and waited for further 
 criticism, but the great man was now completely absorbed in 
 his leading article. After a few moments, without looking up, 
 he emitted a queer kind of groan which no reasonable being 
 would have assumed to be speech. Denis, however, was 
 astonished out of all reason. 
 
 ‘ I beg your pardon ? ’ he said politely. 
 
 ‘ I said “ Go on ” ! ’ snarled Landberger. ‘ Good Lord, 
 sir, is that all you know ? Can’t you play another little piece, 
 a little drawing-room, after-dinner piece, the kind of thing to 
 digest old women’s dinner for ’em ? Go on, go on, for heaven’s 
 sake GO ON ! ’ He flapped the newspaper wildly at Denis, 
 who decided that the old man had just gone mad, and won- 
 
304 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 dered if he should get out of the house alive. He played a 
 Nocturne of Chopin’s, and then waited. He played it, he 
 knew, very well, but Landberger’s criticism was contained in 
 one brief phrase. 4 Your fingers sound like sausages/ he said. 
 
 Denis had never associated sound with sausages — at least, 
 no sound except succulent hissing. He was beginning to lose 
 patience. 
 
 ‘ I don’t know what you mean,’ he said. 
 
 Landberger looked at him at last. 
 
 ‘ I mean that they ’re as soft as sausages, as fat as sausages, 
 as nerveless as sausages,’ he cried. ‘ If you took ten sausages 
 and tied them to a clothes-line and bumped them up and down 
 the keyboard, they ’d make just the sound that your hands 
 make. That ’s what I mean, young man. Is that clear ? ’ 
 
 Denis met his eyes steadily. ‘ Perfectly,’ he said, ‘ and it ’s 
 also perfectly inaccurate. You ’re talking about something of 
 which you ’ve absolutely no experience.’ He paused, half 
 expecting that the master would fall upon him and destroy 
 him, but Landberger only stared. 4 Now I have ! ’ continued 
 Denis. 
 
 ‘ Good Lord ! ’ said the master. ‘ They ’ve sent me a mad- 
 man, a young lunatic. It ’s a practical joke of Sandys. 
 Good Lord ! ’ and he smiled grimly. Denis liked his smile. 
 It made him seem quite another person. 
 
 ‘ It ’s my favourite amusement on Sundays,’ said Denis. 
 
 Landberger stared at him. There was a faint gleam of 
 interest in his eye at last. ‘ What d’ ye mean ? ’ he said, 
 cocking an eyebrow. 
 
 ‘ Stringing ten sausages to a clothes-line and playing the 
 piano with them,’ Denis answered. ‘ And this is what it 
 sounds like,’ he added, and began to evoke most remarkable 
 noises from the piano. He felt quite reckless, and resolved to 
 show this extraordinary old man that he wasn’t in the least 
 afraid of him. He continued his improvisation, which de- 
 veloped rapidly into a clever piece of grotesque. You could 
 hear the poor sausages flapping flatly on the notes, but there 
 was a certain comic method in their fall. The idea had struck 
 Denis’s imagination, and he elaborated his lumbering theme 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 305 
 
 with a happy skill that surprised him ; it became pathetic 
 with the sadness felt by inert things that were compelled to 
 dance, it became humorous with the lyrical exuberance of 
 Aristophanes and the knockabout antics of the harlequinade. 
 It was certainly unlike anything else in the world, and when he 
 finished it he was almost anxious to write it down. He felt a 
 hand on his shoulder, and looking up, saw the face of the 
 master distended in a smile that, in some queer way, was the 
 most flattering grimace that he had ever seen. 
 
 ‘ You ’re a born fool,’ said Mr. Landberger, ‘ a born fool if 
 ever there was one. And now let ’s get to work.’ 
 
 Denis kept his promise, and wrote to his father, but received 
 no answer to his letter. He made no excuses, and merely gave 
 a curt description of his present circumstances. About a 
 month later the inevitable remonstrance came from Gabriel 
 Searle, who had apparently gone over irrevocably to the camp 
 of the enemy. ‘ You ’ve hit him very hard this time, Denis,’ 
 Gabriel wrote. ‘ He has aged more since you went than in the 
 last ten years.’ Gabriel obviously thought that all Denis’s 
 attempts to live his own life were part of a deep-laid plan to be 
 revenged on his father ; which was foolish of Gabriel. The 
 letter contained the usual vague wishes for a reconciliation. 
 ‘ If you could even come down for a week-end, I believe that 
 he would forgive you,’ it said. ‘ He isn’t angry this time ; he ’s 
 only broken-hearted.’ The letter ruined a morning’s work ; 
 he tore it up angrily, and wished that Gabriel Searle wasn’t so 
 sentimental. But the phrase with which it commenced was 
 like a needle in his memory for the rest of the day, and he 
 despised himself because it hurt him. Was he going to be 
 weak now, of all times ? He was absolutely convinced that 
 all the right was on his side at last ; he was working well ; he 
 walked buoyantly and slept soundly ; all the painful yearning 
 of his soul was at peace, — and wasn’t this a proof that he had 
 taken the best possible step ? Why should these words of 
 Gabriel gall him as if he were actually in the wrong ? 
 
 They ceased very soon to have this effect ; his life was too 
 full of novelty and his work too engrossing — his own work- — 
 u 
 
306 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 for the hours that he spent in the room assigned to him by Mr. 
 Wallaby were filled by labours which he never could regard 
 as real, though he performed them conscientiously — and too 
 slowly, from his employer's point of view. It was his task to 
 sift the bulk of the miscellaneous avalanche of music that 
 poured incessantly into the letter-box of Wallaby andCompany; 
 he had a piano in his room, and if any composition, when 
 tested by the instrument, appeared to have any vestige of 
 merit, he passed it on to little Sandys. At first he was 
 amazed and somewhat depressed by the thought of the vast 
 multitude that was caught in the toils of production. How 
 should he ever succeed, with this army of eager rivals working 
 inexorably against him for a public that was so airily indiffer- 
 ent to the great gulf that should lie between good and bad ? 
 But very soon, I am afraid, he was comforted by realising that 
 most of it was very bad indeed, — so bad that even a greedy, 
 indiscriminating public would grimace over any attempt to 
 swallow it, — so bad that it was pitiful to think of persons — they 
 were often obviously delightful persons — wasting their lives 
 over music when they might have been comfortable managers 
 of banks and joyful fathers of children. The letters which 
 accompanied these effusions were often dreadfully pathetic ; 
 beneath the formal language which introduced them to Mr. 
 Wallaby's notice you could read the anxiety of the composer 
 as a scholar reads a palimpsest ; you had a vision of the 
 months of toil and hope and depression that went to the mak- 
 ing of certain compositions which, in the end, were quite im- 
 possible. But the majority of manuscripts, fortunately for 
 Denis's peace of mind, were outside this painful category. 
 Wallaby and Company had a great reputation as publishers and 
 producers of that annoying musical excrescence, the drawing- 
 room ballad. Specimens of the genre whirled down on Denis 
 like sand in a simoom, and even his unpractised ear was able to 
 recognise that for the most part they had been born without 
 artistic travail, that the composer had turned them off with 
 about as much emotion as a barrel-organ displays in emitting 
 a popular melody. On the whole, the work amused him, 
 though he was conscious of being completely unfitted for it 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 307 
 
 He found it impossible to form any critical standard that would 
 apply to all these heterogeneous creations ; they seemed to be 
 written for a type of ear of which he could not imagine the 
 existence, and the words which they were supposed to em- 
 bellish were the language of lunacy. The composer, he 
 imagined, invited any of his relatives to contribute them. 
 Sir John Hornbeam, Mus. Doc., that ancient sinner, relied 
 on his wife for lyrics (she had published a book of them called 
 Wailings in the Wind), and not in vain, for did she not write 
 The Rye- field ? 
 
 As I came gaily through the rye , 
 
 (. Heigh-ho !) 
 
 There were no clouds across the sky; 
 
 { Heigh-ho / the bending barley J) 
 
 My love was lingering by the gate ; 
 
 1 hastened that she might not wait; 
 
 She was so fair , my co?nely Kate / 
 
 ( Sing hey ! the rye and barley !) 
 
 As through the rye I came again , 
 
 (. Heigh-ho /) 
 
 The sky was dumb and dark with pain ; 
 
 {Heigh-ho! the luckless parley !) 
 
 She slew me with her anger sore , 
 
 And so I weep and wander. For 
 
 I know I’ll see my Kate no more ; 
 
 {Nor she no more her Charley ). 
 
 The pastoral-pathetic, of course. Denis came to know it 
 at a glance. The tunes, in nearly all cases, were worthy of the 
 words, but they were occasionally better and never worse. 
 He hated them, but not more than the conventional robusti- 
 ous, so dear to the Wallaby audiences. 
 
 A thumping ballad of the sea 
 Is what Pve got to sing , oh ! 
 
 But his greatest aversion was reserved for the wicked 
 creatures who made settings to the sonnets of Shakespeare and 
 Keats and Rossetti. That seemed to him an utterly unpardon- 
 able gilding of lilies. Poets at least were more decent ; they 
 didn’t write words to Beethoven’s sonatas. When beautiful 
 ideas were enshrined for ever in a monumental art-form, it 
 seemed the basest sacrilege to meddle with them in any way 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 308 
 
 whatsoever. He had vast arguments with Sandys on this 
 subject. Sandys was a great reader of French poetry, and had 
 set Baudelaire's Invitation au Voyage and most of Verlaine's 
 Sagesse to very pretty music. 
 
 It was stupid work, and it left a nasty and surprising sequel 
 in making Denis inapt for more congenial labours for some 
 hours after he had been engaged in it ; but it occupied very 
 little of his time, and Sandys was always at hand. In atone- 
 ment, he toiled assiduously at theory and practice with Land- 
 berger, whom he very soon began to like, went to every concert 
 where good music was played, created like a young artist of 
 the Renaissance, and saw Rosalind as much as possible. He 
 played accompaniments for various stars at Wallaby's ballad- 
 concerts, emerging from the hall with a distinct sensation that 
 he had been accessory to a crime, and wondering how people 
 with such excellent and finely trained voices could dare or 
 bear to sing such wretched stuff. The singers he found 
 alternately very simple and pleasant and excessively vulgar 
 and conceited. 
 
 The mere act of entering the Hampstead studio was suffi- 
 cient to banish any depression that was caused by uncongenial 
 work. Rosalind was always so delighted to see him ; she was 
 such an ideal friend, so sympathetic, so completely spontane- 
 ous, that there were moments when he felt that Nature had 
 performed a work of supererogation in making her a girl. But 
 that, of course, was because Nature wanted to make something 
 beautiful, and Denis was deeply appreciative of her beauty. 
 His sensitive young artist's eye found her faultless, and just 
 when he thought that he knew every aspect of her, every trick 
 of moving, every characteristic expression when she talked, 
 some new grace would appear to prove that his judgment was 
 feebly premature. He was reading Shakespeare at that time ; 
 and as he proceeded from play to play, he seemed to see the 
 actual embodiment of each heroine in his friend ; her variety 
 was so infinite ; she distanced them all ! If only Mr. Duroy 
 could have lived to see her ! Denis never lost his impression 
 that his amused and delighted spirit was lurking in the shadow 
 of the window curtains. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 309 
 
 Women, he discovered in a tremendous moment of original 
 inspiration, were extraordinary. At school, if he had ever 
 thought of them at all, he had regarded them merely as vague 
 guardian-angels of the proprieties, alien creatures whom one 
 addressed with ceremonious politeness, and who stared at the 
 carpet even if you did remember to rub your boots on the door- 
 mat. It was the sudden sight of Topsy — red-faced, talkative 
 Topsy, whose body was like a perfect poem — which had hinted 
 to him that a woman could be beauty itself, could realise, as 
 it seemed, all the half-formed irritating visions of colour and 
 line that lured your eyes when you walked in lonely places at 
 dusk, all the evanescent harmonies that hovered like almost 
 visible things about you when you were eager to create music - 
 it was the sight of Rosalind that confirmed this suggestion 
 with an emphasis that was absolutely conclusive. A beautiful 
 soul in a beautiful body, — Life could produce nothing finer 
 than that ; the eternal monuments of art were shuffled into 
 an inferior place when you contrasted them with this rarest 
 perfection. It had an equal dower of immortality, too ; 
 didn't life — and art — owe everything to its influence ? Though 
 it seemed at first sight temporary and brief as the splendour of 
 a June rose, didn't it really live for ever in its effects — killing 
 vileness and meanness, bringing happiness and wisdom (and 
 giving splendour to the creations of young and aspiring 
 musicians) ? A personality of this kind, thought Denis, with 
 the victorious generalisation of youth, was the first cause in 
 every mighty work of genius. Would Dante have made the 
 Divina Commedia so splendid if he had never seen Beatrice ? 
 Would Shakespeare have created that great line of noble 
 women if he had not seen perfection embodied in some one of 
 his own acquaintance, — some one whose name was probably 
 not Ann Hathaway ? Oh ! it was rare, this perfection, but, 
 thank Heaven, it was quite unmistakable, and, when once you 
 had recognised it, it was yours for ever ; your standard became 
 fixed. Nothing could impair it ; time would only add to its 
 glory ; changes of taste were mere shifting mists in valleys far 
 below the height where it shone supreme. It was above every 
 transitory development ; it was absolute, not relative ; you 
 
3io 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 could no more imagine any external influence affecting it than 
 you could believe in a change in the human eye that would 
 make the Elgin Marbles seem grotesque. 
 
 He was deeply impressed by the discovery of this great 
 truth, and in the course of one of their nocturnal discussions 
 of everything on earth, he drew Noel's attention towards it, 
 without mentioning Rosalind, of course. Noel contemplated 
 him with an eye which would have seemed Mephistophelean if 
 his yellow beard had not spoiled its effect, and smiled very 
 wisely. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! you 're getting on ! ' he said. 4 It 's one of the seven 
 stages of adolescence. You remind me of Archibald when he 
 first came to Paris. Made in virtute , finer ! You make me 
 dream of my long-dead youth. Lend me your pocket-hand- 
 kerchief. Do you know the immortal words of Ollendorf : 
 “ I have the cold in the head, and my brother has the pocket- 
 handkerchief " ? It suggests all the horror of family life in 
 one brief line.' 
 
 Denis thought that Noel displayed a most unbecoming 
 levity. He continued to visit the Hampstead studio twice or 
 thrice a week, and became absolutely convinced of the truth of 
 his idea. All his reading — he read a great deal, chiefly poetry 
 — would have confirmed it, if confirmation had been necessary. 
 Rosalind was perfect, and she would be his friend for life. The 
 world was a glorious place, and the Hampstead studio was its 
 centre. 
 
 There was only one cloud in the serene sky of his existence — 
 if the wiry figure of Grimshaw can be described as anything 
 nebulous. Denis met the painter in Hampstead on several 
 occasions, and continued to dislike him. There was no proper 
 reason for his dislike ; Grimshaw was no ruder to him than to 
 others ; it was a matter of instinct. Everything connected 
 with the man jarred on him ; his deep, slow voice, which was 
 really musical, his laughter, which always seemed sardonic, his 
 habit of breaking aggressively into any discussion. He was a 
 genius, no doubt, but he was a brute. Miss Amory liked him, 
 though, as Denis discovered, she had been a friend of his wife ; 
 but of course Miss Amory liked every one who had ever held a 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 3ii 
 
 mahl-stick. She seemed quite glad when Grimshaw denounced 
 her latest allegory in language so violent that Denis felt she 
 ought to have wept or put poison in the master's tea. One 
 consoling fact, however, was obvious, the boy thought : Rosa- 
 lind disliked Grimshaw ; no one, of course, would have ex- 
 pected her to do anything else. Though she was still his pupil 
 and saw him almost daily, there was an odd note of constraint, 
 of effort, in her voice when she spoke to him ; and when he told 
 one of his stories, which were always concerned with practical 
 jokes, she was the only person in the audience who did not 
 laugh. Denis laughed, for the stories were really amusing in 
 their way, and Miss Amory was always ringing a silver chime 
 of appreciation. Rosalind smiled briefly ; sometimes she did 
 not even smile, but watched Grimshaw gravely, swinging a 
 slender foot. It was the first time that Denis had seen her 
 look as if she were bored, though she was good enough to 
 simulate an air of interest. 
 
 Grimshaw, indeed, seemed somewhat afraid of her. He did 
 not often address her, and when he did so he spoke with a 
 certain deference which made his rough voice almost pleasant. 
 He was no fool ; he knew a great deal about music, and had 
 anarchical theories. 4 Traditions ! traditions are hell ! ’ he 
 remarked one day to Sandys, with a sublime disregard for the 
 ears of Miss Amory and Rosalind. ‘ What you want is in- 
 novation, — to make audiences who are torpid and intoxicated 
 with Schubert and Chopin rise up in their chairs and gasp 
 as if they 'd sat on a corkscrew. Traditions are made to be 
 smashed. Beethoven smashed them, and every one said 
 “ How dreadful ! ” Wagner smashed them, and nobody be- 
 lieved in him but a king whom idiots called mad. Traditions 
 are only cultivated by people who are too flabby to strike out 
 and get beyond them. They 're the stale lees of the wine that 
 genius crushes from life.' He snorted contempt when Denis 
 played Purcell. ‘ It 's pretty,' he said, ‘ but it 's bric-a-brac, 
 it 's vieux jeu. Go and listen to the 'buses in Piccadilly, and 
 try to write the noise down ; it 'll be healthier for you than 
 everlastingly waking up these old ghosts.' In revenge, Denis 
 played him the Sausage rhapsody, without explaining its 
 
312 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 origin. ‘ That ’s better ! ’ said Grimshaw ; ' that *s got some 
 life in it. It reminds me of a fight between a fat lady and a 
 living skeleton at a music-hall, — both of them on roller-skates, 
 you know.' He spoke quite seriously. 
 
 Occasionally he was amusing, but too often he was the prey 
 of black moods which he made no attempt to conceal from his 
 acquaintances. He would snarl like a surly dog if Noel 
 laughed at him, and would contradict Miss Amory with a 
 rancorous energy that reduced her to silence, though she never 
 appeared to resent it. He refrained, however, from treating 
 Rosalind in a similar manner, but this was probably because 
 she scarcely spoke to him on his bad days ; if he addressed a 
 remark to her she replied with a monosyllable. Ho regarded 
 Denis with contemptuous tolerance, and always alluded to him 
 as The Prodigy. Sometimes he would loll in an armchair for a 
 couple of hours, speaking to no one, and staring with morose 
 eyes at the ceiling. Denis would yearn to take him by the 
 collar and shake him into some sort of civility ; the man, he 
 supposed, was engaged in thinking out a new picture, but why 
 on earth couldn't he do it in his studio or the street ? Some- 
 times Grimshaw would utter a sound between a sigh and a 
 moan, and on one occasion when this happened, Denis ob- 
 served that Rosalind had turned towards him, and was looking 
 at him gravely, keenly, but apparently without any trace of 
 irritation. This puzzled Denis for a moment, and then he 
 concluded that, being his pupil, she felt a certain sympathy 
 with the artistic travail which was indicated by these annoying 
 symptoms. The great man did not invite Denis to his studio, 
 and the only specimens of his work that the boy saw were some 
 charcoal studies at the Spring exhibition of a certain Art Club 
 — navvies at work on a railroad, and miners, naked to the 
 waist, crouching in a narrow, dimly lighted gallery. There was 
 no doubt that Grimshaw was a genius, he thought, as he looked 
 at the drawings ; they were terrific ! it was grim realism, yet 
 there was nothing forced ; and to know exactly where to 
 refrain, where to stop dead in work of that kind, was itself a 
 triumph of delicacy. After he had seen them, he found that 
 the majority of pictures in the gallery had the effect on his 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 3i3 
 
 nerves that would have been produced by a series of bottles 
 of bad scent. But even if Grimshaw could do that kind of 
 thing, he had no right to be surly in Rosalind's presence and to 
 mock at Purcell. 
 
 The amiable Topsy, who was sufficiently good-natured to 
 remain in the studio when her day's work was over and to make 
 tea whilst Noel's brush ran a race with the twilight, seemed 
 never tired of talking about Grimshaw. ‘ Oh ! he does amuse 
 me ! ' was her invariable prologue, followed immediately by an 
 anecdote which made Denis feel that there was some defect in 
 his own sense of the humorous. But he began to see very soon 
 that Topsy had a blind professional admiration for the great 
 man. 4 He 's going to be an Old Master ! ' she said, with a 
 healthy thrill of awe in her voice. ‘ He 's famous all over 
 Europe, ain't he, Mr. Tellier ? And Americans — you never 
 saw such figures of fun ! — Americans come to see him — regu- 
 larly force their way into the studio — and then he swears at 
 them and turns them out. My word, but he 's a caution ! 
 He 's afraid of neither God nor man ; he wants a woman to 
 keep him in order. Not like the one he had, though, that used 
 to watch him through the keyhole whenever he 'd a model. 
 Ah ! She 'd have taken first prize at the cat show.' 
 
 Topsy evidently worshipped Grimshaw, in spite, or indeed 
 because, of his roughness. ‘ “ Get out," he said to me one day,’ 
 she would tell Denis. ‘ “ Take yourself off and be hanged," he 
 says, “ my head 's bursting with your jabbering jaw," and then 
 he drops into a chair and holds his head till I was fit to die with 
 laughing.' It is to be supposed that Topsy, as is the way with 
 many devout worshippers, was given to translating the lan- 
 guage of her god into common speech. Sometimes she evinced 
 an almost maternal anxiety with regard to Grimshaw's health. 
 ‘ He 's overworked,' she said on one occasion. * His hand 
 ain't steady, and that makes him swear. He 's worrying his 
 life out about something and says that his liver 's like a hob- 
 nailed boot. I don't know how he managed to see it, though. 
 His temper 's awful, and there 's always a smell of whisky in 
 the studio.' 
 
 Denis felt sick. Was that the place to which Rosalind went 
 
3 14 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 for lessons ? He longed to warn her against Grimshaw ; girls 
 of twenty, he said to himself, couldn’t judge a man’s character, 
 and Miss Amory was obviously short-sighted. Of course, 
 Rosalind was wise beyond her years ; but did she know about 
 the wife, and about the whisky ? 
 
 He mentioned both of these unsavoury subjects to Noel as 
 they were talking together that evening. Noel didn’t seem to 
 think them important. 
 
 ‘ Topsy described the wife very well in her epigram about 
 the cat show,’ he said. ‘ I saw the clawses at the end of her 
 pawses pretty often. But if you didn’t know her and only 
 heard the facts, you ’d think she was in the right and Grimshaw 
 in the wrong. Of course that ’s rot, really.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh ! ’ said Denis, ‘ and does he drink ? ’ 
 
 4 I don’t know,’ said Noel. ‘ I should, I think, if I ’d married 
 her. If he does, it hasn’t hurt his pictures and he keeps it 
 dark. Topsy ’s a garrulous idiot,’ he concluded, with a little 
 flash of irritation. 
 
 ‘ Does Rosalind like him ? ’ demanded Denis. 
 
 ‘ Oh yes,’ said Noel, ‘ — as a painter.’ 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 3i5 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 T the end of four months he was still so much in love 
 
 with his new life and his work was proceeding so well, 
 that when Mr. Wallaby informed him that he could take a 
 holiday of four weeks he felt inclined to stay in London during 
 the remainder of August and the beginning of September. But 
 Noel, who was going to Fontainebleau to paint in the forest, 
 disapproved strongly of this intention, and eventually per- 
 suaded Denis to accompany him to France. 
 
 The four months certainly constituted the most wonderful 
 epoch of his life. He had been completely happy ; Noel had 
 proved a perfect comrade, and had given obvious proof of his 
 pleasure in having the boy always near him ; Rosalind, of 
 course, was beyond praise ; one could only be humbly thank- 
 ful to Fate for the great good chance of being able to dwell in 
 the light of her presence ; and his artistic powers had developed 
 in a manner that seemed nothing less than amazing when he 
 compared his present achievements with the tentative efforts 
 of the previous year. He had made many other friends, too : 
 Miss Amory, who was always delightful, and little Sandys, who 
 was delightful and comic as well. He had moved in a healthy 
 atmosphere of artistic endeavour ; he had met exactly the kind 
 of people whom he had wished to know — musicians, painters, 
 writers of verse, writers of fiction — the grim crew of a stagger- 
 ing ship ! — and a great number of persons who were none the 
 less charming because they were not artists. Noel's circle of 
 acquaintance was always extending, and Denis profited hugely 
 by its elasticity. Old schoolfellows would appear unex- 
 pectedly in the studio — gilded youths from the Universities 
 who still called Noel Boosey, and stared with great eyes at 
 little Sandys' tubular frock-coat. Denis was surprised to 
 observe how slightly they had altered ; their interests seemed 
 the same that they had possessed at school — games, amuse- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 316 
 
 ment, vivid waistcoats — and they talked the old jargon which 
 he had easily forgotten in a year. They were very jolly, and 
 he thanked Heaven that he wasn't sharing their mode of life. 
 
 One August evening, a few days before the time appointed 
 for their departure, he walked with Noel and little Sandys 
 across Hyde Park towards the Marble Arch. It was the last 
 evening when the trio were able to foregather, so they decided 
 to celebrate the occasion, not in Soho, but at an Italian 
 restaurant near Oxford Circus. Whilst they were walking, 
 however, Sandys remembered suddenly that a great violinist, 
 a Belgian named Damboise, was playing the Beethoven 
 Concerto at a hall which was near their restaurant, and 
 suggested that instead of dining they should go to hear him 
 and have supper afterwards. The concert, he said, would end 
 at half-past nine ; and, for himself, he always found that an 
 empty stomach was an invaluable aid to the appreciation of 
 great music. The plan was accepted, with the condition that 
 Noel and Denis were allowed to eat sandwiches at a German 
 sausage-shop in Oxford Street on the way to the concert ; 
 during which repast, Noel intimated, little Sandys might 
 warble Denis's famous rhapsody. 
 
 Near the Marble Arch they met an acquaintance, a writer 
 named Wilson who produced mystical novels which were sup- 
 posed to be intended to convert all the world to theosophy, or 
 Buddhism, or some other mysterious and Oriental creed. 
 Wilson's novels were not successful ; his name was unknown 
 to the public, and he attributed this disaster to several causes ; 
 the most important being that there were two other writers of 
 the same name, that his prose was perfect, and that he himself 
 was afflicted with a modesty that forbade any kind of self-ad- 
 vertisement. Latterly, however, he had begun to realise that 
 as his novels were written with a great moral purpose, it was 
 his moral duty to draw the attention of a perverse generation 
 to their and his existence by any method, legitimate or blatant. 
 The notices inserted in literary weeklies at his request by his 
 publishers were a perpetual joy to his friends — ‘ The Mahatma's 
 Mantle , by HERBERT Wilson. The British Public are kindly 
 requested not to confuse the author of this remarkable work 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 317 
 
 with Mr. Nathaniel Wilson, the writer of light verse, or Mr. 
 William Wilson, the writer of sensational stories. Order early 
 from libraries, and don't forget HERBERT.' But if the 
 public remembered Herbert, they remembered him only to 
 ignore him, and the sensational William sold his tens of 
 thousands. Apart from this peculiarity and a long green 
 cloak — probably a Mahatma's mantle — which he wore per- 
 petually, Wilson was quite an amiable creature, and never 
 tried to convert Noel and Denis to the religions of the East. 
 
 They ate leber-wurst sandwiches and afterwards listened to 
 the violinist, who played magnificently. At a quarter to ten, 
 whilst they were discussing the relative merits of a risotto and 
 an osso buco, the great Damboise himself entered the restaurant 
 followed by the conductor of the orchestra, a stout man with a 
 black beard, an Olympian coiffure, and a genial face. Dam- 
 boise was evidently well contented with his performance ; his 
 huge red face beamed like a blown fire, and he talked and 
 laughed loudly. He sat down at a table where places had been 
 laid for half a dozen persons, and was soon involved in an 
 animated discussion — in Italian — with the head waiter, who 
 hovered about him like an attendant genius. Denis watched 
 him with keen interest ; Damboise was the first really great 
 man whom he had had the chance of observing closely, — 
 except, of course, the morose Grimshaw. 
 
 The violinist and the conductor were very soon joined by a 
 party which consisted of two men, obviously musicians, and 
 two ladies who were not so easily classified as their attendants. 
 The elder was of ample dimensions, and looked like a full-blown 
 peony ; the younger was tall and moved very lithely, and had 
 a face which was pale and interesting. Denis asked Sandys if 
 he could identify her, and Sandys replied that she was an 
 American, a famous dancer who had formerly studied music 
 with Damboise. Evidently she had been a favourite pupil ; 
 the great violinist took both her hands and shook them 
 violently ; he kissed the other lady on both her red cheeks, and 
 patted her on the back until Denis thought she would succumb 
 to an apoplectic seizure. Then the fun began ; Damboise 
 laughed, and made jokes in several languages, and drank 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 3i8 
 
 every one’s health, and gesticulated wildly, behaving, Denis 
 thought, much more like a jolly schoolboy than a personage of 
 forty-five with a European reputation. He very soon man- 
 aged to reduce the peony, the conductor, and the two musicians 
 to a condition of helpless laughter ; and though the dancer 
 didn’t laugh as unrestrainedly as the others, one could tell 
 from her extremely expressive face how enormously amused 
 she was. Presently a silence descended on them ; she was 
 telling them a story, very gravely, almost sadly, without 
 gestures. They were watching her with the queer, strained 
 aspect that faces which have been loosened with laughter 
 assume when they are suddenly compelled to be grave. But 
 the story was very short, and at its conclusion a peal of 
 laughter went up that startled the quiet supper-parties at the 
 other end of the restaurant. Damboise laughed louder and 
 longer than any one, kept on repeating the last words of the 
 story, and again insisted on wringing the dancer’s slender 
 white hands. Even while he was doing this, a procession of 
 two old gentlemen entered the room, — two old gentlemen who 
 resembled each other greatly, for each of them was stout, each 
 had a bald head and gold spectacles, and each wore a large 
 diamond in his shirt-front. They marched majestically past 
 the table at which Damboise and his friends were having 
 supper, glanced at him and raised their opera-hats very 
 solemnly, then proceeded to two seats as remote as possible 
 from that hilarious gathering. Damboise bowed to them 
 profoundly, and regarded them, when they had passed, with 
 the expression of a mischievous schoolboy who watches the 
 retreating figure of the master. 
 
 Sandys told Denis their names, and their names told him 
 everything. They were professors of music, they were 
 baronets, they had composed oratorios, and they were highly 
 honoured in England. As they sat stiffly opposite one another 
 they looked almost defiantly satisfied with their own import- 
 ance, but Denis knew that, compared with Damboise, they 
 were as cruses of water to the great sea. Damboise had all the 
 knowledge which had made them pedantic, and it was merely 
 the grammar of his art ; he had gone far beyond all that. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 319 
 
 After a moment the voices and laughter at his table became 
 louder than ever, and occasionally the two baronets sent a 
 glance towards it that was almost too majestic to signify dis- 
 approval. Denis thought that the contrast between their 
 pompous stiffness and the great artist's joyous absurdity was 
 extremely piquant, and also extremely significant. The really 
 big men, he felt, were always like that — simple, and jovial, 
 and full of boyish high spirits, whereas the second-rate men, 
 the pedants, were solemn and self-important and utterly 
 sterile. 
 
 He was watching the great violinist half an hour later, when 
 a tall figure in dress-clothes and an opera-hat — a form of head- 
 gear that Denis vaguely associated with gilded dissipation — 
 obtruded itself between him and the jovial supper-party. He 
 looked up, and to his intense surprise recognised Lenwood — a 
 novel and amazing Lenwood, beautifully dressed, and leaning 
 on an ebony stick. Denis was so greatly astonished by this 
 apparition that he stared for a moment without speaking ; 
 Noel, however, was less startled by the magnificence of his old 
 schoolfellow. 
 
 ‘ Why, it 's old Frowzy ! * he exclaimed. ‘ What a blood 
 you 've grown, my dear ! Are you going to have supper ? 
 Come and sit with us if you 're alone. We 're all sadly in 
 need of improving conversation. What a funny hat you 're 
 wearing ! ' 
 
 He introduced Lenwood to Sandys and Wilson. Lenwood 
 bowed to them with a flourish. Denis still stared at him ; the 
 change in his aspect was almost beyond belief, and for some 
 reason he reminded the boy of Malvolio — of Malvolio in love 
 and cross-gartered. The old, haggard solemnity of his face 
 was wreathed with a perpetual and slightly fatuous smile ; he 
 wore a large antique intaglio on his left hand, and an eyeglass 
 with a kind of golden balcony round its edge depended by a 
 thin satin ribbon from his neck. 
 
 ‘ You 're still running Oxford, I suppose ? ' said Noel. 
 
 ‘ I am still at Oxford,' said Lenwood ; ‘ but I have been 
 down for six weeks, and the memory of its absurdity has faded 
 at last. I shall have to stay there, I suppose ; they spoke of 
 
320 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 giving me a fellowship at Balliol, and of course there is the 
 All Souls thing later on.' 
 
 Little Sandys addressed him with nervous politeness. 
 
 ‘ Is Balliol one of the well-known colleges of Oxford ? ' he 
 asked. The question seemed to astonish Lenwood. 
 
 ‘Yes, I believe so/ he answered. ‘ You ought to say that 
 to a Balliol don. I should like to see his face. Oxford is all 
 very well/ he continued, turning to Noel and Denis, ‘ but you 
 don't know what a joy it is to me to come to this kind of thing 
 — to get into real life ! It 's as good as the first sensation of 
 health after a long illness.' He drew a deep breath, and put 
 up his eyeglass, which fell immediately. 
 
 ‘ Well, from all that old Arbuthnot told me,' said Noel, 
 
 ‘ there seems to be a certain amount of real life even in Oxford. 
 He managed to have a very good time in spite of having to go 
 into training three or four times a year.' 
 
 ‘ Oh ! of course that kind of man ! ' said Lenwood. ‘ I was 
 speaking of the life of the mind.' 
 
 ‘ Ah yes, exactly so ! ' said little Sandys. ‘ You find the 
 place, in that respect, somewhat — er — stagnant ? ' 
 
 Lenwood nodded. 
 
 ‘ It 's like living in a combination of a library and a morgue/ 
 he explained ; ‘ and unless you throw yourself violently into 
 the arms of sensation its influence haunts you everywhere. 
 For a long time I abandoned myself to it, and then, one day, I 
 realised that I was becoming like all the others, I saw that some 
 tremendous tonic was necessary to save my soul.' 
 
 ‘ You should try occultism,' said Wilson, with the voice 
 of a chemist who recommends a patent medicine. ‘ It 's the 
 finest antidote to academic methods of thought.' 
 
 ‘ I hate all isms,' Lenwood answered languidly, and Denis 
 laughed. ‘ For a long time,' continued Lenwood, ‘ I searched 
 for my remedy. I tried Italy, and Italian art ; but Italy, 
 nowadays, is a suburb of Oxford ; Ruskin and Pater ruined it, 
 and art, especially antique art, is only an anodyne ; it isn't a 
 tonic. Quite suddenly I found that my cure lay no further 
 away than London. This kind of life, I 've realised, is the very 
 thing to counteract Oxford : it 's everything that Oxford isn't ; 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 321 
 
 it 's vulgar, it 's vivid ; it 's tawdry, it 's flamboyant. Nothing 
 is ordered and sorted ; pleasure and sorrow are hand in hand ; 
 shame and virtue rub shoulders together. At first it was 
 staggering. To use a dreadfully commonplace simile, I in- 
 habited the Platonic cave of shadows for so long that I was 
 blinded by the fierce glare of reality. But now I 'm used to 
 it ; I bask. I only hope/ he concluded sententiously, ‘ that I 
 am not too late/ 
 
 For a moment Denis had a wild suspicion that Lenwood was 
 laughing at them — that his stick, his eyeglass, and his fantastic 
 language were all part of some ridiculous travesty. But as 
 Lenwood expounded his theory, with many allusions to the 
 shadier side of London's opportunities for nocturnal dissipa- 
 tion, he abandoned this idea. Lenwood's life at Oxford had 
 seemed to him sufficiently misguided — a wilful living in sad- 
 ness ; but this new aspect of his friend was far more preposter- 
 ous ; he was like an owl walking abroad amid the sun-rays 
 in a suit of peacock's feathers. Certainly he looked healthier 
 than when Denis had seen him at Oxford, though his baldness 
 had increased, and he was terribly short-sighted, especially 
 when he wore his eyeglass. In spite of his self-satisfaction, 
 it was almost pathetic, Denis thought, to see him playing a 
 part for which Nature had certainly not designed him. 
 Formerly, though he had acquired a great many of the defects 
 which often go with the scholar's temperament, he had at 
 least possessed some of the compensatory virtues, but now he 
 had renounced these, and had forsaken the study for the music- 
 hall — a Diogenes turned Brummell ! Denis glanced at Noel, 
 anxious to see if he also was conscious of the idiocy of Len wood's 
 metamorphosis, but Noel apparently attached no particular 
 importance to the change, and was gravely telling the votary 
 of pleasure where to obtain the best absinthe in Paris. Len- 
 wood had visited Paris ; he knew the tourist-haunted cabarets 
 of Montmartre, and was evidently very proud of his know- 
 ledge ; he had even visited a Bal Bullier (he had lately learnt 
 to dance) and had conversed with a lady who was clothed as 
 simply as Venus when she rose superbly from the sapphire 
 sea. 1 A naked woman is a wonderful sight/ said the sage ; 
 
 x 
 
322 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 and Denis remembered his old impression that Lenwood 
 always liked all the right things in the wrong way. 
 
 Lenwood appeared to be impressed by the information that 
 his four companions were all engaged in the practice of one or 
 another form of art. ‘ You artists know how to live ! ’ he 
 said, and Denis smiled as he thought of little Sandys’ frock- 
 coat, which always suggested Evangelical meetings, and of 
 the tranquil life of Noel and himself in Chelsea. Lenwood, 
 in matters of art and literature, displayed his usual omnisci- 
 ence ; he spoke admiringly of Beardsley, and debated whether 
 it was possible to obtain originals of Felicien Rops. He had 
 met certain artists in Paris ; it appeared that they had in- 
 volved him in some ridiculously sordid affairs, ‘and all the 
 time I thought of Oxford, and the poor blind thing called my 
 tutor. If only he could have seen me ! ' He talked to Wilson 
 about the rites of the East, and spoke with fervour of a book 
 called the Khama-sutra of which Denis had never heard. 
 Damboise excited his admiration. ‘ A grand head/ he said ; 
 ‘ what power, and how extraordinarily sensual ! His mistress 
 is quite beautiful/ He seemed very much disappointed when 
 the identity of the lady in question was revealed to him, and 
 when little Sandys informed him that the great violinist was 
 a deeply respectable married man. A moment later the entry 
 of a florid gentleman in a too sumptuous fur coat attracted 
 his attention. ‘ Look at him ! ’ he exclaimed ; ‘ how he has 
 lived ! how he has used his life ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Well, he ’s got a very red nose ! 9 cried little Sandys in his 
 shrill voice. 
 
 ‘ I don’t think he has been living the life of the mind,’ added 
 Denis. He was becoming somewhat weary of Lenwood’s 
 theories ; the long day of work, the walk, the concert, and the 
 bad air in the restaurant made him desirous of his bed. He 
 was also slightly annoyed because Lenwood, as usual, had 
 evinced no sort of interest in his existence, had asked no 
 questions about his work. Lenwood, indeed, scarcely spoke 
 to him or to Noel, regarded Sandys with mild contempt, and 
 addressed most of his remarks to Wilson, who became bored 
 and tried to avoid his eye and to think out the plot of a 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 323 
 
 mystical romance. The student of pleasure consumed a 
 mezzo of Chianti, and then drank absinthe and water as a 
 liqueur, to Noel’s great disgust. He became voluble, dis- 
 cursive, and, lastly, lyrical. Denis watched him with growing 
 stupefaction ; the wine and absinthe, and the many deeply 
 inhaled cigarettes were all, he felt, a part of Lenwood’s 
 deliberate scheme for counteracting some influence that he 
 feared ; he was afraid of becoming a pedant, of course, and 
 this was a legitimate terror ; but was it really necessary to 
 rush to the opposite extreme in this violent way ? Weren’t 
 there all kinds of delightful methods of keeping life from 
 becoming arid — laughter, and the company of friends, and 
 walking-tours and the consolation of the Arts ? But Lenwood, 
 of course, was beyond art, and had never cared for friendship. 
 He seemed even more lonely amongst his pleasures than in 
 his rooms at Balliol ; there, at any rate, he had the society of 
 the distinguished anarchists and atheists, flabby beings who 
 would certainly not bear him company amid his present flesh- 
 pots. He thought of the Lenwood whom he had known, or 
 tried to know, at school — self-confident, defiant, but very 
 wise and sane ; and then he looked at the new Lenwood, whose 
 face was flushed and weakened with wine, who talked loudly 
 and foolishly, and was perpetually trying to fix his gold-rimmed 
 glass beneath that erstwhile studious brow. Oh, what a fall 
 was there ! With startling suddenness the truth that people 
 could change — even the people who had seemed absolutely 
 formed and fixed — was born in his mind. It was a relief to 
 look at Noel, and to see that he was just the same as ever 
 beneath the ambush of his beard. 
 
 His attention was diverted from this melancholy spectacle 
 by the sound of a great scraping of chairs on the floor. Dam- 
 boise and his friends had risen, and were preparing to depart 
 amid the bows of the entire staff of the restaurant. As the 
 violinist stood in the act of drawing on his gloves his glance 
 rested on the group of young men at the table near his own ) 
 he stared for a moment, then smiled and advanced towards it. 
 He had eyes, Denis noticed, that looked as if they could see a 
 hundred miles without effort. He beamed on them all for a 
 
324 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 moment, looking quickly from one to the other, then shook 
 hands with Sandys, who had risen. 
 
 ‘ If I had known you were here/ he said, with a strong 
 foreign accent, ‘ I should have tried to steal you from your 
 friends/ 
 
 Sandys smiled and blushed beautifully, — it was delightful 
 to see the pleasure that he derived from the great man’s 
 little act of courtesy. * Oh ! that ’s very good of you — 
 extremely good ! 9 he stammered, standing away from the 
 table and gazing up with his funny childish smile at Damboise. 
 ‘ I may say that it has been a most memorable evening for all 
 of us ! ’ He waved his hand towards the table, and Damboise 
 smiled at Noel and Denis, who were facing him.- He began 
 to talk French to Sandys, who replied fluently with an exe- 
 crable accent ; apparently they were discussing the concert. 
 After a moment, however, Denis heard Landberger’s name, 
 and then Damboise glanced at him, looking serious, and said 
 something w T hich sounded like ‘ une vraie tSte d’artiste.’ 
 Sandys also looked at him, and made a sign, but before he 
 could move Damboise came quickly round the table — he 
 moved with a lightness amazing in so large a man — and held 
 out his hand. Denis sprang up and shook it, feeling rather 
 frightened. 
 
 ‘ I have heard of you, Mr. Yorke/ Damboise said, and he 
 looked so jolly and friendly that Denis’s fear vanished instantly. 
 4 Landberger is one of my oldest friends ; we were at Leipsic 
 together, — ah ! before you were born, and before he grew 
 angry and I grew fat. And it seems you are his favourite pupil ; 
 he has great hope of you ; he tells me you are going to beat us 
 all. Lucky for me I do not play the piano, eh ? ’ 
 
 Denis managed to explain that he was certainly not a 
 favourite of Landberger’s. ‘ I never satisfy him,’ he said, 
 with a comic look of despair, ‘ and he says my hands get worse 
 and worse, just like ’ 
 
 ‘ I know, I know ! ’ shouted the violinist ; ‘ like sausages 
 on a string. The old saying ! and if it is a singer who goes to 
 him, he says to him, “ Mister, your diaphragm is exact in its 
 resemblance to a boiled rabbit ; the river may run backwards, 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 325 
 
 and the sun swallow the moon, but never, never shall song 
 proceed from your mouth.” But what he really thinks of 
 you, Mr. Yorke, is something very different. I wish you all 
 success, and let me give you one word of advice. Whatever 
 you do, cling to our friend here,' and he put his hand on 
 Sandys' shoulder. ' He is one in a million,' he said ; ‘ a 
 man of iron, a hero, a Colosse ! ’ The association of Sandys 
 with anything colossal struck Denis as very remarkable. 
 ‘ We shall meet again ! ' said the great man, with tremendous 
 emphasis, as he departed. 
 
 Denis was overwhelmed with astonishment that Landberger 
 should have thought him worth mentioning to his famous 
 friend. He stood staring at the receding back of the violinist. 
 ‘ There ! you hear what he says ! ’ piped Sandys. ‘ Land- 
 berger wouldn’t say a thing of that kind to him unless he 
 meant it ! ' 
 
 ‘ He always talked as if I should never be really any good,' 
 said Denis ; ‘ but I always felt that I was improving.' 
 
 ‘ Oh ! you 'll play the Kreutzer with him yet,' said Sandys, 
 waving his hand towards the door. Denis laughed. 
 
 4 If I only could ! ' he murmured, as they returned to the 
 table. There was a light in his eye that pleased Sandys. 
 Sweet are the uses of encouragement, thought the little man, 
 and was duly grateful to Damboise for his few words. As for 
 Denis, he felt more than ever tempted to renounce his holiday 
 and to work in London throughout the summer. 
 
 As they separated, Noel asked Lenwood to visit the studio 
 whenever he had nothing better to do, and Lenwood duly 
 appeared at five o'clock on the next day. When Denis 
 came into the room after a long afternoon of scales and 
 exercises, he found the philosopher lying in a deep armchair 
 and talking to Topsy. That young woman was, on this 
 occasion, clothed in all the garments decreed by convention ; 
 she was sitting for a figure of a girl in an old English garden, 
 and wore a white muslin frock which Noel had designed. 
 The afternoon had been very hot, and Topsy seemed rather 
 tired and cross. Noel, in shirt-sleeves, with his big arms bare 
 to the elbows, was working silently at his canvas. Topsy 
 
326 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 seemed to be already on familiar, but not friendly, terms with 
 Lenwood. ‘ Here ’s Mr. Yorke,’ she said as Denis entered ; 
 * now he ’s the kind I like — much better than you. He don’t 
 pay compliments and smirk at the same time as if he didn’t 
 mean ’em. I never could abide gentlemen as idle about 
 London spending their money and twirling a stick in the air 
 like the man in front of the Guards’ band. Give me a worker, 
 say I. I ’m a worker myself. They ’re my sort ! ’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t see why you need be,’ said Lenwood. ‘ You ’re 
 much too pretty. Work makes people dreadfully plain.’ 
 
 'Ah! you’ve done some in your time, then! ’ retorted Topsy. 
 
 Lenwood blew a cloud of cigarette smoke, and said that he 
 had done many foolish things before he had the immense 
 felicity of meeting her. Denis found a camp-stool and sat 
 down behind Noel, who grunted a greeting without removing 
 his eyes from his work. The boy was vaguely irritated by the 
 tone of Lenwood’s voice ; he had hoped that the new aspect of 
 his old schoolfellow would be less perceptible in the sane light 
 of day ; but Lenw r ood seemed as idiotic as on the previous 
 evening. His wit was of the feeblest description, a poor copy 
 of the kind of nonsense that a vapid youth would exchange 
 with a barmaid, and he regarded Topsy with a patronising air 
 that was almost insolent. Denis liked Topsy ; she was talka- 
 tive and self-complacent and sometimes rather greedy, he 
 thought, but she had certain excellent qualities ; she was 
 staunch on behalf of her friends and never told lies. 
 
 The foolish interchange of verbal horseplay continued for 
 some time. Lenwood had much the worst of it, but he did not 
 seem to perceive it, and sat watching his opponent with a 
 superior smile. Topsy was obviously growing exasperated ; 
 she flushed angrily, and spoke through her teeth. Denis knew 
 that she was very tired — she had volunteered to remain for an 
 extra hour each day because she knew that Noel was anxious 
 to finish his figure before he went to France — and he thought 
 that Lenwood might have had the sense to observe her 
 fatigue. Noel was absorbed in his work, and for some time 
 continued to ignore the contending flights of epigram ; at last, 
 however, he looked up from his canvas, and spoke. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 327 
 
 ‘ Quiet a minute, please, Topsy,' he said ; ‘ I can't get the 
 face if your mouth keeps on wandering round like a train on 
 the District Railway.' But Denis noticed that Noel was at 
 that moment working on the dress of his figure. Topsy 
 shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 ‘Oh! I didn't know that you wanted my face ! ' she said 
 crossly. 
 
 ‘ What else could he want ? ' asked Lenwood, and Denis 
 sighed. It was so ridiculous to talk like that in a studio ; the 
 atmosphere was all wrong. Topsy preserved a sulky silence 
 during the remainder of the sitting, declined tea, and departed 
 with the curtest of good-nights to Noel and Denis and without 
 looking at Lenwood. She had refused to change her clothes, 
 made a bundle of her own garments, and went away in all the 
 glory of Noel's muslin frock. 
 
 * My dear Tellier,' Lenwood cried as soon as she had gone, 
 4 she 's admirable ! Where did you find her ? I never met 
 anything so amusing and yet so banal. And what a figure ! ' 
 He sighed loudly, then rose and went towards Noel, who was 
 cleaning his palette. ‘ Observe me, Tellier,' he said theatri- 
 cally ; ‘ we have known each other for years, and I feel that I 
 may ask you a pertinent question. Are you very intimate ? ' 
 
 Noel was whistling vigorously as he scraped his palette. He 
 broke off his tune and looked up at Lenwood. 
 
 ‘ Rather ! ' he said, and continued to whistle. Lenwood 
 frowned. 
 
 ‘ You understand me, don't you ? ' he said. 
 
 ‘ No,' answered Noel, in the middle of a tremolo. He 
 finished it and ran up a scale. ‘ No,' he said, ‘ and never did.' 
 
 ‘ Then I 'll be frankly explicit,' said Lenwood. ‘ In plain 
 brutal English, is she your mistress ? ' 
 
 For a moment Denis thought that Noel was about to 
 remove the rest of the paint on his palette by applying that 
 implement to Lenwood's face. He stared at him. 
 
 ‘ Mistress be damned ! ' he said emphatically, ‘ she 's a 
 model.' 
 
 ‘ Ah ! ' said Lenwood. ‘ No harm in my asking, was there ? 
 One likes to be careful. Acts of piracy are illegitimate between 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 328 
 
 friends, of course/ Noel continued to stare for at least a 
 minute, then he put down his palette. A slow smile irradiated 
 his red face. 
 
 ‘ I must go and wash/ he said. Next moment the sound of 
 splashing water rose in the adjoining room, and mingled with 
 it another sound as of gurgles and gasps. But Lenwood did 
 not hear it. He was speaking to Denis. 
 
 ‘ She 's splendid ! ' he said. * But perhaps I pressed her a 
 little too hard. Do you think she was offended ? She spoke 
 as if she was, of course, but she looked quite other things. 
 She 's a clever comedian, of course/ 
 
 4 She was very tired/ said Denis, ‘ and I don't think she 
 liked you much/ Lenwood did not appear to attach any 
 importance to this brusque assertion. 
 
 ‘ I 'll send her a peace-offering,' he said. ‘ A box of choco- 
 lates. She was eating chocolates just before you came in ; 
 it was splendid to see her do it. She 's wonderfully animal. 
 Where does she live ? ' 
 
 Denis told him, and immediately felt that he had been 
 foolish. Topsy didn't want to be troubled by Lenwood. 
 However, there was no denying the fact that she had a passion 
 for chocolates. Lenwood departed very soon afterwards, and 
 Noel tramped to and fro in the studio and devoted him to 
 perdition in all the languages that he knew. 
 
 ‘ He 's as mad as a wolf ! ' he said. ‘ He shan't come here 
 never no more, Denis — at least, he shan't come when I 've a 
 model. Topsy was trembling with rage ; I expected her to 
 scratch his face, smash my picture, embrace you, and depart 
 for ever in violent hysterics. I 'm very glad we 're going 
 away ; he makes the soles of my feet tickle.' 
 
 ‘ I don't know what 's the matter with him,' said Denis. 
 
 ‘ I do,' said Noel. ‘ It 's sex. It takes your stuffy scholars 
 like that sometimes. I remember cases at school.' 
 
 ‘ Oh ! ' said Denis, and became thoughtful. 
 
 Two days later, while they were having tea and looking at 
 a large-scale map of the forest of Fontainebleau, there was 
 a knock at the door and Topsy entered. Noel looked at 
 her with a certain astonishment, for his picture was finished. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 329 
 
 and Topsy was not in the habit of paying friendly visits to 
 studios. 
 
 ‘ I don't want you, Topsy,' he said politely ; ‘ didn't I tell 
 you so last time ? You can go away and enjoy life.' 
 
 ‘ I know,' said Topsy, ‘ I know.' They noticed then that 
 she looked very grim and had no smile for either of them. 
 
 * Hullo ! what 's wrong ? ' Noel cried. 
 
 ‘ Nothing,' Topsy answered ; ‘ nothing worth speaking of. 
 I only looked in to tell you that you won't see anything more 
 of that lovely friend of yours. He won't come here any more, 
 with his silly cackle and his footling old jokes. And if you 
 want to know why he won’t come, I 'll tell you. I 've warned 
 him off.' 
 
 ‘ Very obliging of you,' said Noel. ‘ And now take a good 
 long breath, compose your thoughts, and tell us exactly what 
 you mean. You look like Lady Macbeth.' 
 
 Topsy advanced a few steps towards him. 
 
 ‘ And you ' d look like Lady Macbeth and Lord Macbeth as 
 well if you 'd been through what I went through yesterday,' 
 she said indignantly. ‘ I was sitting sewing about half-past 
 nine when Mrs. Joyce — that 's my landlady — came in and said 
 there was a young man wanted to see me, a young man that 
 looked like a gentleman and said he was my cousin. I haven't 
 got any cousins, and I don't hold with young men who come 
 at night and say they 're your relations, especially when they 
 look like gentlemen. I was just going to tell Mrs. Joyce to 
 send him off to catch moths on the Embankment, when the 
 door opens, and in he comes — your friend who was so saucy 
 the other day — your Mr. Lenwood — though he said his name 
 was Percy. I was so astonished that for a minute I didn’t 
 say anything, and Mrs. Joyce, who 's deaf and has got about 
 as much sense as that lay figure, waddles out and leaves him 
 there. At first I thought he 'd brought a letter from you, and 
 spoke quite civil to him, and then he began. You never heard 
 such a pack of gibberish in all your born days, — poetical, I 
 suppose it was, but give me old Victoria's English, and very 
 little of that from his kind ! He went on without stopping for 
 five minutes, and then he became very familiar, and tried to 
 
330 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 catch hold of me, and of course I saw then what kind he was, 
 and what kind, I suppose, he thought me. So I let him have 
 it straight and plain, and after he 'd listened to what I said he 
 did begin to look as if he thought he 'd made an awful mistake, 
 and then I told him that if ever I set eyes on him again I 'd 
 summon him for assault. I called Mrs. Joyce and told her to 
 look hard at him so that she would know him again, and then 
 he cursed and swore dreadful and told her she was a black- 
 mailing old vampire, — but she 's so deaf that she couldn't hear 
 him, and told me that I ought to be ashamed of myself. I was 
 so startled when he said it that he was gone before I could tell 
 him properly where the shame ought to be.' Topsy paused 
 for breath, and then continued : ‘ That 's what happened, and 
 you won't see him again, and I rather fancy he won't go and 
 see respectable girls at half-past nine without finding out all 
 about 'em first. Taking me for a common woman ! And 
 now, what I want to know is, who told him my address ? I 
 bet you did, Mr. Tellier, and it 's too bad of you. You knew 
 what sort he was.' 
 
 ‘ No, I told him,' said Denis. She stared at him. 
 
 ‘ You ! ' she cried ; 4 that 's worse and worse.' She continued 
 to look at him with a kind of offended curiosity. ‘ Why did 
 you tell him ? ' she asked. 
 
 ‘ He said he wanted to send you some chocolates,' Denis 
 explained. 
 
 ‘ Oh, he did, did he ! ' said Topsy with much vigour. Then 
 she turned to Noel and remarked, evidently alluding to Denis, 
 
 ‘ He seems sensible as a rule, but he don't know much. You 
 ought to tell him things, Mr. Tellier.' 
 
 Denis was young enough to feel almost insulted by this 
 remark. Next morning he called at the rooms in Jermyn 
 Street where Lenwood had been lodging, and found that the 
 philosopher had departed to some place unknown. He was 
 very glad to hear it, and hoped devoutly that work and a 
 change of scene would complete the cure which Topsy, 
 presumably, had begun. 
 
 It was a long time since he had allowed himself a morning of 
 idleness, and he decided to celebrate it by going to the National 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 33i 
 
 Gallery. When he had ascended the steps he halted for a 
 moment under the portico to enjoy the incomparable view of 
 Whitehall and Westminster, and to watch the streams of 
 traffic that poured through the great bleak square. That 
 particular point of vantage always seemed to him the real 
 centre of the city, the umbilicus Londinii, and he never visited 
 the great collection without lingering for five or ten minutes 
 at its entrance. On this particular morning he remained there 
 for an even longer time ; in the hazy August sunshine the 
 towers of Westminster were like filmy palaces seen in dreams, 
 and the square that was usually so sombre and grimy was 
 beautiful with the tawny glow of far-advanced summer. The 
 dry leaves of the plane-trees hung limply, and the air was 
 already sultry and dust-laden. London was exhausted ; it 
 seemed to pant vainly for breath, but there was a peculiar 
 charm even in its most enervated aspect ; now that its life- 
 blood flowed slowly and heavily, one seemed able to realise 
 more clearly the immensity of its past — so many weary 
 centuries of noise and toil, so many generations of wayfarers ! 
 This stagnant period in London life, Denis thought, was like 
 the halt of an army during some long march, when you 
 counted your dead, and reckoned the miles that you had 
 traversed and the miles yet to be conquered, and, perhaps, 
 wondered if, after all, it was really worth while. 
 
 He was on the point of entering the Gallery when his eyes 
 happened to fall on a hansom that was passing the portico. 
 He was amused to notice that the driver had fixed two 
 artificial roses of a bright magenta hue above his horse's 
 blinkers, and then he glanced idly at the occupant. Next 
 moment he was standing between the Corinthian columns 
 staring at the hansom, which passed rapidly ; then he ran 
 down the steps, almost colliding with an immense policeman. 
 When he reached the pavement the cab was in Cockspur 
 Street, and a moment later it turned into the Haymarket and 
 was lost to view. 
 
 As he stood there, the surprise of seeing his father in London 
 was overwhelmed in the amazement which seized him as he 
 realised that for one moment he had been the helpless prey of 
 
332 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 a blind, irresistible impulse ; it seemed as if strong, invisible 
 hands had thrust him down the steps and urged him towards 
 Dr. Yorke. Although he had only caught the briefest glimpse 
 of the face in the hansom, and although that face was changed 
 — older, more grey, more grim — he was quite certain of its 
 identity ; there seemed some inward instinct which confirmed 
 the doubtful testimony of his eyes. This was extremely odd, 
 for, of course, he had no desire to see his father. 
 
 He re-ascended the steps, entered the Gallery, and sat down 
 in front of Leonardo's Holy Family. His heart was beating 
 quickly ; he felt as if he had passed through some intensely 
 exciting experience. Yet, after all, it was nothing ; he knew 
 that it was Dr. Yorke's habit to come up to London once or 
 twice a year ; why should he be so strangely troubled ? His 
 sensations were certainly not caused by any fear that his 
 father had come to lure him back into bondage ; he had taken 
 root in London now, and there was no means of removing him 
 except actual violence — a method to which, it was presumable, 
 Dr. Yorke could not resort. There was no fear of their 
 meeting ; he was going to France to-morrow, and could easily 
 pass the morning in the Gallery, go to Hampstead in the after- 
 noon, and return to the studio later in the evening. And, of 
 course, it was extremely improbable that Dr. Yorke would 
 invade Chelsea. 
 
 Denis gazed at the face of the Virgin of the Rocks, with its 
 subtle, serene smile, and as he contemplated it he thought of 
 that other face which he had seen for one moment as it 
 whirled past him. Surely his eyes had played him false ; no 
 face could change in four months as it seemed that his father's 
 had changed ; its alteration was due to some extraneous 
 cause ; the queer light in the square, or a reflection from the 
 mirrors in the hansom. Or, perhaps, he had imagined it 
 because of what Gabriel had written in his stupid letter. . . . 
 He had never thought of Gabriel since without a certain 
 irritation. Of course Gabriel would say that Dr. Yorke had 
 grown worn and old and pathetic because his son ran away 
 from home ; that was just like Gabriel ; he was always so 
 sentimental. Really, of course, old people always looked like 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 333 
 
 that for no particular reason, and Dr. Yorke was quite old 
 now — well over sixty — quite old. 
 
 After a while he rose from his chair and wandered about the 
 Gallery with aimless feet. He halted at last before Albrecht 
 Durer's Portrait of his Father — that noble presentment of 
 strength which has grown weary, and shrewd wisdom that has 
 begun to realise the vanity of the prizes for which men toil 
 so madly, so that there is a hint of pathetic irony in the lines 
 of the firm lips, and the keen eyes are faintly clouded. The 
 great German painter had been fortunate, he thought, and, if 
 the picture was a credible witness, had realised his good 
 fortune. But did any one ever realise it ? Wasn't one 
 always blind to people's finest qualities until they had died, 
 and it was too late ? Not blind, of course, to the qualities of 
 supremely delightful people such as Rosalind and Noel, but 
 to those of shy, awkward, less fortunate people, whose lives 
 were full of blunders, who irritated you and made you think 
 them wilfully cruel, but who kept, perhaps, some tiny flame 
 of devotion and self-sacrifice alight in the commonplace gloom 
 of their dreary existence. 
 
 These thoughts, and many others, passed through his mind 
 as he stood opposite the great picture. At length he strode 
 away with the step of one who, after long wavering, decides on 
 a course of action, left the Gallery, and hailed a hansom — 
 indulging in a most unusual luxury. He drove to Chelsea, 
 and found, when he reached the studio, that Noel had gone 
 out. No one, the old charwoman informed him, had called 
 during the morning. He ate a fragmentary luncheon, and 
 settled himself by the window with a book. 
 
 He read fitfully, however, for he was disturbed by the 
 peculiar novelty of his state of mind. He knew that he would 
 feel relieved if his father did not come, yet he knew also that 
 he would feel another sensation for which he could not 
 account satisfactorily. Possibly it would be wounded vanity 
 — annoyance because his father didn't think him worth seeing 
 — yet he felt that it was something more intimate, more vital, 
 something which made him feel lonely, actually lonely, even 
 in Noel's studio, with Rosalind living in Hampstead ! Obvi- 
 
334 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ously there was a joint in his armour of which he had never 
 suspected the existence. Was there really some subtle tie 
 between relatives which nothing in the world could break ? 
 If this were so, it was a great injustice on the part of Nature. 
 
 It was very hot in the studio. Some flies buzzed in the 
 heavy sunlight, and for the first time he found the smell of 
 paint unpleasant. An old man of forlorn aspect played hymn 
 tunes on a wheezy organ below the window, and cursed 
 querulously at some squalid children who jeered at him. The 
 tide had ebbed, and the air that drifted in across the river 
 smelt like foul gas. From where he sat, he could hear the 
 sparrows fluttering in the dust of the roadside, and the sound 
 irritated him vaguely. 
 
 Noel found him sitting there when he returned about seven 
 o’clock. ‘ Hullo ! ’ he said. 4 You look rather done up ! 
 Too many chromatic scales, I expect. No matter ! We retire 
 to-morrow at io A.M., and who do you think are going to retire 
 with us ? Rosalind and Amory, par exemple ! ’ 
 
 Denis received this piece of news in silence, much to the 
 surprise of Noel. ‘ I ’m afraid/ he said, after a moment, 
 ‘ that I shan’t be able to come to-morrow.’ 
 
 Noel stared at him. 
 
 ‘ What ’s the matter with you, anyhow ? ’ he demanded. 
 ‘ You look like a sick king in Bokhara. Don’t you imagine, 
 my young friend, that we ’re going to let you stay here and 
 work. This place isn’t healthy after July. That river stinks 
 like a factory of chemicals. Go away and pack your gold- 
 mounted dressing-cases.’ 
 
 * I saw my father in London this morning,’ said Denis. 
 ‘ I think I had better wait — in case — in case he thinks of 
 looking me up, you know.’ 
 
 Noel made pantomimic gestures of astonishment. 
 
 ‘ Well, he had all to-day,’ he said. 
 
 ‘ I know,’ said Denis ; 4 of course he won’t come. Still, I 
 think it would be rather decenter to wait — just for another 
 day.’ 
 
 Noel was evidently on the point of renewing his expostula- 
 tions i then he glanced at Denis and became silent. After a 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 335 
 
 few moments he said, ‘ Do as you like, of course. But you 'll 
 join us in Paris the day after to-morrow, won't you ? You 
 must promise that, or Rosalind and Amory will tear me limb 
 from limb.' 
 
 ‘ Oh yes, I 'll do that ! ' said Denis ; ‘ but I feel that I ought 
 to wait a day — I don't know why.' 
 
 Noel looked at him again. 
 
 * Oh ! you 're coming on, you 're coming on,' he said. 
 
 So Denis waited for another long and stuffy day in the 
 deserted studio, but waited in vain. If Dr. Yorke's pathetic 
 aspect was caused by his son’s absence, he showed no inclina- 
 tion to cure it by the obvious remedy. 
 
 At seven o'clock Denis finished the book that he was reading 
 by the window, and at nine he caught the night express to 
 Paris. He had done his best, he felt ; he had given his father 
 every chance. And now — and now — for France and freedom, 
 and Rosalind ! 
 
 As he had anticipated, he felt considerable relief at having 
 escaped an interview with his father. Yet, mingled with the 
 relief, was the obscure sensation which he had experienced on 
 the previous day. There was a joint in his harness, but no 
 doubt France and Rosalind would soon cover it with the proof 
 of oblivion. It was glorious to think that Rosalind would be 
 with them in Fontainebleau ! As he looked across the moonlit 
 sea he could easily imagine that he saw her face, shining a 
 welcome to him like the light of Grisnez, and then the other 
 face — the face in the hansom — haunted him no more. Yet it 
 was near him, he knew, and might easily be re-invoked. 
 
336 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 H E returned to London at the end of September, after 
 a sojourn of six delightful weeks at a tiny hotel which 
 had contrived to prove unattractive to the Americans who 
 have made Barbizon all too much their own. There was a 
 Corot in the salle a manger , and a piano in the salon which had 
 been left there by a famous actress ; and the only other guests 
 were two or three French painters, very pleasant, hard- 
 working fellows with whom the four visitors from London soon 
 became extremely intimate. Denis took possession of the 
 piano, and spent the earlier hours of the morning, when the 
 rest of the party had gone their several ways with easels and 
 umbrellas, in finishing some songs which he had begun in 
 London. He sent four of them to Mr. Wallaby, who wrote 
 him a charming letter exhorting him to continue, and request- 
 ing him, as very few ballads and sevenfold Amens were coming 
 in, to add three weeks to his holiday. ‘ Obviously the place 
 inspires you/ wrote the amiable Wallaby ; ‘ I am, of course, 
 actuated by merely selfish motives in begging you to prolong 
 your holiday, for I want — and of course the public wants — 
 many more songs.' Now that he was agreeably remote from 
 the drudgery of reading manuscripts, Denis was able to con- 
 gratulate himself on possessing so benevolent a patron. He 
 wrote no more songs, however ; for some time he had been 
 meditating a loftier flight — nothing less than a suite for full 
 orchestra, and as he walked in the forest the preliminary out- 
 lines of this great work became more definite. Little Sandys, 
 who joined the party for a fortnight before starting on some 
 vague musical crusade in America, heard certain portions of 
 the first draft, and was enthusiastic. In a very short time 
 Denis found that the new work had become the dominant 
 fact of his life ; he thought about it all day and often dreamed 
 of it all night, and though he only sat down to work for two 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 337 
 
 hours each morning he was happily conscious that it was 
 growing continually ; every chance experience seemed to help 
 it onward, everything in life became suggestive — the birds in 
 the forest, the bright morning sunshine in the glades, the 
 laughter of Noel and the French painters, and, above all, the 
 presence of Rosalind. 
 
 Whatever title it might be given when it was completed and 
 astonished the world, to him, he knew, it would always be the 
 Rosalind suite. It would never have been written if she had 
 not been a member of their joyous band — of that he was cer- 
 tain, though he was wholly unable to define her influence on it 
 in terms of thought * the quality of her presence was too 
 subtle for any form of expression but that of music ; he did 
 not know what it was that he wanted to say about her ; he 
 only knew that when the music was written it expressed 
 exactly the sensations that were beyond his power of thinking. 
 Painting, according to Noel's theory, was also a medium for 
 the expression of the unthinkable. ‘ You look at a tree,' he 
 said, ‘ and you don't say “ it 's green, it 's an oak, it 's sixty 
 yards by thirty and has raw umber shadows and golden lights," 
 but you feel a sort of heaving in your chest, as if the tree was 
 inside you and growing fast, and you utter a wild cry and splash 
 oceans of paint on a canvas. If you 're a real painter, that is i 
 if you 're a professor you measure the tree and think out your 
 picture with the artful aid of Euclid and Algebra, and off it 
 goes in a month to be hung on the line at the Royal Academy/ 
 
 But though Denis was incapable of expressing his apprecia- 
 tion of Rosalind in any form but that of his own particular art, 
 it was quite obvious that he found an immense delight in the 
 intimacy that was made possible by their life in the forest. 
 He thought of her — or of his music, it was the same thing — 
 every morning when he awoke ; and looked forward to the 
 moment when he would go downstairs to find her sitting with 
 the others in the quaint little room that was full of wildflowers. 
 She dressed in white always whilst they inhabited the forest, 
 and he thought that the contrast between her frock and her 
 dark head completed the most beautiful vision that life had as 
 yet vouchsafed to his eyes. The French painters thought 
 
 Y 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 338 
 
 much the same, and confided their theories to him with many 
 expressive gestures. One of them, a giant with a square black 
 beard which made him resemble a priest of Astarte, and a 
 voice like the music of viols heard at sunset, would sit at her 
 feet when they assembled in the garden after dinner and read 
 lovely songs of old French poets — Charles d’Orleans and 
 Villon, Ronsard and Du Bellay — by the light of a Japanese 
 lantern, pausing at intervals to gaze at her with deep, ex- 
 pressive eyes which he fondly imagined to be invisible to the 
 rest of the company. In after years, whenever Denis read the 
 great ballad of the dead ladies of old, or the Quand vous serez 
 bien vieille, or the sonnet-sequence in which the name of Rome 
 reverberates continually like a tremendous and. tragic bass, 
 the whole scene would rise before him — the wild garden, with a 
 faint wind sighing in the leaves, the gleam of a tiny fountain, 
 the dark face of the reader and the shadowy circle of his 
 audience, and Rosalind sitting motionless, intent on the beauti- 
 ful words, leaning slightly forward and staring at the soft light 
 of the lantern. Afterwards, Denis would be sent to the salon , 
 when he played the piano by the open windows, and Noel 
 would sing Schumann and Schubert. 
 
 It was an incomparable holiday, but the last fortnight was 
 a miserable anticlimax, for Rosalind and Miss Amory were 
 obliged to depart before the others, having promised to pay a 
 visit in Surrey. When they had gone the world was grey to 
 Denis ; but he worked hard at the orchestral suite, and went 
 for long walks with the French painter who had expressive 
 eyes. The poor fellow could talk of no one but Rosalind, and 
 bewailed his own ill luck. ‘ Whenever I wished to tell her of 
 my passion,' he lamented, ‘ she smiled adorably, in that grave 
 manner of hers, and began to tell me stories of the youth of her 
 aunt in an English rectory, or something equally absurd. She 
 knew the exact instant when I was about to begin, and headed 
 me off as a shepherd turns a sheep from the wrong path. But 
 I forgive her ; I forgive everything. In spite of her aunt and 
 the rectory, she is adorable, absolutely adorable.’ 
 
 Noel had begun at least a dozen landscapes, and decided to 
 remain in the Forest until the fine weather broke up, so Denis 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 339 
 
 returned to London alone. Noel tried to persuade him to take 
 the key of the studio, but he preferred to work only in his own 
 room. Chelsea seemed rather desolate for the first few days, 
 but he soon began to toil at the suite with immense energy, 
 being anxious to accomplish as much as possible before his 
 return to Mr. Wallaby's manuscripts. He saw no one ; 
 Rosalind and Miss Amory were still at Haslemere, little 
 Sandys was in New York, and Wilson, who had announced his 
 intention of going to Thibet, was probably at Bournemouth or 
 Ramsgate. He was absolutely alone for the first time in his 
 life, and found that the experience, when tempered with the 
 companionship of hard work, was for a while sufficiently 
 amusing. He toiled from nine in the morning until five in the 
 afternoon, explored London in the evening, consumed a very 
 modest apology for dinner in his room, and read Rossetti and 
 smoked pipes until midnight. 
 
 After a week or two of this existence, however, he began to 
 find that London, which had seemed so small and homelike 
 when Noel was with him and Rosalind was at Hampstead, 
 became immensely expanded, so that when he sat alone in his 
 silent room at night the thought of all the teeming, indifferent 
 circles of life that hemmed him in for miles around became 
 subtly depressing. He found that he was beginning to talk to 
 himself, and that he awoke in the morning with a queer 
 reluctance to face the acts of dressing and of sitting down to 
 work ; all enthusiasm seemed to leave him suddenly • he 
 regarded the manuscript of his suite with cold indifference, 
 and was astonished to think that only a few weeks earlier he 
 could not sleep unless it lay close to his bedside, so that he 
 might feast his eyes on it as soon as he awoke. He felt flabby, 
 and when he walked his feet were shod with lead. Faces in 
 the street, formerly a pageant of inexhaustible interest, seemed 
 to him sordid and sinister and quite unworthy of his regard ; 
 Chelsea was a dingy network of slums, after all, and even the 
 Embankment was depressing now that the trees were shedding 
 their shrivelled leaves. But in spite of a growing conviction 
 that life, when you were alone, was not worth the living, he 
 managed to work assiduously at the suite, and had finished 
 
340 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 more than half of it a week before the date of his return to the 
 fold of Mr. Wallaby. He began to anticipate that event 
 almost with pleasure ; though the work was dreary, at any 
 rate he would be able to speak to some one there. It was high 
 time, too, for another reason, that he should return ; he had 
 spent all his money on the French holiday, and owed his 
 landlord several weeks' rent. He decided to demand an 
 advance on the royalties of his songs as soon as he returned 
 to the publishing-house. 
 
 He went to Hampstead late in one of the last afternoons of 
 September, only to find that Marie had no idea when Rosalind 
 and Miss Amory would return. A long conversation with that 
 excellent Frenchwoman and Narcisse raised his drooping 
 spirits, but they collapsed again when, on reaching his room, 
 he found a letter from Barbizon announcing that Noel had set 
 off on a walking-tour with the painter who had expressive eyes ; 
 that his destinations were vague, and the date of his return to 
 England uncertain. The Duroy family, Denis thought, really 
 raised irresponsibility to the height of a fine art. He also 
 found a letter from Gabriel — the usual letter, full of covert 
 reproaches and exhortations to return to the Red House. 
 Gabriel seemed to think that Dr. Yorke had come to London 
 for the purpose of seeing Denis, and had been bitterly dis- 
 appointed to find that he had departed. This idea both 
 startled and irritated the boy ; if his father really had come to 
 the studio, why had he allowed two whole days to elapse 
 between his arrival in London and the time of that visit ? But 
 probably Gabriel was mistaken — or misinformed. If it were 
 true, it was a nuisance ; his father would never give him credit 
 for having postponed a journey across the Channel with Noel 
 and Rosalind merely on the chance of his visit. Not that he 
 cared, of course, about anything his father thought, but when 
 you made sacrifices of that kind you liked them to be known. 
 Perhaps it was for this selfish reason that he felt, for the first 
 time after many years, a sudden impulse to write to his 
 father ; perhaps it was merely because he was lonely. At any 
 rate, he resisted the impulse. ‘ It ’s no good explaining ■ he 
 won’t believe me.’ It was the old familiar phrase of his boy- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 341 
 
 hood. But though he decided quite cheerfully not to write, 
 he was still troubled by the memory of the extraordinary 
 impulse which had seized him on the day before he went to 
 France. That was inexplicable ; it was like finding a ghost 
 in some familiar place ; it made you think that you possessed, 
 so to speak, another self within yourself. He had had im- 
 pressions of the same kind when he had been in the fever of 
 composition, but he had thought that such startling experi- 
 ences were limited within the domain of art and never occurred 
 in actual life. Yes, the memory of that thrilling moment 
 haunted him abominably, and mingled with it, oddly enough, 
 was a vision of his father's face when he found the studio 
 deserted. Would Dr. Yorke think that he was dead ? That 
 was absurd, of course ; if his father had been alarmed, Gabriel 
 would have mentioned it in his letter ; Gabriel wouldn't miss a 
 chance of that kind. 
 
 His letters invariably irritated Denis, and this particular 
 one actually spoilt his work. He tore up sheet after sheet of 
 manuscript, and when he tried to calm his fevered soul by 
 thinking of Rosalind, the face of his father obtruded itself 
 on his mental vision, so that the music ought to have been 
 rechristened the Wilmot Yorke suite, he thought, with bitter 
 humour. He struggled desperately with it for two or three 
 days, and then, one afternoon, when life seemed to have 
 become for ever untunable, he flung the manuscript into a 
 drawer, closed the piano with a bang, and prepared to go out 
 and conquer his depression with a long walk. As he went 
 downstairs his landlord met him with a request that his rent 
 might be paid. Denis had always disliked him — he had furtive 
 eyes and an oily smoothness of manner — and at that moment 
 he thought him extremely odious. He mentioned the date 
 of his return to Wallaby's, and the landlord smiled and bowed 
 obsequiously. ‘ Of course I know a gentleman when I see 
 one,' Denis heard him remark as he closed the door. 
 
 This paltry episode did not tend to raise his spirits, and 
 made him realise his loneliness more sharply. If he had not 
 been in regular employment, and if he had not written songs 
 which had been highly successful, his position would certainly 
 
342 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 have been awkward ; he would have been quite penniless, and 
 though he had many acquaintances in London, he could think 
 of no one to whom he would have had the courage to apply for 
 a loan. The majority of them were young artists, and there- 
 fore poor, and he would as soon have dreamed of approaching 
 them with so base an intention as of writing to his father for 
 money. Decidedly, the firm of Wallaby was an admirable 
 institution. 
 
 He walked slowly eastward, feeling listless and ill, as was 
 usual with him when he had struggled unsuccessfully with an 
 obstinate piece of work. He took no interest in the faces 
 of the passers-by ; they irritated his nerves, these innumerable 
 masks that flashed past him ; he yearned for solitude and 
 silence, and his head ached with the noise of the streets. 
 People seemed to go out of their way in order to collide with 
 him, and to look at him with suspicious or sneering eyes. 
 London revealed herself to him in quite a new aspect, and he 
 was almost frightened by it. When he reached Piccadilly he 
 felt half dead with fatigue and horribly thirsty. He hesitated 
 outside a tea-shop for some moments, and then he re- 
 membered that he only possessed some odd shillings on which 
 he had to support life for three more days. He walked slowly 
 on, wondering why he had come out at all. 
 
 A name on a passing omnibus reminded him that there was, 
 at any rate, one place in London where you could be certain 
 of finding peace and coolness, silence and calm light. He 
 mounted on the top of the vehicle, and descended where the 
 river of city traffic is divided in two streams by the giant 
 structure of St. Paul’s. The interior of the great church 
 always seemed to him the most impressive symbol of London’s 
 vastness and grandeur ; he was never tired of gazing up into 
 the dome, which always seemed filled with strange yellow 
 light, and of wandering among the dusky recesses of the aisles, 
 where white memorials gleamed palely, with a kind of ghostly 
 phosphorescence, against the dead grey of the walls. He 
 could never properly realise that the immense building was a 
 cathedral, a place of worship and prayer ; it seemed to him 
 rather a temple, which, like the temples of Greece, was the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 343 
 
 abiding home of a peculiar divinity ; he felt that here was the 
 shrine inhabited by the inmost spirit of the mighty place, — 
 the genius that controlled and was one with the toiling, loafing, 
 gleaming, grimy, romantic, bestial and beautiful city. 
 
 He sat down about halfway up the nave. The sunset fires 
 were burning through the western windows of the dome, but 
 in the great hollow beneath it the twilight was already sombre, 
 and the choir was thronged with dark shadows. The sound 
 of distant footfalls only made the silence of those lofty spaces 
 between the huge capitals more impressive ; a noise rose, 
 reverberated for several moments, and then died away feebly, 
 drowned in that deep, still ocean of aerial calm. The roar of 
 London surged in vain against those mighty walls ; only at 
 intervals you might hear it faintly ; a strange, soft monotone, 
 like the voice of a child singing to itself. 
 
 Peace descended on him as he sat there ; his troubles had 
 departed with the noise of the streets, and the cool twilight 
 of the nave brought relief to his aching head and tired limbs. 
 The church was almost empty ; some belated sightseers were 
 prowling about the aisles, and there were a few figures dotted 
 here and there among the seats. The sunset fires faded 
 gradually in the dome, and beyond the great rows of columns 
 the shadows became intense. Still he lingered, dreading the 
 moment when he would be obliged to re-enter the fierce world 
 that ravened outside this sanctuary of quiet ; wishing he 
 might stay there until dawn stained the high windows with 
 rosy light. At last, very reluctantly, he decided to go. 
 
 At that moment his glance happened to rest on two figures 
 which were sitting near a pillar a few yards to his right. They 
 belonged to a man and a woman who were apparently engaged 
 in earnest, whispered conversation. Denis stared at them 
 fixedly, wondering if the twilight was playing him a trick ; 
 then he realised that he was not mistaken ; the woman was 
 Rosalind, and the man — of all improbable people — Grimshaw. 
 
 He had risen from his seat, but when he recognised them he 
 sat down again. So she had returned ! — suddenly, he sup- 
 posed, in the manner of a Duroy, taking Marie as much by 
 surprise as was possible. The heavy sense of loneliness left 
 
344 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 him in a moment, London had become itself again, life re- 
 assumed its discarded raiment of joy. He sat there for a little 
 while, and then he rose and began to make his way quietly 
 towards them. 
 
 They were completely absorbed in their conversation, and 
 did not observe his approach. When he was close to them he 
 halted, expecting them to turn and to recognise him, but they 
 remained completely unconscious of his proximity. Grimshaw 
 was leaning towards Rosalind, and speaking with vehemence 
 in a low voice, and she was staring straight in front of her with 
 very grave eyes. In the dusk her face was like a white flower. A 
 moment later Grimshaw ceased speaking, and she turned her 
 face slowly towards him. Denis was sufficiently near them to 
 see every detail of her expression. She smiled, and said a few 
 words in a whisper. Then, to his intense amazement, Grim- 
 shaw took her hand and raised it to his lips. He performed 
 this action so swiftly and silently that if Denis had looked 
 away for the fraction of a second he would not have witnessed 
 it. The boy stared at Rosalind and saw that she was still 
 smiling, though very sadly. He was almost certain that there 
 were tears in her eyes. 
 
 Very quietly he withdrew, his soul sick with frantic terror 
 lest they should see him. What did it mean ? Had it really 
 happened, or was it not rather an evil dream that had no 
 meaning, a jest played by the twilight with his disordered 
 nerves ? He glanced back over his shoulder ; they were still 
 sitting there, in the same attitude. It was no dream, it was 
 horrible reality ; one couldn't mistake any one else for 
 Rosalind. He hurried towards the porch, conscious of 
 nothing but a blind desire to escape, to rush away — under the 
 omnibuses, into the river — anywhere, so that he might forget 
 what he had seen, or dupe himself into believing that it had 
 not happened. 
 
 As he passed the porch, the roar of London smote his ears 
 like an outburst of malicious laughter. He walked blindly 
 down Ludgate Hill, feeling now that every one whom he met 
 was staring at him with mocking eyes. The pavement seemed 
 to rise and to strike the soles of his feet ; his head throbbed 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 345 
 
 violently. Gradually, however, his senses were in some degree 
 restored by the act of walking, and he was able to review the 
 scene that he had witnessed more clearly, though not more 
 dispassionately. He knew then that it was not Grimshaw's 
 action which troubled him so intensely ; he could have 
 ignored it, though it would have irritated him for a moment ; 
 but he could not ignore the expression of Rosalind’s face. It 
 was one that he had never seen before ; it was one — as he 
 realised with a thrill of amazement which left him breathless — 
 it was the very expression that he had always, without being 
 completely conscious of the yearning, desired to see. But he 
 had never desired to see it responsive to Grimshaw. Grim- 
 shaw ! the brute, the boor, the married man who dared to ! 
 
 This staggering item of self-revelation brought him no 
 comfort. He only knew, as he plodded through the crowded 
 streets, that he was lonelier than ever, and miserable — more 
 miserable than he had ever been in his life. 
 
346 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XXXV 
 
 T HE days that followed the unfortunate visit to St. 
 
 Paul's formed an epoch of the blackest gloom for 
 Denis. He buried himself in Chelsea, and wrestled with the 
 second part of his suite, which was more recalcitrant than ever. 
 More than once he was tempted to tear up the whole manu- 
 script ; it seemed to him now anaemic, ugly, completely 
 deficient in depth and power, and he marvelled at the blind 
 self-conceit which had lured him into attempting to work in a 
 form so far beyond his natural scope. The fact that Sandys 
 had admired it gave him no comfort ; it proved nothing 
 except that Sandys was either short-sighted or addicted to 
 base flattery. However, it served to wile away the long hours, 
 and to keep him from thinking. The gloom of his soul was 
 accompanied by a vague sensation of bodily sickness ; he felt 
 tired even in the morning, suffered from sudden attacks of 
 shivering, and had an incessant headache. An unhealthy 
 drowsiness oppressed him whilst he worked ; he would fall 
 into a brief, uneasy slumber, and wake with a start to find his 
 limbs damp with cold perspiration. 
 
 He did not go to Hampstead, and he received no letter from 
 Rosalind inviting him to do so. This, he reflected bitterly, 
 was only natural ; of course she would not want to see him 
 now. Probably that beast was there all day long, whispering 
 to her, whilst she looked at him with her eyes shining as they 
 had shone in St. Paul's. He would never go there any more. 
 He met the abominable Grimshaw in Tite Street, and was 
 hardly capable of responding to his salutation. Grimshaw, 
 the beast, was quite genial — and no wonder ! — and looked 
 extremely ill. Denis noticed that he walked with unequal 
 steps, and stammered slightly when he spoke. The brute was 
 half .intoxicated, he supposed, and his soul was sick with a 
 violent disgust. So this was the creature that she loved ! 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 347 
 
 Grimshaw spoke of her — called her Rosalind, hoped she would 
 soon return to London. Denis muttered an incomprehensible 
 excuse and fled from him. He felt that if he looked any longer 
 at that coarse, lined face with its twisted lips and baggy eye- 
 lids, he should break out into appalling language. 
 
 When he returned to Wallaby's he was informed that the 
 head of the firm wished to see him. He found Mr. Wallaby 
 in his private office • the great man greeted him warmly, and 
 was deeply concerned to find him looking unwell. Mr. 
 Wallaby himself was the picture of health and prosperity, and 
 had grown stouter during his holiday, which he had spent at 
 Ostend. ‘ Eager for work, eh ? ' he cried to Denis ; ‘ thirsting 
 for the slaughter of the innocents ? Well, well, holidays must 
 end, and it 's not altogether unpleasant to get back into 
 harness.' He stroked the silk facings of his frock-coat. 
 ‘ You find me, my dear young friend,' he continued, ‘ sur- 
 rounded by difficulties and complications, and I 'm afraid — 
 don't mind my saying it — that you are in some degree the 
 culprit. Genius is an expensive luxury for a poor publisher, 
 you know ! ' And he patted Denis's shoulder and laughed 
 pleasantly. 
 
 Denis misunderstood him, and murmured something about 
 the songs which he had sent from France. Mr. Wallaby 
 explained. The songs were everything that could be desired ; 
 Heaven forbid that he should cavil at them, though perhaps 
 the accompaniments were a little startling to the ordinary 
 person. But of course the ordinary person was made to be 
 startled. His grievance lay in quite another direction ; some 
 music which Denis had recommended urgently for publication 
 had proved a disastrous failure ; not a copy had been sold, and 
 the critics had ignored it completely. A serious business this, 
 for the cost of production had been enormous ; Wallaby and 
 Company did that kind of thing on the grand scale. Of course it 
 was partly the fault of Sandys ; Sandys was very unsatisfac- 
 tory, and had made a muddle of things in America. A note of 
 asperity was audible in Mr. Wallaby's voice when he spoke of 
 the unfortunate Sandys, and for a moment he ceased to look 
 genial. But very soon his brow cleared. ‘ Well, well ! We 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 348 
 
 will say no more about it/ he concluded. ‘ Only this must 
 be a lesson to you — a warning. Of course we can't expect you 
 to become experienced in a few months. And now — what 
 have you brought me ? What sweet songs were inspired by 
 Versailles ? Fontainebleau, was it ? Ah yes, I remember. 
 You have returned bringing your sheaves with you, I hope, 
 and didn’t allow the Customs to confiscate them. The others 
 are going quite well — slowly, perhaps, but quite well. I want 
 some more.' 
 
 ‘ I ’m afraid that I haven’t done any songs lately/ said 
 Denis. ‘ The fact is, I began rather a big thing, a suite for 
 orchestra, and it has taken up every minute of my time.’ 
 'Ha!’ remarked Mr. Wallaby. 'A suite for * orchestra. 
 Very good. Very good indeed. We proceed to great works. 
 We are ambitious. But we mustn’t quite forget our poor 
 publisher, and we must remember that the public has no 
 intense craving for orchestral suites ; it prefers,’ added Mr. 
 Wallaby with tremendous humour, ‘ it prefers a less solid type 
 of confectionery. Very nice ! But you mustn’t be a traitor to 
 your own particular line. I ’ve managed to get you known as 
 a writer of songs, and you mustn’t betray me. Now don’t you 
 think you could let me have a little set of six songs in about a 
 fortnight ? Slight things, you know, the kind you could dash 
 off between tea and dinner. Think it over, my young friend, 
 think it over. It ’ll be worth your while.’ 
 
 Though he spoke so kindly, there was a hint of command in 
 his tone that irritated the boy’s overstrained nerves. Denis 
 resolved to intimate to Mr. Wallaby that no one was permitted 
 to interfere with his own particular work, that he would 
 compose what he liked when he liked. 
 
 ‘ I ’m afraid,’ he said, ‘ it ’s quite possible that I shall never 
 do any more songs ; I want to get further on. At any rate, I 
 feel that I can’t attempt anything of the kind until I have 
 finished this suite, and it may take me six months.’ 
 
 Mr. Wallaby was silent for a moment. 
 
 ' Oh, well, you know best, of course,’ he said, but he did not 
 smile, and spoke less suavely than usual. ‘ One mustn’t 
 interfere with genius. Of course there ’s money in the songs, 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 349 
 
 but quite properly you don’t care about that side of the 
 question.’ He raised his eyebrows and looked at Denis, who 
 remained silent. ‘ Now, if you were not receiving a regular 
 salary,’ said Mr. Wallaby very gently, ‘ you would be obliged 
 to write songs, wouldn’t you ? ’ Denis did not appreciate the 
 drift of this question, and replied that he supposed in those 
 circumstances pot-boiling would be inevitable. Mr. Wallaby 
 wagged his head comically. ‘ Ah ! these artists, these artists ! ’ 
 he groaned. But his good-humour, which had been overcast 
 for a moment, had apparently returned. They talked for 
 some time about the prospects of the coming musical season, 
 and then Denis went to his manuscripts, feeling that, after all, 
 Mr. Wallaby had submitted with a very good grace to his 
 intimation that he would do his own work in his own way. 
 
 The displeasing vision of his landlord, who, obsequious yet 
 expectant, hovered about the passage as he went upstairs to 
 his room, reminded him that he had omitted to ask Mr. 
 Wallaby for an advance on royalties. It was Friday evening, 
 and since he was not due to attend at the publisher’s until 
 Monday, he decided to write a letter to the firm. This docu- 
 ment, he felt when he had finished it, struck the right note 
 between the authoritative bass of a demand and the pleading 
 treble of a request, and he debated for a moment whether he 
 ought not to delete the sentence in which he apologised for 
 giving trouble. He was well within his rights, he knew, in 
 demanding a share of the money which was already in Wallaby 
 and Company’s pockets. He posted the letter and went to bed, 
 for he was intensely tired. As he reascended the stairs the 
 landlord was still hovering. 
 
 He rose early, and worked at the suite for the whole of 
 Saturday, with better results than he had obtained for a 
 considerable time. In spite of the fact that the second part 
 was obviously developing into a complete antithesis of the 
 first, he felt that it was good, though he was conscious that 
 when he attempted to reach tragedy he succeeded in attaining 
 a merely gloomy effect. Still, mere progression was pleasant 
 after so many stagnant days. Six o’clock had struck before he 
 ceased to work ; at last he rose from the writing-table, rubbing 
 
350 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 his eyes and feeling dizzy. He was hungry for fresh air, but 
 the thought of his landlord made him reluctant to go out. He 
 decided to wait until the evening post brought him a cheque 
 from Wallaby. In his letter he had particularly requested 
 that it should be sent off at once. 
 
 He sat down on his bed — he had only one room — feeling 
 ill and dejected. The year of happiness and strenuous work 
 which he had anticipated so keenly during his holiday had not 
 begun auspiciously ; he felt as if all reason for living had gone 
 — all his enthusiasm, his ability, and his pleasure in friendship ; 
 he seemed a dim phantom of his former self. When he looked 
 at his image in the mirror he saw a tired creature with a very 
 white face and listless eyes that were outlined with black 
 circles, and his limbs felt horribly heavy. He was ill, that was 
 evident ; but he did not care. Nothing mattered now. He 
 didn’t even want to live. 
 
 The daylight had almost faded when a sharp double knock 
 on the street door told him that the postman had arrived. A 
 few minutes later the frowsy maid brought him his letters in 
 her grimy hand, — a hand which left so many imprints on the 
 walls and doors that the police could have identified her 
 without difficulty if her poor overworked, ill-nourished soul 
 had been capable of conceiving and executing a crime. There 
 were two letters for Denis, but neither of them bore Rosalind’s 
 handwriting on the envelope. Both came from the house of 
 Wallaby, which was rather remarkable, thought Denis. He 
 opened one of them and read the following words : — 
 
 Fol. 99. Oct . 3rd , 1897. Telegra?ns — ‘Melpomene, London/ 
 
 ‘ Handel House, 
 
 New Wigmore St., W. 
 
 ‘ Dear Sir, — We regret to have to inform you that it is our 
 invariable custom to pay royalties on work published by us 
 only on the dates mentioned in our form of agreement, i.e. 
 half-yearly, on the 21st of June and the 21st of December. 
 Any departure from this rule has been found to produce great 
 inconvenience in our bookkeeping department. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 351 
 
 ‘ Apologising for being unable to oblige you in this matter, — 
 We are, Sir, your obedient servants, 
 
 Wallaby & Co. 
 per A. J. K. S/ 
 
 He read this agreeable communication twice, and then 
 opened the second envelope, which contained a typewritten 
 letter from Mr. Wallaby himself. 
 
 ‘ Dear Mr. Yorke ’ — (it ran), — ‘ Owing to the total failure 
 of several of our autumn ventures we find ourselves in the 
 unfortunate position of having to seriously face the question of 
 retrenchment in the minor branches of our business. Under 
 these circumstances I am, much against my will, obliged to 
 inform you that our arrangement with you as regards reading 
 MSS. for us must terminate for the present, though I dare say 
 that you will not be altogether sorry to at length have your 
 time entirely free for original work. We had no written agree- 
 ment with you in regard to the reading, but to obviate any 
 inconvenience which this sudden decision on the part of my 
 firm may chance to cause you, I am enclosing a cheque for six 
 pounds in payment of your services for the last week and as 
 salary for a fortnight in lieu of notice. Will you kindly 
 acknowledge receipt of this amount on the enclosed form ? 
 
 ‘ We are anxious not to lose touch with you, and shall be 
 glad to consider from time to time any work that you care to 
 submit for our inspection. — Believe me, yours very sincerely, 
 
 James Wallaby 
 
 ‘ PS. — Mr. Sandys will not return to us after he has com- 
 pleted his business in America, so that you are not the only 
 victim of these necessary changes in our staff.’ 
 
 Denis replaced the letters in their respective envelopes, 
 went to the window, and stared thoughtfully at the mist which 
 rose from the river. Mr. Wallaby had struck neatly and 
 swiftly, had put the screw on, as Noel would say ; but if he 
 imagined that his disgusting and treacherous methods would 
 force his dear young friend to cringe to him and to turn out 
 
352 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 songs as fast as possible, he was sadly mistaken. His scheme 
 — the deeply laid plot which little Sandys had suspected — was 
 now completely exposed ; he had known, of course, that as 
 a reader Denis would be worse than useless, but he had thought 
 it worth his while to pay him a weekly salary which was really 
 a retaining fee that implied a claim on all his work, and 
 placed him under the obligation of producing the kind of music 
 that would prove remunerative. Denis felt no particular 
 animosity towards Mr. Wallaby ; these, he supposed, were the 
 usual methods of a shrewd man of business ; he only knew 
 that nothing in the world would induce him to write any more 
 songs — for the present, at any rate. There was a tonic effect 
 in the shock that the ‘ two-handed engine ’ of Mr. Wallaby 
 had given him ; he had always felt that he had been suspi- 
 ciously fortunate at the outset of his career, but now he stood 
 alone in the precarious situation which seemed inevitable in 
 the life of all young artists whose aims were lofty. He was 
 alone against the world, ‘ and one against the world will 
 always win/ He thought of the old music-master at school ; 
 he had disobeyed the precepts of that ancient sage in allowing 
 himself to be caught by the snares of Wallaby, and the com- 
 plete liberty that was essential to the production of monu- 
 mental works had only come to him with this evening’s post. 
 Life had suddenly declared war against him, and his blood 
 thrilled as with the sound of the trumpets of battle. If only 
 he were not feeling ill ! If only he had never gone to St. 
 Paul’s ! 
 
 But he felt better already, though his hands were cold and 
 his head was painfully hot. The sensation of weariness left 
 him, and was replaced by an almost feverish desire of activity, 
 a longing to grapple with the difficulties of this new situation 
 at once, at that very moment. His mode of existence during 
 the period in which he had received a salary from Mr. Wallaby 
 seemed to him now wickedly luxurious ; in future, he knew, 
 he would be compelled to practise the sternest frugality, for 
 the least extravagance would be a blow directed at his art. 
 And he would have to work, as Noel had said, like a dozen 
 giants ; there would be no more intervals of leisure when he 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 353 
 
 didn’t feel quite in form, no more exploration of London and 
 evenings with Keats and Shelley ; he must concentrate every 
 sense that he possessed on music, and only music. He did not 
 feel alarmed about his financial prospects ; it was probable 
 that by this time he had a certain reputation as an accompanist, 
 for he had appeared frequently at Wallaby’s ballad-concerts, 
 and he felt that, in spite of his statement to the publisher, he 
 could finish the orchestral suite in a few weeks. 
 
 He went downstairs and called his landlord, who cashed his 
 cheque and received five-sixths of its amount. The landlord 
 was mollified, though not therefore less offensive. ‘ Of course 
 this ain’t all you owe me, Mr. Yorke, there being another 
 fortnight’s board and lodging since you came ’ome. But I 
 ain’t one to trouble lodgers ; live and let live, I says. Not 
 that I shouldn’t be obliged if you could make it convenient 
 to pay me next week without fail.’ Denis escaped, feeling 
 horrified at the extent of his debt. When he reached his room 
 he laid the first part of the suite on his table, and read it 
 through very carefully for three hours, rising occasionally to 
 play certain phrases on his piano. Then he wrapped it up in 
 several sheets of brown paper and addressed it to a firm of 
 musical publishers which was not beloved by Mr. Wallaby, 
 enclosing a letter in which he gave an outline of the second 
 part, and requested that the publishers would let him know 
 how much they were prepared to offer for the complete rights 
 of the work. 
 
 They did not reply to his letter with the promptness that 
 Mr. Wallaby had displayed; for a week, during which he 
 worked harder than he had ever done before, he was anxiously 
 attentive for the postman’s knock, and lived on hope and a 
 boiled egg in the evening. The hoverings of his landlord, 
 which had been merely dove-like for the few days that 
 followed the receipt of Mr. Wallaby’s cheque, assumed a 
 vulturine aspect, but Denis went out so seldom that this 
 ominous change did not trouble him greatly. He still felt 
 unwell, and noticed that his hands had grown decidedly 
 thinner, but as long as he was able to continue his work, he 
 did not care ; feeling ill, after all, was a condition to which 
 z 
 
354 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 one became accustomed ; it was quite easy, he thought, to 
 resist it, to ignore it by losing oneself in the excitement of vast 
 labours. His great object in life was to stifle the voices of the 
 gloomy demons who were always ready to whisper at his ear, 
 and this he usually managed to achieve, for as soon as he 
 ceased to work he sank into the heavy sleep of utter ex- 
 haustion. 
 
 After a time he became completely lost in the labyrinth of 
 toil, living entirely in the strangely strenuous dreamland of 
 artistic creation, and losing count of external days and hours. 
 Often, when he seemed scarcely to have begun the day’s task, 
 he would be startled to find that the light had faded from the 
 room, and that his brain was reeling with long hours of con- 
 centrated effort. The suite developed amazingly ; it became 
 shapely and beautiful, as a thing seen in twilight takes form 
 and colour to the patient eye ; it was complete at last — com- 
 plete in his brain, in his soul — the mere act of writing it down 
 became almost mechanical, and he felt that he could have 
 continued that part of the labour for the whole day and night. 
 Fortunately for his reason, however, his hand absolutely 
 refused to write anything legible after seven or eight hours of 
 furious toil, and queer lights danced unpleasantly before his 
 eyes. He was conscious that there was a perpetual sound of 
 humming in the room, as if some ghostly beehive were under- 
 neath his table. 
 
 He was well within sight of the final pages when a letter 
 came from the publishers. It was a printed form of refusal ; 
 the accompanying manuscript was declined with thanks, and 
 below the print some one had written in pencil, ‘ This kind of 
 work must be performed successfully in public before we can 
 think of producing it.’ 
 
 Denis read the letter, flung it on the floor, and plunged again 
 into the sea of toil. Such temporary inconveniences mattered 
 nothing now ; he was in the vortex of creation, and had for- 
 gotten all mundane affairs ; there was only one thing in the 
 world, and that was to finish, to finish — to see the work of his 
 soul complete, to feel that he had realised a part at least of the 
 fiery vision that obsessed him like a fever. That he had no 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 355 
 
 tobacco, that he had hardly touched food for many days, that 
 Rosalind had possibly returned to London — all these im- 
 portant facts were nothing to him, and he did not realise, when 
 he looked in the mirror, that the reflection in its depths seemed 
 to belong to some alien and ghostly personage. To finish, 
 to finish ! There would be time enough afterwards for 
 thinking. 
 
 And at midnight, some days later, the end came — the 
 Andante maestoso that began with a sombre moaning of the 
 wood-wind and finished with a great cry from trombones and 
 horns and a thunder of drums. He drew two neat lines very 
 carefully at the foot of the last page, signed his name, and rose 
 suddenly from his chair, staring at the light which hung above 
 the table. For a moment he stood motionless, with his hands 
 clasped behind his head, and his whole body thrilling with the 
 ecstasy of attainment ; then the light grew dim, and went 
 out, leaving him in a tangible horror of darkness that pressed 
 against him from every side. He took a step backward, 
 knocking over the chair, and then the light gleamed again, 
 very faintly, and all the room seemed filled with blood. He 
 uttered a cry, and fell across the table. When sense returned 
 to him the windows were white with dawn. He tried to 
 undress, but his hands were too tremulous, and eventually he 
 flung himself fully clothed on his bed. During the heavy 
 sleep that # overcame him it seemed to him that he was com- 
 pelled by some interior frenzy to fill sheet after sheet of 
 manuscript paper with a crowd of words and symbols which 
 would not remain in position, but crawled across the page and 
 then vanished, whizzing past his face, or falling on the floor 
 heavily, like some unclean insect. He was trying painfully, 
 for the hundredth time, to collect them when he awoke, 
 feeling very cold and aching in every limb. 
 
356 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 AS he changed his clothes he looked out of the window. 
 
 Rain was falling steadily, and the sky and the streets 
 wore a dismal and sodden aspect. He felt very tired ; the 
 reaction that was inevitable after the strenuous performance 
 of the last few weeks had already begun, and even the sight 
 of his completed manuscript brought him little comfort. Why, 
 after all, had he half killed himself with the effort to finish it ? 
 It would probably have been finer if he had conquered it 
 slowly and calmly ; and now there was nothing for him to do 
 but to think of all sorts of depressing affairs, for he was much 
 too tired to begin another piece of work. He glanced at a 
 few pages of the suite, and wondered if all the others were 
 equally crude. 
 
 The servant, whose matutinal struggles with black lead 
 had given her a remarkable resemblance to a tattooed squaw, 
 brought his breakfast on a tray, and after depositing it on the 
 table, retired behind the curtain which concealed his bed and 
 washing-stand during the day. He sat down and poured out 
 some very black tea, but he could eat nothing ; the sight of an 
 anaemic egg lying disconsolately between two pieces of drab 
 and greasy bacon revolted him ; there were smuts on the 
 butter, and the cup and saucer were stamped with the maid's 
 inevitable sign-manual. From behind the curtain came the 
 sound of slops that were emptied into a tin pail, mingled with 
 loud sniffs and a reiterated wheezy coughing. He sat at the 
 table with his head propped on his hands until the tea in his 
 cup had grown tepid. He attempted to drink it, then turned 
 away with a shiver of disgust, drawing his chair towards the 
 fireless grate, and trying to forget the existence of that abomin- 
 able egg. How sordid every detail of his life seemed in the 
 cold grey light of morning ! Was there any one else in the 
 world, he wondered, who was obliged to contemplate nauseat- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 357 
 
 ing food whilst slops were being emptied ? Did that woman 
 ever cease from sniffing ? He pressed his cold hands against 
 his hot forehead, feeling more wretchedly ill every moment, 
 and stared at a photograph of Rosalind which adorned the 
 middle of the mantelpiece — a photograph which had been 
 taken when they had been together in Paris, long before her 
 pigtail had ascended to become a halo. If only she were with 
 him now ! If only he could hear the sound of her voice, and 
 forget how ill he felt, how dismal and disgusting his life had 
 grown ! But such longings, of course, were ridiculous ; she 
 didn’t care about him any more ; she wouldn’t come even if 
 she knew he was ill ; she would go to that beast, that coarse 
 pig of a painter. 
 
 He took the portrait from the mantelpiece and contemplated 
 it sadly, remembering various episodes of that sunny morning 
 in Paris when she had been escorted to the photographer’s 
 studio by Mr. Duroy and Noel and himself ; how the photo- 
 grapher had exhorted her to imagine the sensations of the 
 Grande Mademoiselle in the act of firing the Bastille cannon — 
 his studio was close to the Place de la Republique — and how 
 Noel had been ejected from the room because he uttered a deep 
 groan, as if he were witnessing an execution, at the moment 
 when the artist was about to remove the cap from the lens. If 
 only one of those splendid days might return ! If only that 
 happy company could have remained aloof from death, and 
 change that was worse than death ! Noel, of course, was 
 unchanged, but Rosalind seemed now, thought Denis, far more 
 remote from him than Mr. Duroy. Nothing could ever happen 
 that would tarnish the memory of that incomparable friend ; 
 but she had changed so completely that one couldn’t even look 
 at a portrait of her as she was without a thrill of desperate 
 bitterness. It was in the midst of this thrill that he tore the 
 photograph in small pieces and flung them into the grate. A 
 moment afterwards he would have given everything that he 
 possessed in the world in order not to have committed this act 
 of vindictive folly. He fell on his knees and collected the poor, 
 dishonoured fragments of cardboard with his trembling fingers, 
 and when he saw the eyes of Rosalind looking at him reproach- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 358 
 
 fully from one of them, his own smarted with sudden tears. 
 What a fool he was ! What a wretched, whining, mean- 
 spirited fool ! 
 
 His head began to throb intolerably, and the effort of stoop- 
 ing had made him feel dizzy. The ghostly beehives which had 
 troubled him vaguely while he worked had given place to an 
 army of drummers, who thundered their sinister music in a 
 maddening crescendo. It was obvious that he was on the 
 verge of some possibly serious illness ; his mouth was parched 
 with a foul dryness, and black discs pursued one another in- 
 cessantly across the field of his vision. But it didn’t matter ; 
 he didn’t care in the least how ill he became ; even if he died 
 it didn’t matter ; after behaving in that unpardonable way, 
 after defiling and destroying Rosalind’s image, he certainly 
 wasn’t worthy of life. And, perhaps, if he died, she would be 
 sorry ; when she heard his name there would be a grave, sweet 
 light in her eyes — the light that shone there when she spoke of 
 her father. He would leave a letter for her, to be read after 
 his death. . . . Perhaps she would realise then that Grim- 
 shaw was not the only person in the world. 
 
 He would have been unable to define the reason of all 
 his bitterness even if he had desired to do so ; he knew only 
 that some fierce instinct made him burn with insensate fury 
 whenever he thought of the episode in St. Paul’s. Life, in 
 company with her and Noel, was like an enchanted garden, an 
 earthly Paradise, into which Grimshaw had forced his way and 
 was trampling on all its delicate flowers with sacrilegious feet. 
 No one had any right to penetrate to the recesses of that 
 pleasance — least of all Grimshaw, the foul-mouthed, the 
 drunkard, the beast who, though married, was not ashamed to 
 kiss the hand of a girl of twenty. And it was Rosalind herself 
 who had admitted him, who had given him the golden key ! 
 That dreadful truth had been apparent to him from the 
 moment when he saw her eyes turn towards the painter in the 
 Cathedral. ... Of course, it was not altogether her fault ; 
 she was so kind, so pitiful. But there was something more in 
 her face than mere kindness and pity. If he himself had been 
 able to evoke that soft glow in those dear eyes, the keenest 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 359 
 
 arrows of the world would have found him invulnerable ; he 
 would have grown as the gods, 
 
 and seen 
 
 Grief collapse as a thing disproved. 
 
 Death consume as a thing unclean . 
 
 It was the glow, he realised at last, which he had yearned un- 
 consciously to behold ever since the day when he first went to 
 Parnasse. He had been too young then to understand ; even 
 of late, in France, he had regarded her only as a perfect friend, 
 in spite of the fact that she haunted all his thoughts by day and 
 by night, and that whenever he saw her he felt an extraordin- 
 ary thrill in his heart. He had been wrong ; he had duped 
 himself from first to last. His desire of her presence was as 
 far above friendship as the great stars of heaven are above 
 the tiny lamps of the world. He knew the truth now. He 
 loved her. 
 
 And it was Grimshaw — oh irony of ironies ! — who had 
 revealed the truth to him ! Too late he knew it, knew also 
 that there was no hope for himself. Rosalind would never 
 belong to the base tribe of the unfaithful ; her soul was forged 
 of the very metal of constancy, true and steadfast as tempered 
 steel, and as nobly bright. His life was ruined, he thought ; 
 there was nothing worth living for now, not even music — least 
 of all, music. He looked at the manuscript on his table with 
 a swiftly contemptuous glance. 
 
 The somewhat sickly egotism of these meditations became 
 partially apparent to him when he thought again of Rosalind. 
 What would happen to her ? What was Grimshaw’s plan ? 
 Nothing good, he knew, being certain that he had formed a 
 complete and accurate conception of the painter's character 
 from observation and from hearsay. The man was a heartless 
 egoist, he knew, who would sacrifice any one in order to gratify 
 his inclination, and here was Rosalind, of all people, ready to 
 be the victim — destined, indeed, no matter what happened, to 
 play that part ; for if Grimshaw became tired of her she would 
 still love him, and her love would be wasted ; and since 
 Grimshaw was married, the other alternative was dreadful, 
 impossible to contemplate. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 360 
 
 His head throbbed more and more violently as he pursued 
 these gloomy speculations. He could do nothing ; he knew 
 quite well that if he found sufficient courage to undertake the 
 task of warning Rosalind as to Grimshaw’s true character, it 
 would be useless. She would laugh ; she would not believe 
 him ; she would think him an offensive spy. If only Noel, or 
 even little Sandys, would return to London ! 
 
 He rose, shivering violently, and only prevented himself 
 from falling back into his chair by gripping the mantelpiece. 
 The maid emerged from the curtains. He was astonished to 
 find that she was still in the room, for it seemed to him that he 
 had spent an hour in traversing that painful waste of thought. 
 Perhaps his desolate aspect was apparent even to her humble 
 eyes, for she halted near the door, holding a slop-pail in one 
 hand and a dingy cloth in the other. 
 
 ‘ Is there anything yer want ? ' she demanded hoarsely. 
 
 Denis replied with a negative. Then he remembered that 
 he was intensely cold. ‘ I should like a fire/ he said. 
 
 The maid set the slop-pail on the floor, and rubbed her face 
 thoughtfully with the corner of her apron. 
 
 * It 's going to be a warm day/ she observed after a moment. 
 
 f I know/ said Denis, ‘ but I 'm not well. I 've caught a 
 chill, I think/ 
 
 The maid rubbed her face more vigorously and balanced 
 herself alternately on either foot. 
 
 ' I wouldn't 'ave one if I was you,' she said. ‘ I Ve made 
 yer bed if you want to lie down 'cos yer ill.' Denis thought 
 that she was trying to avoid the trouble of bringing up coal and 
 wood, and sympathised with her. He knew that she had a 
 completely joyless life. But he felt that he must have a fire 
 or perish, and said so. She listened to him with a queer 
 expression of embarrassment spreading over her pinched, 
 misshapen face, and then she blurted out suddenly : 
 
 ‘ Mr. Judkins says you ain’t to 'ave one.' 
 
 Mr. Judkins was the landlord with a propensity for hovering. 
 Denis stared at her for a moment, and then realised that Mr. 
 J udkins was at the limit of his patience. He sat down slowly 
 in the chair. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 361 
 
 ‘ Oh, all right/ he said. 
 
 But the maid became communicative. ‘ And 'e said as 'ow 
 you weren't to 'ave no lunch unless 'e gave orders for it/ she 
 continued ; ‘ but I said it was a shime, with you that eat so 
 little.' She swayed uneasily from one foot to the other, and 
 her face seemed to be contorted with an effort to express 
 some kind of sympathy. ‘ It ain't my fault, sir,' she con- 
 cluded. ‘ I 'd lay you a fire and willing, but 'e 'd turn me 
 out if 'e 'eard on it.' 
 
 4 No, it 's not your fault,' said Denis listlessly, turning to the 
 empty grate. He was conscious that she lingered in the room 
 for another moment, then he heard her pick up her pail and 
 depart. For once, she did not slam the door. Denis put on a 
 greatcoat and a scarf, and huddled himself into a narrow patch 
 of sunlight. He felt too weak to care about the cutting-off of 
 supplies ; at present he hailed the prospect of going without 
 food as a positive relief. But he longed for a fire, and felt as 
 if he could have begged for it on his knees even from Judkins. 
 Perhaps it would be as well, he thought, to send the man all the 
 money that he possessed. He searched in his pockets and 
 found that his capital in English money consisted of four 
 shillings and twopence-halfpenny. He knew, however, that 
 he had a twenty-franc piece which he had brought from France, 
 and he possessed a gold watch and chain and a pair of gold 
 sleeve-links. If he changed the French coin into English 
 money and pawned the watch he would probably be able to 
 appease the landlord, for a while, at any rate. But to transact 
 this depressing business it would be necessary for him to go 
 out, to walk as far as the King's Road, and he felt so feeble 
 that he shrank from the idea of leaving his chair. At length 
 he rose, and managed to walk across the room, though the 
 sinews at the back of his knees seemed to have withered, and 
 the floor behaved like the deck of a harassed ship. He put on 
 a cap, turned up his collar, and descended the stairs very 
 slowly, hoping with all his heart that Mr. Judkins would not 
 hear the sound of his faltering steps. 
 
 The landlord, however, was on the watch, and awaited him 
 at the foot of the stairs. Mr. Judkins watched the precarious 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 362 
 
 descent of Denis with an unsympathetic eye ; his thumbs were 
 thrust in the armholes of his waistcoat, his stubbly chin was 
 grimly projected, and when he spoke it was apparent that he 
 had abandoned his mask of oily politeness. As soon as Denis 
 was sufficiently near he began to air his grievance. 
 
 ' I 'm just about sick of this/ he announced. ‘ I s'pose you 
 think I 'm going to keep on providing you with fires and 
 victuals and attendance free, gratis and for nothing for the 
 rest of your life, but I tell you I 'm about fed-up with it, and if 
 you were a gentleman so would you be. What I want to know 
 is, are you going to pay me or aren't you ? You 've put me 
 off week after week with promises and lies, and I 've had 
 enough of it. It 's the limit, the very limit. I’ma poor man, 
 and I ain't going to chuck away my savings supporting a young 
 fellow who lives like a lord and spends the day strumming away 
 on the piano like a girl at a boarding-school. I 've 'ad your 
 sort 'ere before, and I 'm none the richer and much the wiser. 
 Now, what d' ye mean to do ? ' 
 
 He glanced at Denis with his foxy eyes. The boy inwardly 
 cursed his illness, for it made him so weak that he felt afraid 
 even of the ridiculous Judkins. His head swam ; the face of 
 the landlord seemed to advance and recede in a cloud of black 
 spots and rotating discs. He leant against the wall. 
 
 ‘ I 'm just going out to get some money,' he said feebly. 
 
 Mr. Judkins snorted. 
 
 ‘ And mind you get it ! ' he shouted : ‘ mind you get it, for 
 by the Lord you don’t come back into this 'ouse until you can 
 pay your footing ! If you want to be kept free of charge, you 
 can go to the work’ouse — or the gaol — that 's where you '11 
 end up, I can tell you, if you go on thieving from respectable 
 ratepayers. You a gentleman ! Every bar in the Strand 's 
 full of your sort — wasters, loafers who talk, talk, talk, and 
 cadge, borrow a shilling 'ere and a sixpence there — and play 
 the piano like a lady and stink of gin. Actors, most of 'em, 
 all bloody Irvings by their own account, and piano-players, 
 and foreign noblemen in misfortune. I know them ! I 've 
 seen them all before ! You 'd better take a 'bus and join ’em, 
 for I tell you flat and plain, you won't stay 'ere unless I see the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 363 
 
 colour of your money double-quick. You put that in your 
 mouth and chew it.' 
 
 Having delivered himself of this torrent of eloquence, he 
 folded his arms and stared majestically at his lodger. Denis 
 hated him ; yet, he supposed, the man had the right on his 
 side ; he himself was in reality little better than a thief. He 
 pulled himself together, and descended to the passage. When 
 he spoke he felt as if he were listening to the reproduction of 
 his own voice by some distant and husky gramophone. 
 
 ' I ’m sorry I haven’t paid you/ it said, ‘ but all the same 
 you ’re an insolent beast. I ’ll bring back the money, but I ’ll 
 never enter your filthy house again. Please let me pass.’ 
 
 As an effort towards dignity the speech was a distinct 
 failure. Mr. Judkins went to the door and held it open. 
 
 ‘ With the greatest of pleasure,’ he replied. ‘ That ’s the 
 ticket ! Curse and swear and talk like a lord — they all do it ! 
 But you won’t do it any more in my house. The open air 
 is the place for you, my fine young fellow. Good morning ! 9 
 and he closed the door with a bang. 
 
 At any other time the foolish scene would have made Denis 
 laugh, but now he walked away with a sinking heart, and 
 loathed himself for having answered the landlord. How 
 sordid and hideous life had grown ! One had only to be with- 
 out money in order to endure the insolence of any vile rascal, 
 and music and gentle nurture were of no avail when one de- 
 scended naked to the arena where life waited to take one by 
 the throat. How disgusting it was that the possession of a 
 few little discs of gold should make all the difference ! He 
 meditated over this strangely original discovery for some 
 moments, and then he realised that the rain was still falling, 
 and that his colloquy with Mr. Judkins had caused him to 
 forget his umbrella. He shuffled slowly down the street, 
 feeling that the effort of holding himself in an upright position 
 was growing more grievous every moment. Twice he was 
 overcome by a vertigo that forced him to cling to the wet 
 railings, and after these attacks the pain in his head became 
 almost intolerable. A ragged woman who was passing up the 
 street stared at him with an expression that hovered between 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 364 
 
 pity and fear, and a small boy jeered at him. He was conscious 
 of little but an immense craving to lie down then and there 
 on the wet pavement and to go to sleep for ever. 
 
 At length he reached the Embankment. The sight of the 
 brown river brought him a dim recollection of the fact that 
 near it there were seats — seats where one could sit undis- 
 turbed for hours, seats where one could sleep with the cool 
 rain falling on one's burning forehead, forgetful of all the 
 horror of life. 
 
 As he crossed the road he was almost obliterated by a four- 
 wheeled cab ; one of the axles struck the side of his knee, but 
 he scarcely felt the blow, and crept on his way without heeding 
 the frantic curses of the aged driver. How wide the road had 
 grown ! its mud seemed to shine before him like an infinite 
 wilderness, and the lamp-posts of the Embankment wavered 
 and receded like the ideal of an artist. But he accomplished 
 the immense journey at last ; his feet touched the pavement, 
 and a moment later he fell back inertly on one of the seats and 
 lay there with his eyes closed and his face turned towards the 
 grey sky. How delicious, to lie motionless ! How soft and 
 gentle the touch of the rain on one's brow ! It was like 
 something — something said long ago, in some strange place 
 where there had been hills, and a girl's voice, and rain, soft 
 steady rain — yes ! like cool fingers, that was it. But one 
 mustn’t think — that was torture ; one must only he there and 
 feel the rain. One would die, probably ; one was very ill, 
 but that didn't matter. One didn't feel pain now ; only a 
 delicious torpor which crept very slowly up one’s limbs. 
 Everything was peace — a wet day, no one about ; no chance 
 of being disturbed. No need to think of anything ; it was 
 all over — Rosalind, his father, Mr. Judkins and music — they 
 were all phantoms that grew dimmer every moment. He 
 would stay here for hours — no need to go back to lunch. 
 Noel wouldn't mind. Or would he come to find him, come to 
 disturb him and take him away ? How absurd ! Of course 
 there wasn't any Noel, and there wasn't any lunch. That was 
 funny and delightful. No Noel, no lunch, nothing in the world 
 but the cool rain, and sleep, sleep. How the river hummed — 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 365 
 
 like a great beehive, like an army of drummers. But soothing 
 — as soon as one became used to it, very soothing. 
 
 It was from the river that an immense black wave of 
 oblivion seemed to rise and enfold him, rocking him softly to 
 and fro within its mighty breast, and lulling him to a slumber 
 that knew no dreams. 
 
366 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 H E was aroused by a hand that shook his arm gently but 
 persistently, and when he opened his eyes he saw that 
 a female figure, draped in a shining waterproof and holding 
 an umbrella, was bending over him. He stared blankly at it 
 for a moment, feeling pain creeping through his veins like a 
 sluggish, fiery stream. 
 
 ‘ Well, I never did in all my born days ! 5 said the female 
 figure. ‘ It is Mr. Yorke, and fast asleep in the rain ! Do 
 you always take your cold bath out here, Mr. Yorke ? ' 
 
 When she spoke, he realised that the voice belonged to 
 Topsy, and hated her. Why did she come to disturb him 
 when he was sleeping so happily, when he had forgotten all 
 the world and his pain ? He must get rid of her ; she must 
 go away. He tried to utter some words — ‘ I 'm all right, let 
 me alone ; want to sleep let me alone, for God's sake. Go 
 away.' But he could only speak in a low whisper. Topsy 
 stepped back, and contemplated him from beneath her 
 umbrella. Ac 
 
 ‘ And what do you suppose Mr. Tellier would say,' she cried 
 with indignation in every note of her fresh, hard voice. ‘ You 
 ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Yorke ; a boy like you, 
 and at this hour in the morning. I never heard such a thing ! ' 
 Denis felt that deep down inside him some one was laughing. 
 So she thought he was drunk ; that was funny. Better 
 pretend to be, then she would go away, and leave him alone, 
 leave him to sleep, to sleep. How on earth did one pretend 
 to be drunk ? Oh yes, one hiccoughed ; but he couldn't 
 hiccough ; and one spoke queerly, but it seemed that he 
 couldn't speak at all. No good trying ; better just to go to 
 sleep and let her go away. What a nuisance she was ! 
 
 But apparently Topsy had no intention of going away. 
 She leant over him and spoke in a horribly loud voice. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 367 
 
 * You can't stop here,' she said, 4 you 're wet through — 
 sopping wet ! Look here, Mr. Yorke, you 've got to get up 
 and go home, somehow. Can you walk ? ' 
 
 Oh, why couldn't she leave one alone ! He groaned, and 
 uttered a few words which were just audible. 4 Very ill. 
 Want to be alone. Want to die,' he explained. Then he 
 realised dimly that she had taken his hand. Next moment 
 she spoke in an altered voice. 
 
 4 Why, you are ill,' she said, and drew in her breath quickly 
 between her teeth. Denis opened his eyes and saw that 
 she was looking up and down the Embankment. Then his 
 head fell forward, he would have slipped from the seat, but 
 Topsy caught him as he fell and propped him up. He closed 
 his eyes again. 
 
 4 Oh dear, oh dear ! ' she cried ; 4 there isn't a soul out to- 
 day, and you 're catching your death every minute ! ' She 
 took off her mackintosh and flung it over his shoulders. 4 Now 
 listen to me, Mr. Yorke,' she said, holding him firmly with one 
 arm. 4 Listen to me ; you 've got to walk. It 's only a step 
 to your room, and if you stay here you 'll die, do you hear ? 
 You 'll die. Your hands are dead already. You can lean 
 on me, I 'll half carry you ; you needn’t be afraid, for I 'm as 
 strong as a horse.' 
 
 The some one far down in Denis's inside giggled again, and 
 he heard the gramophone voice talking. 4 Can't go there,' 
 it said triumphantly. 4 Turned out — turned out by landlord 
 Mayn't go back. No rent. Oh-let-me-alone ! ' 
 
 4 Is that true ? ' he heard Topsy demand, and another 
 gramophone voice answered, 4 True, quite true,' and began to 
 weep. What fools they were, these gramophone voices ! 
 Why couldn’t they keep quiet ? She would go away then. 
 A moment later he realised that he was being raised to an 
 upright position by two strong arms. He fell forward against 
 some kind of soft buttress, and then opened his eyes to find 
 that he was being firmly guided across a road that heaved 
 and swam, and was full of sudden hills and hazardous 
 valleys. 
 
 4 You just lean all your weight on me,' said Topsy through 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 368 
 
 her set teeth. And he obeyed, for a horror of falling into one 
 of those ravines came over him. 
 
 The dark wave of oblivion seemed to follow him from the 
 river and engulfed him again, but, very dimly, he was conscious 
 of certain events that happened in the world beyond it. He 
 knew when they had crossed the road — the passage of that 
 dreadful barrier seemed to occupy many ages — and he realised 
 that some one with a masculine voice was speaking to Topsy 
 and took his other arm. ‘ Ought to go to the hospital/ said 
 the masculine voice, and Topsy replied, 4 Not if I know it ! 
 Home ’s nearer.' He felt that nothing in the world would 
 make him open his eyes to behold the owner of the unknown 
 voice, for he knew that there would be more deep valleys and 
 jagged hills in the pavement. Presently they halted at a door 
 on which Topsy knocked. The gramophone inside him 
 giggled again, and Denis knew that it was expecting to hear 
 Mr. Judkins, and wondered why a gramophone should possess 
 a sense of humour. Mr. Judkins, however, was inaudible 
 when the door opened, or was contriving to utter exclama- 
 tions of surprise in feminine pitch. Afterwards he was just 
 conscious of being forced to scale some intolerably steep stairs, 
 and then he knew that he was laid on a bed and that busy 
 fingers were undressing him swiftly. When he was in bed 
 something hot and liquid was poured into his mouth and burnt 
 its way down his throat like a stream of lava. The gramo- 
 phone voice gurgled, and it occurred to him that the liquid 
 was probably a strong poison brewed by the revengeful 
 Judkins. But he didn’t care ; he was at ease, stretched out 
 between warm sheets with his head on a soft pillow. He could 
 go to sleep for ever at last. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 369 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 B UT it was not long before his slumber became haunted 
 by strange and painful visions. The scenes amongst 
 which he was compelled to move were vague and meaningless 
 at first, and peopled with grotesque shadows which vanished 
 when he approached them ; but gradually the aspect of that 
 phantom world became sharply definite, and he played his part 
 in a fantastic pageant that was poignant in its reality. For 
 its stage it had a long embankment that stretched for many 
 miles by the side of a murky river, and its protagonist was 
 Rosalind, always Rosalind. Sometimes he saw her as in the 
 old days at Parnasse, in the tartan frock, with her clear skin 
 beautifully stained by the sun and wind ; sometimes she wore 
 the white dress that was associated with the French holiday ; 
 and she was always there, walking swiftly in front of him, 
 whilst he followed her over the pavement that heaved like the 
 waves of the sea and menaced him with yawning chasms. He 
 knew that he had some immensely important information for 
 her ears, but never could remember exactly what it was. He 
 kept on calling her by name, but she never turned ; and 
 always, at the moment when a level stretch of pavement 
 offered him the chance of overtaking her, the figure of Grim- 
 shaw appeared and thrust him back. He knew that she was 
 hurrying towards some dreadful goal, and that at any cost he 
 must overtake her, save her ; but the weary pursuit would 
 continue until he felt as if he had traversed all the world. At 
 last he would see her figure, tiny in the distance, hurrying on 
 miles ahead of him ; he would utter a desperate cry, and, 
 stumbling, would fall into one of the chasms in the pavement, 
 down, down into stifling obscurity. And then the whole 
 scene would begin again. 
 
 Sometimes, as he followed her, he would glance at the river, 
 and would see, without surprise, the figure of his father 
 
370 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 struggling in the dark water. His father would cry to him 
 pitifully for help, and he would know that it was quite easy to 
 stop and save him, to lean over the parapet and clutch his 
 hand. But he would avert his eyes from that agonised face, 
 and hurry on, until the dreadful thought that he was a 
 murderer made him halt and tremble violently. He would 
 scan the river and see, no face, but something ghastly and 
 shapeless which rolled slowly to and fro beneath the surface of 
 the water. This vision, too, recurred again and again with 
 exactly the same details. 
 
 Often he played a part in less tragic events, but even amid 
 the most absurd scenes he would be conscious of an acute 
 sensation of foreboding, as if the comedy was hovering always 
 on the verge of some sinister climax ; and the end of the vision 
 usually justified his apprehensions. Noel would appear, talk- 
 ing and laughing gaily, and would juggle marvellously with 
 many very long bright knives. Denis would watch him 
 anxiously, telling himself all the while that Noel was very 
 clever, very careful, and nothing dreadful could possibly 
 happen. Immediately a knife would leap from the circle of 
 flying steel and gouge out Noel’s eye, and Noel, with his face 
 bathed in blood, would continue to laugh and talk. Topsy, 
 absolutely destitute of clothing, would appear on the Embank- 
 ment, her white body looking very beautiful against the back- 
 ground of grimy stone. She, too, would talk and laugh, but 
 very soon men with brutal faces would seize her roughly, and 
 Denis knew that they would strangle her because she had 
 forgotten to put on her clothes before coming out into the 
 public ways. He would try to rescue her, but his feet would 
 be glued to the ground, and his arms became so heavy that it 
 was impossible to move them. The men would kill Topsy, and 
 would throw her bruised and twisted body over the parapet. 
 Then they would all light their pipes and walk away arm-in- 
 arm singing one of Denis’s songs. 
 
 He passed, at long intervals, from this vivid and terrible 
 world into a dimly-lit room where his body lay in a bed that 
 had become uncomfortably hot, and where the walls seemed to 
 echo the loud throbbing in his brain. It was a dreadful place, 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 37i 
 
 this room ! as soon as he reached it he felt as if some one were 
 thrusting sharp knives between his ribs, and his throat ached 
 with acute thirst. But he visited it very rarely ; almost all 
 the time was spent in stumbling along that never-ending 
 Embankment. 
 
 But at last there came a day when he reached the room, to 
 find that there was more light in it than he had ever seen there. 
 He found, also, that the throbbing in his head had ceased, and 
 that the pain in his body and limbs had become perceptibly 
 lessened. He was extremely tired and weak, but the feverish 
 sense of foreboding which had made all his nerves feel like 
 red-hot wires that became more and more tense had left him ; 
 he felt tranquil, quite empty, and greatly inclined to sleep. 
 He gave a short sigh of contentment and closed his eyes ; then 
 he opened them again suddenly, and tried to move his head, 
 but the muscles of his neck had apparently become quite 
 inefficient. It was as he had thought ; the room was a 
 dream-chamber ; it was not in the least like his own ; there 
 were bright chintz curtains, and frills on his pillow-case, and he 
 could not see any sign of his piano. Yet he felt as if he were 
 awake ; but of course one often dreamed that. Perhaps if he 
 dreamed that he went to sleep again he would be really awake 
 next time. He had a dim idea that a motionless figure was 
 sitting near the bedside, but it was behind him, and he felt 
 quite unable to turn and look at it. And of course he was 
 only a person in a dream. He had grown extremely tired of 
 dreams. 
 
 He awoke about the hour of sunset, conscious that an arm 
 was supporting his head and that something liquid was being 
 poured down his throat. The liquid had a pleasant warmth, 
 and he felt that the pouring ceased too soon. He opened his 
 eyes, blinked and frowned at the light, and then contrived to 
 speak. His voice, he thought, was exactly like the clucking of 
 a sick fowl. 
 
 ‘ I want some more,’ he said. 
 
 Some one uttered a stifled exclamation of surprise, and then 
 a hand, a rather red but evidently female hand, held a cup to 
 his lips. He drank eagerly. 
 
372 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ‘ Now you must go to sleep, and not try to talk/ a voice 
 whispered. He was content to obey it ; a sudden and deli- 
 cious drowsiness overwhelmed him. He slept throughout the 
 night, and trod the Embankment no more. 
 
 When he awoke again the sun was shining strongly on the 
 window blind. He turned his eyes towards the light, and 
 discovered that the same mysterious figure was still sitting by 
 the head of his bed. He raised himself on his elbow and stared 
 at it. Its hair was braided into a lump on the top of its head 
 and it wore a crimson dressing-gown. Then he realised that 
 it was Topsy. What on earth was she doing in his room ? 
 His glance wandered to the bright chintzes. Of course, it 
 wasn’t his room ; it was some strange place — the place that he 
 had imagined to be a dream-chamber on the previous evening. 
 He looked at the frilled pillow-case, and at the same moment 
 realised that he was wearing a most unfamiliar kind of night- 
 shirt. What was the meaning of it all ? 
 
 Topsy had leant forward when he moved, and was watching 
 him with a critical air. 
 
 ‘ Well, what d’ you feel like this morning, Mr. Yorke ? ’ 
 she demanded cheerfully, but in a very quiet voice. Denis 
 thought the question over and decided that he felt like a 
 balloon, a soap-bubble, a piece of thistledown — anything that 
 was lighter than air. He replied to this effect, and Topsy 
 beamed. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! you really are better/ she cried. ' The doctor said so 
 when he saw you yesterday, but I hardly dared to believe him. 
 He ’ll be here soon ; you mustn’t talk till he comes. Go to 
 sleep again.’ 
 
 She smoothed his pillow deftly. But he felt no desire for 
 sleep, and lay watching the narrow columns of sunlight on the 
 wall. A delicious sense of being newly born into some 
 pleasant world came over him ; the air that drifted in through 
 the open window was delightfully fragrant, and all his pain had 
 gone. He stretched his arms and legs slowly and luxuriously, 
 and made ugly faces when Topsy obliged him to drink some 
 medicine. 
 
 Half an hour later the doctor arrived. He was elderly and 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 373 
 
 calm, and wore whiskers. The sudden change in the condition 
 of the patient did not seem to surprise him * he examined 
 Denis carefully, and asked him whether he was still in pain. 
 
 ‘ You 'll do now/ he said at length. ‘ You scared us finely, 
 but you have pulled round all right, thanks to the best un- 
 professional nurse I ever met. Don't talk much, and don't 
 worry at all. If you behave properly now we 'll have you up 
 and about in a fortnight. Musician, aren't you ? Been over- 
 working, I suppose, like all the rest of them. Terrible fellows, 
 you artists ! Knock-about idleness or frantic overwork 
 without regular meals and sleep. I see plenty of your sort 
 in Chelsea. Don't do it again ; the big men don't do it ; 
 Whistler — they tell me he 's a great man — doesn't do it ; he 
 may dress like a mountebank, but he works as regularly as 
 any lawyer. See you to-morrow.' He waved his hand and 
 departed to confer with Topsy in the adjoining room. 
 
 She returned after a few minutes and stood by the bedside 
 looking down at Denis and smiling broadly. 
 
 ' That 's better ! ' she said. ‘ You seem quite yourself again 
 already. You won't turn your toes up this time after all/ 
 She smoothed the sheet with a professional dexterity. ‘ Your 
 temperature 's normal and you may have something real to 
 eat. Feel hungry, I expect ? ' 
 
 'Yes, I 'm all right now, thanks,' said Denis, with the tone 
 of one who has been slightly unwell for an hour. 
 
 Perhaps Topsy observed the tone, for she asked, ' How long 
 do you think you 've been ill, Mr. Yorke ? ' and afterwards 
 informed him that he had been lying there for nearly a 
 fortnight. 
 
 ‘ And where am I ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Where should you be but in my room ? ' said Topsy. ‘ The 
 gentleman who helped me to bring you said you ought to go to 
 the hospital, but I wasn’t going to have that. You were real 
 bad, and probably you 'd have died while they were taking 
 down your name and address and the date of your birth and 
 the pet name your father and mother call you by. I know all 
 about hospitals, 'cos I had a brother in one, and he had 
 .diabetes and died. He 's in Brompton cemetery close to the 
 
374 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 railings. So I brought you here ; old Mrs. Joyce — she 's the 
 landlady — was a bit surprised at first, but she soon went off the 
 boil. Yes, you 've been in my room, sleeping in my bed, and 
 wearing one of my nightgowns, for thirteen blessed days. 
 Awfully improper, isn't it ? A caution for curates, and I don't 
 wonder at your blushing. But it was the thing to do ; I felt 
 that as strong as could be, and when I do feel it, the Queen and 
 all the archbishops and bishops couldn't stop me. But I 'm 
 talking, and you 'll get tired.' 
 
 Denis assured her that he didn't feel as if he could ever be 
 tired again, and tried to thank her for all that she had done. 
 Topsy seemed almost offended by his attempt to express his 
 gratitude. 
 
 ‘ You 're not to say a word about that, Mr. Yorke,' she said. 
 
 * I only did what any one would ha.ve done who happened to 
 go along the Embankment that morning. If I 'd left you 
 there I should have been a murderer, as much as any one who 
 jabs a knife into some one else. You 're not to mention it. 
 You 'd have done just the same for me if I 'd been sitting 
 there and you 'd found me.' 
 
 Denis thought over this last remark, wondering to what 
 extent it was true. If their positions had been reversed on 
 that morning, what would he have done ? He smiled as he 
 imagined the face of the offensive Judkins when he opened the 
 door to behold his late lodger supporting the languid but 
 ample form of Topsy, and demanding admission. It would 
 certainly have been an awkward predicament. But his smile 
 vanished suddenly. Perhaps it had been equally awkward 
 for Topsy ; probably her landlady had looked as sour as 
 Judkins would have done. But Topsy would never admit it. 
 What a brick she was ! What a little cad he had been to 
 think her vulgar ! 
 
 ‘ I 've had the time of my life,' continued Topsy ; ‘ the 
 doctor says I 'm a born nurse, and worth a dozen of several 
 he knows who 've got medals and certificates and those nobby 
 little bonnets. I used to sleep in that chair for two or three 
 hours and feel as fresh as new paint in the morning after I 'd 
 had a cold bath, and you 're so thin I can lift you as easily as 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 375 
 
 a baby. I feel as if you were my baby/ she concluded naively, 
 
 1 for I 've washed you and fed you and undressed you, and I 
 actually tried to sing you to sleep when you tossed about. 
 But my songs are all out of musical comedies. You didn't 
 like 'em/ 
 
 She stood for a moment looking at him with an odd bright- 
 ness in her eyes, then she smiled again suddenly. ‘ I really 
 won't talk any more, and you mustn't either. You must go 
 to sleep, like a good baby. Not that I 've given you much 
 chance of talking, but you did enough of that when you were 
 ill. My word ! I never heard anything like it, — just as if 
 you were one of those phonograph things and wouldn’t run 
 down.' 
 
 ‘ Did I talk a lot ? ' cried Denis. ‘ What did I say ? ' 
 
 ‘ Oh, nothing dreadful ,' said Topsy, 4 like most people do 
 when they 're a little bit off the top. Just gibberish, all 
 night long ; in the day you were pretty quiet. Streams and 
 streams of words ! and faster than I 've ever heard any one 
 talk in my life, — faster than that Frenchwoman when I took 
 her umbrella by mistake from the seat at Earl's Court. And 
 then you kept on calling out some one's name over and over 
 again, just as if the person it belonged to was running off 
 with all your money. It was dreadful to hear you.' 
 
 Denis raised himself on his elbow. 4 What was the name ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 She looked at him, smiling broadly. 
 
 4 I guess you know as well as I do,' she said. 4 And I 
 wouldn't mind betting that you may see the person who owns 
 it before very long.' 
 
 A tinge of colour crept into his white face. 4 What do you 
 mean ? ' he said. 
 
 ‘ Only that I found out yesterday who she was,' Topsy 
 answered. 4 I had to go to Mr. Grimshaw’s studio in the 
 afternoon, and he gave me a letter to post when I came away. 
 It was addressed to a Miss Rosalind Duroy, somewhere in 
 Hampstead. Then I remembered that Mr. Tellier had a cousin 
 called Duroy, and knowing you were an old friend of his I 
 guessed she was the lady you kept on asking for, I 've got 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 376 
 
 a head on my shoulders, whatever you may think. So I sent 
 a letter along with Mr. Grimshaw’s.’ 
 
 Denis began to look strangely excited. ‘ What did you 
 say in the letter ? ’ he demanded. 
 
 * Not much/ replied Topsy, 4 only that you were dying at 
 this address and had mentioned her name once or twice. If 
 that doesn’t bring her round to-day pretty quick you ’d better 
 give up thinking about her.’ There was a note of petulance 
 in her voice as she said this, and she unfolded a towel with a 
 sharp jerk. ‘ Anyhow, I ’ve done my best/ she added. ‘ If 
 she wants to nurse you now, she can. The doctor says you ’re 
 out of danger. All you want is feeding up.’ 
 
 This last observation reminded Denis of his penniless con- 
 dition, and he began to wonder how he should pay the doctor 
 and restore to Topsy all the money which she must have spent 
 on his behalf. His heart sank, and he felt that, after all, 
 many difficulties would have been avoided if he had been 
 allowed to remain asleep on the Embankment. Then he 
 thought of Rosalind. Would she come to see him ? And if 
 she came, would Grimshaw come with her and stand between 
 them just as he had done in that oft-reiterated dream ? It 
 would be better, far better if she did not come ; yet he knew 
 that he was yearning to see her, to hear her voice, to touch 
 her hand — once more, only once more. When he became 
 well he must never see her again. 
 
 ‘ I don’t suppose that she ’ll come/ he said. 
 
 ‘ Well, if she doesn’t,’ said Topsy emphatically, ‘ you ’ll 
 know she isn’t worth fussing about. One ’d have thought 
 from the way you went on that she ’d treated you dreadful — 
 making you moan and groan and toss about like that ! I 
 hope she won’t come. She ’ll only send your temperature up 
 again/ 
 
 4 But you wrote to ask her to come ! ’ said Denis. 
 
 ‘ I didn’t think you ’d take a turn for the better so quick,’ 
 said Topsy, ‘ and anyhow, one doesn’t always do things 
 because one likes ’em. I ’ve a conscience that ’s the plague 
 of my life. And if she does come, I should like to tell her what 
 I think of her for driving a mere boy like you to distraction. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 377 
 
 You were as good as committing suicide when I came across 
 you, and I soon found out whose fault that was.' 
 
 Denis smiled faintly at this display of Topsy’s romantic 
 imagination. 
 
 ‘ Mr. Judkins’s/ he suggested. 
 
 ‘ You ’re not to talk,’ said Topsy. ‘ I ’m hard,’ she con- 
 tinued, ‘ as hard as iron, and I think people that go moaning 
 and groaning because they think other people have treated 
 ’em badly ought to be well smacked. I ’ve no patience with 
 your lackadaisical sort. If I ’d been like that, where do you 
 think I ’d be now ? You ’d be shocked if I told you, but it ’d 
 be true. Life ’s a battle, and everybody fights for himself. 
 What ’s the good of maundering about some one else all the 
 time ? It makes one as weak as a cat. Here endeth the 
 gospel according to Topsy, otherwise Miss Cordelia Brown. 
 You think it over, Mr. Yorke.’ 
 
 Denis was thinking something else over. ‘ I wonder if she ’ll 
 come,’ he said slowly. 
 
 'Well, if she comes, she comes, and if she doesn’t, she 
 doesn’t, so what ’s the good of wondering ? ’ said Topsy 
 crossly. ‘ I dare say she ’ll think it isn’t proper to come and 
 see a young man who ’s half silly over her, when he ’s lying in 
 bed ; I dare say she ’ll turn up her nose at me because I brought 
 you here instead of taking you to the hospital. But she can 
 turn it up till she ’s black in the face ; I shan’t care • I did the 
 right thing, for once, I know, and I ’ll go on knowing it even 
 if she thinks I ’m the kind of creature your friend with the 
 eyeglass took me for.’ 
 
 ‘ Did you tell Mr. Grimshaw that I was here ? ’ he asked. 
 
 ‘ What do you take me for ? ’ retorted Topsy. ‘ You know 
 what he is. He ’d have told every one, and I should never 
 have heard the last of it from the other models. You don’t 
 catch me giving myself away with a pound of tea ; but with 
 this lady it ’s different. I don’t care what she thinks ; but if 
 she don’t come and see you, I know what I ’ll think of her, and 
 I ’ll go and tell her so.’ 
 
 She seemed to nurse some mysterious resentment against 
 Rosalind. ‘ And all the same I hope she won’t come,’ she 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 378 
 
 repeated ; * if I ’d known how quick you were going to get 
 better ! I don’t want any meddling women around here ; I 
 like to keep myself to myself.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, you needn’t be afraid that she ’ll interfere,’ said 
 Denis. ‘ She ’s not that kind of person.’ 
 
 Topsy was silent for a moment, then she turned to him with 
 the queer light in her eyes that he had noticed a short time 
 before. 
 
 ‘ That ain’t the real reason,’ she said. Her London accent 
 became more marked, but she spoke quietly. * The real reason 
 is that I want to keep you to myself.’ She gave an odd, quick 
 laugh. ‘ You ’re my baby, you see,’ she added, as she turned 
 away. 
 
 At that moment a bell sounded in the house. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 379 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 T OPSY began instantly to whirl about the room in a 
 manner that denoted considerable agitation. ‘ Oh 
 dear, oh dear ! ’ she cried. ‘ Here she is, and I hadn’t a notion 
 she ’d come so soon ! And you ’ve pulled the counterpane 
 all crooked again, Mr. Yorke ! It ’s too bad of you, and I 
 meant to brush your hair and put some fresh flowers in the 
 vawses ! The room ’s like a dust-heap, and I can’t ask her to 
 wait while I put it tidy.’ She flounced about, giving a jerk 
 here and a push there. ‘ For goodness’ sake,’ she cried, 
 4 cover yourself up, Mr. Yorke, and don’t let her see you ’re 
 wearing my nightgown ! Hide the toothbrush behind the 
 medicine bottles ; there ! I ’ll do it, you stroke your hair down 
 and lie quiet. Coming at this hour of the morning ! I 
 thought she ’d have had her breakfast in bed at eleven.’ 
 
 There was a knock at the door, and Denis began to tremble. 
 But the head which appeared belonged to the deaf old land- 
 lady. She looked at Topsy, and said, ‘ It ’s two lidies as ’ave 
 come to see ’im.’ 
 
 ‘ Two ! ’ cried Topsy, still flouncing ; ‘ oh dear, oh dear ! 
 You ’d better bring ’em up, I suppose. We shall have all 
 London coming round next.’ 
 
 Denis heard neither the announcement nor the words that 
 greeted it ; the pulses in his brain had resumed their infernal 
 tattoo. The landlady shook her head regretfully. 
 
 4 I can’t ’ear a blessed word you say,’ she announced. 
 
 Topsy went close to her, and making a megaphone of her 
 hands, cried in a voice of thunder, 4 Bring them upstairs.’ 
 
 ‘ There ’s no call to screech,’ said the landlady, and departed 
 with remarkable dignity. 
 
 Topsy made a wild effort to alter the position of every piece 
 of furniture in the room. ‘ It looks just awful ! ’ she cried, 
 * and, oh lor ! here they come ! ’ She opened the door. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 380 
 
 There was a sound of steps on the stairs, but Denis could 
 hear nothing but the thunderous pulses in his head. He turned 
 his eyes towards the doorway, where Topsy stood erect and 
 grim, and saw the landlady turning towards a female figure 
 which ascended. Then he felt a sickening thrill of disappoint- 
 ment, for the figure was that of Miss Amory. So Rosalind had 
 not troubled to come : she had merely sent a substitute. How 
 unlike her ! But, of course, everything that she did now was 
 unlike her — unlike the ideal that he had cherished for so many 
 foolish years. It was better, after all, that she should keep 
 away. 
 
 Miss Amory advanced in the tentative manner that is 
 customary with visitors to a sickroom, and sat down in a chair 
 beside his bed. She was as charming as usual ; reproached 
 him because he had not let them know that he was ill, rejoiced 
 that he was better, and talked to Topsy, who responded with 
 monosyllables, in her most delightful manner. Denis scarcely 
 spoke ; at last he interrupted Miss Amory in the middle of one 
 of her remarks to Topsy. ‘ Where 's Rosalind ? ' he demanded 
 curtly. 
 
 Miss Amory turned to him. ‘ She 's downstairs/ she 
 answered. ‘ We thought that we would come upon you in 
 single spies, not in battalions. Would you like to see her 
 now ? Whilst you 're talking to her I mean to go into the 
 next room and discuss your body and soul with Miss Brown. 
 I see that he 's a very lucky young man to have had you for a 
 nurse, Miss Brown, and I want to hear all about it.' 
 
 Topsy appeared to be somewhat mollified by Miss Amory’s 
 appreciation. 4 I 'll go and tell her,' she said, and went out. 
 Denis instantly began to feel that he would rather endure 
 frightful torments than be left alone with Rosalind. The 
 disappointment which had stabbed him when he imagined that 
 she had not come was nothing compared with this new and 
 bewildering nervous pain. She would be certain to say some- 
 thing which he would recognise as insincere, as unworthy of 
 his ancient ideal ; and as for himself, all his mental balance 
 was upset ; he felt weak, and bitter ; if he spoke at all he 
 would blurt out something which would reveal that he knew 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 38i 
 
 how she had changed. But when she entered the room he 
 forgot everything except that she was beautiful and desirable 
 beyond all things mortal. 
 
 To her, as he lay there looking so white and weak, he was 
 again the forlorn, gentle little boy that she had known at 
 Parnasse. She came towards him with a soft cry, and kneeling 
 by the bedside, took his hand in hers, then stroked the dark 
 hair that had grown so long during his illness. The grave 
 heavenliness of her eyes became radiant ; she smiled at him as 
 a mother smiles at her child when they are alone, and when she 
 spoke her voice was soothing as the whisper of leaves in 
 summer. Miss Amory and Topsy had retired to the other 
 room ; he was alone with her, alone for the last time. He 
 could not speak ; he realised slowly that he ought to tell her 
 the truth — realised that she did not know that he was better, 
 out of danger, free from physical pain, or she would not have 
 knelt by his bedside in that way, and looked into his eyes in 
 that way, and touched his hair with those pale and slender 
 hands. But he could say nothing, his throat was burning 
 with terrible fire, the tears smarted in his eyes, and, after all, 
 it was the last time, the last time. 
 
 f Mon pauvre petit Denis ! And you waited until yesterday 
 before you let us know ! 5 
 
 It was still the voice of a mother speaking to a son, of a 
 woman speaking to a mere boy. And when he looked into her 
 eyes he knew that some miracle had happened which had lifted 
 her far beyond girlhood, that though she was nearly a year 
 younger than himself, she had overtaken, him, outdistanced 
 him, left him as far behind as Atalanta might have left any 
 raw lad who had dared to match himself against her swiftness. 
 Her smiles, her tender words, her lovely attitude, were all 
 signs of this strange victory ; to her he was the boy who had 
 known and worshipped her father ; the old friend, who never 
 would be really old, the intimate comrade who had played a 
 certain definite part in her life and could be relied on never to 
 play any other. He had often read in conventional stories of 
 girls who promised to be sisters to the men who loved them ; 
 the tragic irony of that hackneyed phrase struck him sharply 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 382 
 
 now. He and Noel were her brothers, whilst that beast 
 
 Grimshaw Even as he looked at her beauty a wave of 
 
 dull resentment seemed to surge through his brain. If she 
 had been aware that he knew all she would not have come to 
 see him ; in a sense, she was deceiving him, playing a part, 
 pretending to be the lost, the dead Rosalind. Yet how far 
 more wonderful was the new Rosalind, with the strange 
 radiance in her eyes, and the strange power of suggesting that 
 she had grown wise with some supernatural wisdom, that she 
 had mastered the secret of life ? Oh, it couldn't, it couldn't 
 be Grimshaw who had awakened her ! It had been going on 
 in France, this awakening ; he had been almost blind to it at 
 the time, but he saw it all clearly in retrospect. 
 
 ‘ You should have let us know at once. I 'm furiously 
 jealous of the girl who has nursed you.' 
 
 But for the absolute candour of her eyes he would have 
 sworn that the words were heartless mockery. She sat on 
 the chair by his bedside, and he told her — again he heard that 
 hateful gramophone voice — how Topsy had rescued him from 
 the Embankment. When once it had begun, the gramophone 
 voice seemed as if it would go on for ever. It blurted out the 
 whole story ; the suite, and the aspect of pallid eggs, and 
 the sickening behaviour of Mr. Judkins. The last item in 
 this doleful catalogue made Rosalind turn a face dark with 
 reproachfulness towards him. 
 
 4 O Denis ! ' she said. ‘ Why didn't you write, or come 
 to see me ? How like a boy, and how ridiculous, to go on 
 starving when your oldest friend was in London. I suppose 
 you thought that I hadn't come back, but you might have 
 made sure about it.' 
 
 Denis turned his eyes from hers. ‘ I knew that you were 
 back,' he said sullenly. 
 
 ‘ And you were too proud. Oh ! it was unkind, unfriendly ! 
 We heard nothing about you ; Mr. Grimshaw called at your 
 rooms, and the landlord said you had gone into the country 
 for two or three weeks. I think I should like to meet that 
 landlord. Why do you look like that ? ' She stared at him 
 for a moment, then cried, ‘ Denis ! ' He caught her hand and 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 383 
 
 pressed it to his lips — the little pale hand that Grimshaw had 
 kissed. She was so amazed by his face that for a moment she 
 did not draw her hand away. 
 
 ‘ That ’s why I didn’t come,’ he said wearily, ‘ you know 
 now.’ He closed his eyes. He had been a fool once more, 
 but, at any rate, she knew. It was all over. He stretched 
 himself out with a strange sense of relief. From the next 
 room came the voices of Miss Amory and Topsy, who were 
 engaged in a cheerful controversy concerning the management 
 of an invalid. A befuddled fly was buzzing in the sunshine 
 of the window. 
 
 When he reopened his eyes he saw that Rosalind was sitting 
 in exactly the same position as when he had closed them ; 
 she was looking at him clearly, almost keenly, but a glorious 
 flood of crimson had spread from her neck to her brow. Her 
 lips were parted, and as he looked at her she spoke. 
 
 ‘ My dear old Denis ! ’ she said very gently, but in her 
 usual voice ; ‘ it ’s all a mistake — you and I — it ’s impossible ! 
 When you are well again you won’t remember. I never 
 
 heard ’ Though her voice was steady it died away 
 
 abruptly. Denis forgot all about Topsy’s nightgown and 
 sat up with alarming suddenness. 
 
 ‘ It ’s not impossible,’ he said, ‘ it has happened. I love 
 you. I always have done, but I didn’t know it — not even in 
 France — until the other day. I know I ’m a cad to tell you, 
 because I know there ’s some one else. Don’t look at me like 
 that ! I couldn’t help finding out, I swear I couldn’t ; I 
 was in St. Paul’s and I saw him — and you. Ah ! can’t you 
 say it isn’t true ? You can’t really care for him, — you don’t 
 know him, he ’s — oh ! he ’s everything that you hate. But I 
 saw your face — when you looked at him — that day in St. 
 Paul’s. And then I knew that I loved you, that I ’d have 
 burned in hell for a thousand years to get one look from you 
 like that.’ 
 
 She turned from him suddenly, and covered her face with 
 her hands. In the next room Topsy and Miss Amory con- 
 tinued to quack harmoniously. He watched her for a little 
 while, feeling heartsick, and inwardly calling himself all the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 384 
 
 hard names in the language. But his voice continued to 
 speak almost in spite of himself. 
 
 ' I’m an utter brute/ he said. ‘ I know you 'll never care 
 about me, but oh, Rosalind ! you won’t always care for him, 
 will you ? ’ 
 
 She dropped her hands and looked at him. There were 
 tears in her eyes, but that strange bewildering radiance shone 
 out again. She leant towards him. 
 
 ‘ Try to forgive me,’ she said. ‘ I shall care always, always.’ 
 
 He dropped back on the pillow with a gasp that sounded 
 like stifled anger. 
 
 ‘ And he ’s married,’ he murmured. 
 
 She did not seem to hear him, but the radiance faded from 
 her eyes and was succeeded by an expression of fear. 
 
 ‘ 0 Denis, Denis ! ’ she said. ‘ I believe that he ’s dying.’ 
 
 The words brought him no comfort. Even Grimshaw’s 
 death would make no difference now, he knew. It was too late. 
 And of course Grimshaw wasn’t really dying. He was only 
 drinking too much whisky, and his beastly temper made him 
 look yellow. 
 
 ‘ Oh no,’ he said curtly. 
 
 The fear left her face. ‘ He won’t die,’ she said with 
 sudden firmness. Denis closed his eyes again. She could 
 think of no one but Grimshaw. She had forgotten already 
 that he himself loved her and had kissed her hand. It was 
 absolutely sickening. He felt as if he were actually as young 
 and irresponsible as she evidently thought him to be. He 
 lay there in sullen silence. It was all over ; and she didn’t 
 even take him seriously. Why didn’t those garrulous idiots 
 in the other room come back ? 
 
 Presently she spoke. ‘ My dear little Denis,’ she said, 
 * when you ’re well again you ’ll find that everything will seem 
 different, and some day you ’ll understand. It all seems 
 strange to you now ; but some day you ’ll meet — the right 
 person, and then you ’ll know, and you ’ll forgive me. It ’ll 
 be like a new world where you see everything clearly instead 
 of groping about in darkness and mistaking shadows for real 
 people/ 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 385 
 
 To Denis her words seemed deliberately cruel. ‘ How do 
 you know ? 1 he asked, almost angrily. 
 
 ‘ I can't help knowing/ she answered. 
 
 Quack-quack from Miss Amory in the sitting-room. He 
 meditated on Rosalind's reply, which seemed to him quite 
 meaningless. As if he didn't know himself better than she 
 knew him ! She thought him a child. But certainly at that 
 moment he felt remarkably childish. What was this strange 
 special knowledge which she imagined herself to possess ? 
 
 Quack- quack-quack from Topsy. Would they never come 
 back ? In a few moments Rosalind had contrived to become 
 impossibly remote, had soared far above him, leaving him to 
 feel as bewildered as a small boy at a lecture on metaphysics. 
 He remembered his dream. Reality was certainly very like 
 it, only worse. And Rosalind was a year younger than him- 
 self ! All power of insight left him ; his mind seemed to 
 revolve foolishly round crude and dreary facts. 
 
 ‘ It 's all so hopeless,' he said. ‘ You can't ever be married.' 
 
 As soon as he had uttered the words he regretted them. 
 Even now, he thought, he did not wish to hurt her. But 
 apparently she did not hear what he said, or she thought that 
 his point of view was utterly unimportant. At least, however, 
 he had discovered her secret, though she had denied that he 
 could see anything clearly ! 
 
 ‘ What will you do if they all get to know about it ? ' he 
 asked. 
 
 She turned swiftly towards him. * What do you mean ? ' 
 she said. 
 
 He nodded towards the half-open door. ‘ All of them — 
 Miss Amory ’ He paused 
 
 4 She knows,' said Rosalind. 
 
 ‘ She knows ! ' he echoed. ‘ But Noel — what will Noel 
 think about it ? ' 
 
 ‘ Noel knows,' she said. ‘ Denis, do you think I could bear 
 that he shouldn't know ? I thought you knew too, and then 
 I saw that you didn't understand. But you will, some day.' 
 
 This was the final blow. That Miss Amory, whom Denis 
 had always regarded as a highly respectable guardian, should 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 386 
 
 be aware of, and acquiesce in, this lamentable affair ; that 
 Noel, who adored Rosalind, should calmly allow her to ruin 
 her life, and make no effort to save her from the snares of 
 Grimshaw, — it was incomprehensible, it was like some horrible 
 nightmare. And he had thought that he knew Noel absolutely, 
 that he could prophesy with complete certainty his method 
 of action in any possible circumstance ! 
 
 The quacking became louder, and Rosalind glanced towards 
 the door. 
 
 ' They 're coming back,' she said. Then she leant towards 
 him and spoke in a low voice. ‘ We will forget all this,' she 
 said ; ‘ I know you 'll forget it, when you 're well. And now 
 I want you to do me a very great favour. You 're all alone, 
 and there is some one who ought to be with you now, some one 
 you have never understood, — but if he came and found you 
 lying here and knew how ill you had been, you would under- 
 stand him at last. Denis, has he heard about you ? ' 
 
 Denis shook his head gloomily. 
 
 ‘ He wouldn't care,’ he said. ‘ And I don't want to under- 
 stand him. I don't want to understand any one. It 's 
 better to be a fool and not to see things as they really are. 
 I shan't write to him. He 'd think I was giving in just because 
 I hadn't any money. He said I should be a failure, and I am.' 
 
 She bent nearer to him. ‘ Let me write to him, Denis,' 
 she whispered. But a devil entered the soul of Denis. 
 
 * No,' he cried violently, ‘ no one shall write to him ! He 
 never writes to me. He wouldn't care if I were dead.' He 
 paused, then added, ‘ You can write to him on one condition.’ 
 
 ‘ What is it ? ' 
 
 ‘ That you give up that beast.' 
 
 She rose quickly. At the same moment Miss Amory and 
 Topsy re-entered the room. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 387 
 
 XL 
 
 T HE visitors departed, accompanied by the beaming 
 Topsy, but just when Denis was preparing to embark 
 on a long voyage of gloomy retrospect, there was a knock at the 
 door and Miss Amory's head reappeared. 
 
 4 Rosalind wants to speak to Miss Brown for a moment/ she 
 said, 4 so I came back, because there 's something I want to 
 say to you.' She stood by the bed, looking down at him with 
 a slightly embarrassed air. Denis contemplated her with 
 sombre eyes. 
 
 4 Noel Tellier is coming back next week/ she continued. 
 4 He will be able to arrange things. I 'd better speak plainly ; 
 the fact is, Miss Brown is an admirable nurse and a most 
 amusing creature, but of course some silly people would think 
 that it wasn't at all proper for her to be entertaining a young 
 man in her own rooms in this way. I just give you this hint 
 for her sake, you know. She seems to be a thoroughly 
 respectable girl, and probably has equally respectable friends 
 with smaller minds.' 
 
 Denis glared at her. 
 
 4 I didn’t know that you bothered about that kind of thing/ 
 he said. 
 
 Miss Amory seemed slightly puzzled. 
 
 4 Oh ! I don't care,’ she replied, 4 but it may make a 
 lot of difference to her if the story gets about among her 
 friends — spoil her chances of marrying, you know ; and lots 
 of people don't like models who are supposed to be — er — 
 doubtful.' 
 
 4 Mr. Grimshaw, for instance,' suggested Denis. Miss 
 Amory looked at him for a moment, and then her eyes blinked 
 rapidly. 
 
 4 I 'm afraid you think I 'm a nasty interfering old woman,' 
 she said. 4 Don't imagine that I 'm shocked ; I 've seen 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 383 
 
 rather too much of the world. I ’m thinking of the people 
 who are always so virtuous for others/ 
 
 ‘ I expect it takes a lot to shock you/ said Denis. Miss 
 Amory stared again, and he added, ‘ Would you mind going 
 away ? I feel as if I were going to be sick/ 
 
 ‘ Oh, very well/ said Miss Amory, with unclouded good- 
 humour. ‘ I ’m afraid something must have happened to 
 upset you/ She was not alluding, however, to the physical 
 symptoms of which he had hinted the existence. ‘ Good-bye, 
 Denis ! we ’ll come and see you to-morrow/ 
 
 ‘ Oh no, thanks ; I shall be all right now/ said Denis, and 
 turned over in bed. Miss Amory said a funny French word 
 under her breath, and withdrew to join Rosalind. 
 
 A few minutes later Topsy returned. She was radiant, 
 glowing with superlative praise of the visitors. 
 
 4 That Miss Duroy, with her figure ! What a shame she ’s 
 a lady and can’t be a model ; she puts me second pretty easy, 
 and she ’s got a face, too, which I can’t say of myself, though 
 she ’s a bit pale. Well, you ’ve seen her at last, Mr. Yorke, 
 and I hope she ’s made you feel better. That ’s the kind of 
 medicine for a nice young man ! She looked as if she ’d been 
 crying when she came downstairs, but crying ’s healthy, 
 and no wonder she did when she saw how you ’d changed, and 
 knew it was her fault. They ’re the right sort, both of ’em. 
 You ’d never think they were artists from the way they ’re 
 dressed.’ Topsy ’s flow of language ceased with this ambigu- 
 ous compliment, and she stared at Denis with startled eyes. 
 ‘ How tired you look ! ’ she said. ‘ I oughtn’t to have let ’em 
 stay so long * I know your temperature ’s gone up. You 
 don’t look so happy either • wasn’t she nice to you ? If I ’d 
 only known ! I ’d have taught her how to behave/ She 
 watched him with an oddly anxious face as she spoke. 
 
 He turned his head on the pillow. ‘ You oughtn’t to have 
 written that letter,’ he said irritably. 
 
 ‘ Oh — ho ! ’ said Topsy. ‘ Of all the little cats ! Open 
 your mouth/ And she gagged him neatly with a clinical 
 thermometer. Denis felt inclined to grind it into powder and 
 swallow it. * But it ’s just as well, in my humble opinion/ 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 389 
 
 she continued. ' She isn’t your sort. I saw it at once. 
 You ’re too gentle for her, and too young. She wants a great 
 big brute of a man to manage her ; some one with heaps of 
 temper and as strong as a horse, — some one noisy and great, 
 — like Mr. Grimshaw, for instance.’ 
 
 1 Burra-wurra,’ groaned Denis, nearly swallowing the 
 thermometer. 
 
 1 He ’s her kind,’ continued the pitiless Topsy. ‘ My word, 
 he does look ill ! Lifting the elbow, I expect. What a pity, 
 when he can draw like he does ; there isn’t an artist in Chelsea 
 who ’s fit to clean his palette for him, not even the old figure- 
 of-fun with the flat-brimmed hat and the eyeglass, though his 
 style ’s different, of course. And as she won’t have anything 
 to do with you, you take my advice and forget all about her. 
 It ’s funny how easy it is to forget. I remember when I was 
 gone to death on a drummer-boy in the Guards — I always 
 do like quite young boys — and he went off with a barmaid at 
 Victoria Station, and I felt like drowning myself, but -’ 
 
 ‘ Hoo hake hiss hamb hing ow/ gurgled Denis. She 
 removed the thermometer, and looked at it with her head on 
 one side. 
 
 ‘ It ’s gone up,’ she said. * That shows that she isn’t 
 good for you. I oughtn’t to have let her come. But I ’m 
 glad I did, all the same.’ 
 
 ‘ Why ? ’ asked Denis listlessly. 
 
 ‘ Because now you know that she don’t want you,’ she 
 answered, ‘ and because I shall have you all to myself. I was 
 scared into blue fits when the old lady began to talk. I 
 thought she was going to turn me out and nurse you herself. 
 She ’ll come again, but I don’t mind her. It ’s the other one 
 I ’m afraid of ; she makes you bad. You can’t feed up with 
 the thought of her sticking in your throat. But she won’t 
 come any more,’ 
 
 ‘ How do you know ? ’ said Denis. 
 
 ‘ I saw it in her face when she went downstairs. “ England 
 expects every woman to do her duty, and I ’ve done mine, 
 but Never Again ! ” That was the signal she flew. Did you 
 notice the line of her back when she walked, Mr. Yorke ? But 
 
390 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 I oughtn't to ask you that. You must go to sleep, and forget 
 all about her, like a good baby.' 
 
 The periods of depression which occur during convalescence 
 are probably the only times in the life of an individual when 
 he sees himself as others see him, and therefore suffers a loss of 
 vitality. Before his illness, Denis had been inclined to believe 
 that he had really changed from an insignificant boy to quite 
 a different kind of person, — to a man, indeed, with consider- 
 able knowledge of the world and a certain peculiar importance 
 on that planet. His small successes in music, and the friendli- 
 ness of the artists amongst whom he lived, had contributed 
 to the strengthening of this belief ; but now, as he lay in bed 
 and enjoyed long days of thought that was interrupted only 
 by Topsy's demonstrations with beef-tea and the clinical 
 thermometer, he became convinced that the colour of his life 
 had been grey and not roseate, and found a mournful occupa- 
 tion in obliterating the faint vestiges of his lost illusions. He 
 had been happy, it was true, during his first four months of 
 healthy toil in London, but that was merely because he had 
 lived without foresight of the inevitable end ; any one with 
 a little sense would have known beforehand that it was too 
 good to last, that Wallaby would eject him cursorily, that his 
 musical ability was the most limp of all bruised reeds • that 
 one who was infirm of purpose, unstable as water, the play- 
 thing of a hundred moods, had no chance when he fought 
 alone against the world. He began to wonder — in the usual 
 manner of artists who suffer an enforced separation from their 
 work — if he were not, after all, merely a charlatan ; the spirit 
 of music which he had formerly imagined to inhabit his soul 
 had surely flown away for ever, leaving him with about as 
 much life as is possessed by an empty chrysalis attached to a 
 withered stick. That he, the writer of silly little accompani- 
 ments to tunes which he did not even invent, should have 
 dared to attempt a suite for full orchestra ! The deplorable 
 Judkins could light his pipe with that work of art if he wished ; 
 its creator regarded it with the affection felt by Rousseau for 
 one of his bastards. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 39i 
 
 The great total of his achievement was composed, it seemed, 
 of the following items : he had lost Rosalind, he had lost his 
 art, he had lost his employment, and he had lost all desire to 
 live. ' Incidentally he had also lost his father, but that had 
 happened before ; and he was on the verge of losing his last 
 shred of self-respect, but that didn't matter when once one 
 realised that self-respect was only the pompous title of sense- 
 less conceit. His father was justified as a prophet ; he had 
 failed, failed tragically, yet even his tragedy was not noble ; 
 it was built up with sordid episodes, such as the Judkins 
 affair ; it did not possess the gloomy magnificence of a great 
 work of art, but was an essentially squalid piece of patchwork. 
 Even his last interview with Rosalind had none of the dignity 
 that should be associated with immense renunciation : she had 
 not even believed that he loved her, he had felt like a petulant 
 child, and the whole scene had been punctuated by the 
 damnable quacking of those women in the next room. Rosa- 
 lind had been so slightly impressed by his trouble that she had 
 been able to exhort him to see his father. 
 
 Why was she always begging him to do that ? It was only 
 another instance of her recent failure in kindness and common- 
 sense. Of course it was possible that she feared he might be 
 dying, and knew that relatives had always an extraordinary 
 passion to be in at the death. Or did she realise that he was 
 lonely, hatefully lonely, — oppressed by the thought of the 
 iron indifference of this great, seething London that hemmed 
 him in, — yearning for the companionable hills and the peace 
 of quiet valleys where every tiny landmark was a familiar 
 friend ? It was impossible that she should have read his mind 
 prophetically, for until the long days that succeeded their 
 interview he had hardly thought of the country. Now, 
 however, the haunting memory of the moor and the hillside 
 and the Roman camp returned to him — just as it had done at 
 school when he had tramped the quadrangle on windy even- 
 ings and tried to imagine that the great gates were not locked, 
 that he was still free. All sorts of absurd, long-forgotten 
 episodes in his boyhood returned to his mind — quaint remarks 
 of gnarled ancients ; his first intimate interview with a wasp ; 
 
392 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 his lessons in swimming from one of the village lads, who 
 threw him in as if he were a dog, whereby he swallowed large 
 quantities of a natural salad of mud and duckweed ; his first 
 experience of Italian cortesia. He seemed actually to breathe 
 again the peculiar atmosphere which he had grown to associate 
 with certain hours and seasons — the languid air of late 
 summer, heavy with the odour of burnt-up grass and dusty 
 hawthorns ; or the comfortable warmth of the study early in 
 the winter evening, when he had sat by the fire before the 
 lamps were lit, and watched the rooks that drifted to and fro 
 against the darkening sky. He had spent many days at the 
 Red House in complete solitude, for his father was often out 
 on his rounds until nightfall, but he had been happy ; he had 
 never felt anything like the enervating loneliness that had 
 lately distressed him in London. 
 
 Often, when he had been haunted at school by memories of 
 home, the figure of Dr. Yorke had played its part in various 
 scenes, but it had usually been a blot on the picture, an 
 intruder who had no real connection with the happier details 
 of Denis's life in the country. Latterly, however, Dr. Yorke 
 had appeared in a new aspect ; the harsh violence that he had 
 displayed in frequent scenes with his son seemed to fade from 
 the boy's memory, and he saw his father as he had been in 
 the years before he himself went to school — an anxious, dic- 
 tatorial person, even then, but with a great kindness beneath 
 his anxiety, and a thrill of real affection in his most pompous 
 harangue. For the first time Denis remembered various acts 
 of his father which had seemed in the old days to be quite 
 meaningless, but now appeared at last in their true kindly 
 significance • the queer, stilted phrases of affection that he 
 had been accustomed to use became suddenly pathetic, and 
 even his moral maxims were no longer absurd, but took on a 
 kind of old-fashioned charm. Every one was so clever, 
 nowadays ; there were very few people left who would dare 
 to utter mild and antiquated truisms ! They might prove 
 that the person who spoke them was more addicted to catch- 
 words than to real observation, but even this failing denoted 
 a certain simplicity of soul. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 393 
 
 He found that he had not lost the gift of being able to 
 become oblivious of pain when he was lying ill by resolutely 
 marshalling before his mental eye a long pageant of con- 
 secutive images ; and because he could not bear to think of 
 recent events he reverted as much as possible to the days of 
 his childhood. Parnasse, which had formerly dominated all 
 his retrospective powers, had become a painful memory ; 
 school-life was the epoch when he and his father had become 
 more and more estranged, and the subsequent year was one 
 long and ghastly exposure of his own crude self-confidence 
 and blindness. The single recent event that insisted on 
 intruding amid his thoughts was the sudden apparition of 
 Dr. Yorke near the National Gallery ; and the odd conse- 
 quence of this intrusion was that the father who figured in 
 the scenes of his childhood invariably wore the same ex- 
 pression as the face in the hansom. There was something 
 indescribably pathetic in this fact ; it depressed him intensely, 
 but at least it was better to endure this phantom than to be 
 confronted with the glaring spectre of one’s own complete, 
 fatuous, and irremediable failure. 
 
 There were moments when he felt that if he had not seen 
 Rosalind he would have written to his father. He did not 
 write * he had been a fool, he thought, when he imagined 
 himself to be strong, but at least he would not be a coward 
 now that he was weak ; to give in, to accept the conditions 
 which he had spurned with such a fine disdain, would be the 
 last ignominy. Death would be better ; death seemed now 
 the only solution. 
 
 But death is an empty word on the lips of youth. Denis 
 became stronger each day, thanks to the untiring attention of 
 Topsy. Miss Amory came almost every afternoon to make 
 inquiries, and came alone. The irresponsible Noel returned 
 from his wanderings to find that his friend was able to sit in 
 a chair by the fire and to read large quantities of somewhat 
 depressing literature. Noel displayed no astonishment at 
 finding Denis in Topsy’s rooms, but loaded himself with 
 execration for not having written. 
 
 ‘ You might have starved, you young idiot/ he added to 
 
394 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Denis. ‘ Why on earth didn't you go and levy toll on Grim- 
 shaw ? He 's rich beyond the dreams of Rothschild. Rosa- 
 lind told me how you ran out of funds ; I never saw her look 
 so cut-up before. But it 's all right now ; I 've sold four 
 pictures in Paris, and brought back a thousand chinking 
 clinking francs. Prepare for an existence of Asiatic luxury. 
 I Ve arranged everything ; there 's a room to let on the floor 
 below the studio, and I Ve given Judkins some insight into 
 the darker side of the English language and moved your 
 piano. I told him that you were going to be cremated 
 to-morrow and that he would be tried at the Old Bailey on 
 Saturday week. Archibald is back again ; Wallaby has shot 
 him out, and he has burnt his frock-coat and begun to write a 
 symphony. He 'll come and see you to-morrow. Topsy 's 
 a good old thing. She won't let Amory draw her legs, though ; 
 says she doesn't feel up to the journey to Hampstead. Women 
 are strange fowl, my Denis.' 
 
 But even Noel failed to charm away his apathy, and he felt 
 absolutely no interest in his own future, no desire to return 
 to work. There was nothing in his soul that was worthy of 
 expression ; there never had been anything, he realised now, 
 except the feverish and sickly dreams of a mind that had been 
 its own dupe. He had no ability ; he had bungled even the 
 easy tasks that Wallaby had given him. When Noel brought 
 the suite from his old room he did not take the trouble to turn 
 over the pages. Art, life in the studio, friendship — they were 
 all ruined pinnacles of the cloud-castle that he had built. He 
 had awakened to reality at last. 
 
 On the following day little Sandys came to sit with him, 
 and told him funny stories about his tour in America, a 
 country which had filled his simple soul with wild amazement. 
 
 ‘ They talk about the moral end of music,' he said, * all 
 of them — company-promoters, and society women, and pilule- 
 kings ! It 's extraordinary ! As if music had even had a 
 beginning in their queer country ! Some of them can sing ; 
 they preserve their vocal chords by talking through their 
 noses, you know ; but, generally speaking, they have no sense 
 of music whatsoever, — none, none ! ' 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 395 
 
 ‘ I think I shall go and live there/ said Denis. ‘ I loathe 
 music/ 
 
 Little Sandys smiled sympathetically. 
 
 ‘ I 've felt like that myself/ he said, ' after influenza. 
 It won't last ; the predestinate curse, as some poet calls it, 
 is laid upon you ; you can't evade your fate. And now that 
 you 're out of the clutches of that old bodysnatcher I shall 
 expect great things — very great things.' He laughed softly. 
 ‘ I am even absurd enough to be expecting that I myself shall 
 contrive to do something not utterly bad.' 
 
 ‘ He was a beast to kick you out,' said Denis. * Won't it 
 make a lot of difference ? ' 
 
 Sandys laughed happily. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! if you mean merely that ! ' he said. ‘ Of course, 
 I 've no money. But I have often been in that condition 
 before, and it really doesn't matter. It 's not essential. 
 The art of life seems to consist in knowing exactly what you 
 want, what you are aiming at, and then making everything 
 else become as unimportant as possible. Even food can be 
 reduced almost to the level of a non-essential. I know that 
 by experience ; and the sensations that you search for amongst 
 ordinary pleasures are all included in your art, your ambition, 
 whatever it is.' 
 
 * All except one,' said Denis, ‘ and that 's the only one worth 
 having.' The note of bitterness in his voice startled Sandys. 
 
 ‘ What do you mean ? ' he asked. 
 
 ‘ Love,' said Denis. The monosyllable came from his lips 
 like a single thud from a drum. Little Sandys stared at him. 
 
 • ‘ Oh ! ' he cried, with an odd intonation. He was silent 
 
 for a moment, then with an almost comic air of gravity he 
 said, ‘Yes; that's different.' He sighed deeply. ‘ Very 
 different,' he repeated slowly. He sat in silence for a few 
 moments, then spoke in his most precise tone. 
 
 ‘ I believe, Denis,' he said, ‘ I really believe that you have 
 hit upon a quite remarkable truth.' 
 
 But Denis felt that he was discovering remarkable truths 
 far too rapidly. 
 
 Shortly after Sandys had departed Topsy returned from 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 396 
 
 Noel's studio. She made tea for Denis, and sat in a chair 
 on the other side of the fire watching him drink it. He 
 noticed that she was less talkative than usual, but concluded 
 that she was tired with a long day of posing. Once or twice 
 he looked at her and found that she was watching him intently. 
 
 At length she spoke. * I saw some one you know to-day,' 
 she said ; ‘ a lady.' Then she cried, ‘ You 're still worrying 
 over that girl, — I knew you were ! Why can't you drop her 
 just as she 's dropped you ? It makes me tired to see you, 
 you look as drawn and as grey-faced as an old man of ninety. 
 But it wasn't her I saw ; it was her friend — that Miss Amory.' 
 
 ‘ That 's why she hasn't been here to-day,' said Denis. 
 
 * That 's why,' echoed Topsy. There was a certain grim- 
 ness in her accent. She rested her chin on her fists and stared 
 at the fire. 
 
 ‘ I 'm not certain,' she said, after a while, ‘ if I think very 
 much of your Miss Amory. In fact, I think I 'm certain that 
 I don't.' She contemplated the embers carefully. 
 
 ‘ I thought you liked her,' said Denis, as Topsy seemed to 
 be waiting for him to speak. 
 
 ‘ Well, I don’t,' said Topsy. ‘ I 've thought her over 
 carefully, and I 've come to the conclusion that she 's an 
 interfering old cat. Now I suppose you 're going to give me 
 a lecture on manners, Mr. Yorke.' 
 
 Denis smiled. 
 
 ‘ What has she said to you, Topsy ? ' he asked. ‘ You 're 
 awfully proud and touchy, you know.' 
 
 Topsy turned towards him, and then averted her eyes. 
 
 ‘ I can’t remember what she said,' she answered. ‘ All I 
 know is, she 's an interfering old cat, and she hasn't got a 
 nice mind. I very nearly told her so, but I just pulled up in 
 time. As it was, I said one or two things that made Mr. 
 Tellier go off in a hurry into that room where he washes 
 himself after he 's been painting. He thought the hairpins 
 were going to fly, I expect, but nothing of that sort happened.’ 
 She stared at the fire again, and then said, ‘ I do remember 
 now what she said. She said, sort of laughing as if she 
 mightn't mean it but she did, she thought it wasn't proper for 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 397 
 
 me to be nursing you here now that you 're nearly well. So 
 I upped and told her that she might ask any one in Chelsea 
 about me being respectable, and Mr. Tellier said I was a 
 mirror of virtue, or some silliness like that, and that he 
 couldn't paint if we both talked. I just said one or two things 
 more, and then he chucked down his brushes and went off to 
 wash himself, and Miss Amory slipped away whilst I was 
 changing my dress.' She paused, and looked at Denis with 
 a face that was as red as the fire she had been contemplating. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! aren't people idjuts ! ' she cried. ‘ Just as if you ' 
 
 She became silent abruptly. 
 
 ‘ People are fools,' said Denis. 
 
 * Bom idjuts ! ' reiterated Topsy. She waited for him to 
 speak again, but when he continued to be silent, she rose and 
 moved the ornaments which were on the mantelpiece. 
 
 ‘ I call it disgusting,' she said with sudden vehemence. 
 
 ‘ Oh, rotten,' said Denis. A large brown and white cowrie- 
 shell fell with a crash into the fender and was shivered to 
 atoms. 
 
 ‘ There, now ! ' she cried ; ‘ all day long I 've felt full of 
 jumps, as if I were going to do something of that kind, and it 
 belonged to my brother, the one I told you of, who died of 
 diabetes.' She did not, however, seem seriously troubled by 
 the catastrophe, for a moment later she turned to Denis and 
 said, ‘ All the same I 've thought it over, and I 'm not sure 
 that she didn't suggest right and mean wrong. You can be 
 left at nights now, so I '11 go and sleep at my married sister's. 
 She 's got a spare bedroom, and I want some proper sleep, 
 'cos the couch in the sitting-room 's so hard I wake up black 
 and blue, and then that old cat '11 be satisfied. I '11 come 
 round first thing in the morning and give you your breakfast, 
 and I '11 come and tuck you in at night.' 
 
 ‘ You 've been kindei than any one else in the world could 
 be,' said Denis warmly \ 1 and I hate to think of your having 
 slept on that horrible horsehair thing for weeks. Miss Amory 
 doesn't matter, but all the same you '11 get some rest at your 
 sister's. I sleep all night long now.' 
 
 Topsy screwed up her eyes and regarded him. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 398 
 
 ‘ I won't go unless you want me to/ she said. 
 
 4 You 'd much better go.' 
 
 4 You 're afraid of that old woman, that 's about the size of 
 it.' 
 
 1 So are you.' 
 
 4 Well, what else is there to be afraid of ? ' 
 
 She rose abruptly. 4 I 'd better go to-night if I 'm going 
 at all,' she said. 4 I '11 put some things together now. I 'll 
 come in at eight to-morrow morning, and if you 've been lonely 
 and woken up and felt frightened, mind you tell me. You 
 might shout till doomsday before Mrs. Joyce 'd hear you, 
 and if she did she 'd think you were cats. You promise to 
 tell me ? ' 
 
 4 All right,' said Denis. 4 I promise solemnly.' 
 
 4 And take your medicine at eleven if you 're awake. Oh 
 dear ! you used to look so funny when you were half asleep 
 and I made you take it, — all flushed and warm and drowsy ! 
 I shall miss that.' 
 
 4 I shan't miss the medicine,' said Denis wickedly. 
 
 So Miss Amory had her way. Topsy departed to the house 
 of her sister, and Denis slept all night long with his head on 
 the frilled pillowcase, and awoke in the morning feeling as 
 lonely and purposeless as if he were the last man on a dying 
 earth. But his spirits revived when Topsy appeared at the 
 door, fresh and smiling, with a bunch of flowers that she had 
 bought for him in the street. Topsy was really splendid, he 
 thought ; she was so completely natural, so magnificently 
 obvious ! She seemed to stand, a most cheerful guardian 
 angel, between his wounded soul and the cruel monster of 
 depression that was always lurking near it now, eager to en- 
 wind it with innumerable coils. She was so gay, so com- 
 pletely untroubled by any secret yearning or regret ! If 
 only he could have been born with a temperament as happy 
 and as careless ! 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 399 
 
 XLI 
 
 WEEK later he was well enough to go for an hour’s 
 
 walk every morning. Happiness did not return 
 with his health, but the heavy languor of early convalescence 
 left him gradually, and at length he began to desire work, not 
 as a pleasure but as an anodyne, a preventive of gloomy 
 thought. He felt no inclination to compose — his soul was 
 too empty for that — but he found a certain attraction in 
 planning a long and arduous course of labour at the piano. 
 Mechanical drudgery was the only thing left which would bring 
 him oblivion. 
 
 Topsy, of course, was a splendid anodyne, but as he became 
 stronger her visits were less frequent ; she appeared only 
 in the mornings and evenings, alleging that the various 
 picture exhibitions in the spring would be ruined if she did 
 not give herself up to the claims of her profession. There 
 were moments, too, when her immense fund of good spirits 
 seemed to be suffering from a previous overdraft ; moments 
 when she was almost snappish, and even more wonderful 
 moments when she was silent. This development in her 
 character confirmed Denis’s new theory that it was a mistake 
 to become intimate with any one if you wished to keep clear 
 of disappointment. Topsy had behaved nobly, he knew, and 
 it was his duty to preserve the memory of her kindness 
 untarnished by leaving her abode as soon as he could. He 
 asked the doctor for leave to migrate, but the doctor seemed 
 doubtful. 
 
 4 You look all right,’ he said ; 4 but your temperature ’s 
 above normal every evening. It ’s annoying ; if Miss Brown 
 wasn’t such an excellent nurse I should suspect her of reading 
 the thermometer carelessly. As it is, I don’t think that 
 you ’d better make the move until you get rid of this bad 
 
400 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 habit. I know you ’ll begin to work as soon as you get back 
 to your piano.’ 
 
 Denis was slightly annoyed, and when Topsy took his 
 temperature that evening he begged her to read the ther- 
 mometer with great care. Topsy stared at him, and became 
 injured. 
 
 ‘ I s’pose you think I don’t know how it works,’ she said. 
 ‘ P’raps you ’d like to take your own temperature ? You ’re 
 sick of me interfering, I expect.’ And when Denis pro- 
 tested, she thrust the thermometer into his hand. ‘ I don’t 
 want to look at the nasty thing,’ she said. Denis inspected 
 it solemnly, and found that his temperature was exactly 
 normal. She filled up a space on the chart, and held the 
 paper in front of his eyes. 
 
 ‘ Ninety-eight two,’ she said. f And now I hope you ’re 
 satisfied.’ Denis replied that he was. 
 
 ‘ I ’m sure I don’t know why,’ said Topsy crossly. ‘ As if 
 a little bit of mercury in a tube was worth worrying about ! 
 What does it matter as long as you feel all right ? You ’re 
 getting fussy — a regular old bachelor ! ’ And when Denis 
 explained that he wanted to get permission to go to his new 
 room near Noel’s studio, she behaved as if he were trying to 
 insult her. 
 
 ‘ This ain’t good enough for you, I s’pose ! ’ she grumbled. 
 
 ‘ And may I ask when you are thinking of going ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I ’m afraid I must go to-morrow if he ’ll let me,’ Denis 
 answered mildly. ‘ I ’m quite well, and I must get back to 
 work.’ 
 
 Topsy rattled teacups in the cupboard, and re-emerged with 
 a red face. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! you can’t go to-morrow , Mr. Yorke,’ she said in an 
 altered voice. ‘ You ain’t fit ; and even if you are, you might 
 stay a bit longer.’ 
 
 ‘ Why ? ’ asked Denis, somewhat astonished. 
 
 ‘ Just to oblige me,’ said Topsy. ‘ It ’s fun, you being 
 here. It gives me something to do. It keeps old Mrs. 
 Joyce on the trot, and that ’s good for her deafness. You 
 ain’t to think of going to-morrow.’ 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 401 
 
 * I ’m afraid I must/ said Denis. She reverted instantly 
 to her former manner. 
 
 4 Oh, very well, as you like/ she said. ‘ Here ’s your 
 chart. There *s no gratitude in this world, I can see/ She 
 prepared his tea in sullen silence, and did not answer when he 
 wished her good-night at her departure. Though he knew 
 that her fits of temper were brief as showers in April, he felt 
 annoyed that he should have provoked one of them on the 
 last evening of his sojourn in her room. She had really been 
 inordinately kind, and her irritation at his departure was 
 apparently genuine. But it was time for him to go, to plunge 
 again into the noisy waters of the world, for she was spending 
 money on his behalf which he was bound to repay as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 It had been her usual custom to stay with him in the evening 
 until about eight o’clock, but on this occasion she left him 
 soon after six, and he found the innovation unwelcome. Her 
 presence was more inspiriting now than that of Noel, for Denis 
 felt that there was a flaw in the fulness of his intimacy with 
 the latter comrade. If Noel knew how he had behaved 
 when Rosalind visited him he would regard him as a young and 
 impertinent idiot ; and he himself considered that Noel had 
 no right to acquiesce so calmly in the Grimshaw affair. One 
 by one his friends were giving the lie to his old conception of 
 them ; first Rosalind, and then Noel and Miss Amory. He 
 felt that it would be impossible to meet them again on the old 
 frank footing ; there would always be a rift between them, a 
 chilling shadow that divided the sunshine of their intimacy. 
 Even his friendships were failures ; little Sandys and Topsy 
 were the only persons who had no arriere pens'ee , who would 
 meet him with absolute candour. How rapidly the immense 
 horizon of his life seemed to contract to a narrow ring ! 
 
 Virtue , how frail it is/ 
 
 Friendship , how rare ! 
 
 Sandys and Topsy, he supposed, would follow the others very 
 soon. Then he would be alone. 
 
 It was strange, he thought, that the chance concourse of 
 2 c 
 
402 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 actual events should make loneliness threaten him so dismally 
 at the very moment when he had begun to realise that it was 
 a hateful and enervating condition. ‘ One against the world 
 will always win ’ — what a fool he had been to believe that ! 
 Even if the combatant was victorious, according to his own 
 limited conception of victory, he paid a dreadful price for the 
 triumph. He began to think of all the lonely persons whom 
 he had known ; of boys at school who were pariahs, of 
 Gabriel Searle, who had an armour-plated manner, and lastly, 
 of his father. He realised at length the meaning of the 
 weariness in the face which he had seen for a moment outside 
 the National Gallery ) his father was bowed beneath the 
 same crushing, ever-growing burden ; he was a lonely old man. 
 
 Surely, he thought, all the ugly conclusions of life came 
 from this dreadful premise of spiritual isolation. It was only 
 partially connected with actual solitude ; formerly, he had 
 spent weeks alone without feeling its baneful influence ; 
 but in future, he knew, he would be one of its fellowship even 
 though he was living with Noel amid the old circumstances, 
 and seeing a great number of pleasant persons every day. 
 What was the antidote to this appalling isolation ? Was it 
 to be found in the love of the body, added to the love of the 
 soul ? Was it to be found in the tie of blood ? He thought 
 again of his father. Long ago love had existed between them 
 — he was strangely certain of that * but they had drifted apart, 
 separated by misunderstanding, lack of mutual tolerance. 
 But misunderstanding was the result of mental sloth • they 
 had made no effort to save this priceless tie that bound them 
 together. And now they stood eternally apart, equal failures, 
 equally lonely. 
 
 He remembered again the strange impulse that had seized 
 him. It seemed to prove that there was some mysterious bond 
 between father and son that no amount of dissension could 
 avail to break. But it was useless to think of such problems 
 now ? every circumstance of their lives had thrust them 
 further apart, and though even yet there might be some 
 obscure physical affinity between them, it was too late to 
 dream that the old sympathy would return. Yet was the 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 403 
 
 affinity merely physical ? Lenwood’s ridiculous lines re- 
 turned to his memory : 
 
 Mind doesn't mind about 7natter j 
 Matter doesn't matter to mind. 
 
 When he ran down the steps, was he not impelled by some 
 deep craving of his soul ? Would his father, if their eyes had 
 met, have realised the nature of the instinct that urged him ? 
 Would that expression of utter weariness have vanished ? 
 
 Such were the questions that preoccupied him for more 
 than two hours as he sat in the firelight. It was significant, 
 perhaps, that the thought of Rosalind no longer reigned 
 supreme in his soul, though it never occurred to him that 
 her prophecy was on the road to fulfilment. 
 
 At eight o’clock the deaf landlady brought him a slender 
 meal. He managed, after some difficulty, to inform her of his 
 intended departure. The news seemed to surprise the old 
 woman. 
 
 4 Well, I never did ! 9 she exclaimed fatuously, and added, 
 4 She never told me nothing.’ She withdrew, wagging her 
 head like some wise and ancient fowl. Denis wondered if 
 deaf people were horribly lonely, but hadn’t the courage to 
 consult her on the point. He ate his bread and milk, and went 
 to bed. His brain was weary with his long course of profitless 
 thought, and he fell asleep almost immediately. 
 
 Two hours later he awoke and sat up in bed, with a firm 
 conviction that some one had entered the room and touched 
 his face. The door which led to the sitting-room was half 
 open, and a light, so dim that it might have been thrown by 
 the dying fire, was reflected on the panels. At first he thought 
 that the landlady had come to prowl about the room, though 
 he knew that this was an improbable conjecture. 
 
 4 Who ’s there ? ’ he called. 
 
 The light disappeared instantly. He waited for a moment , 
 listening intently \ then he slipped out of bed and went to 
 the door. There was the sound of a stifled exclamation, and 
 then a match was struck. Topsy, in her hat and cloak, was 
 standing by the table. 
 
404 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 * Oh ! I didn’t mean to wake you up ! 9 she said, almost in 
 a whisper. ‘ You generally sleep so sound. I forgot some- 
 thing and came back to fetch it. Get into bed, Mr. Yorke ! 
 You ’ll catch your death. I ’m just going.’ 
 
 ‘ All right,’ said Denis, feeling sleepy. ‘ Good-night, 
 Topsy.’ He groped his way across the room and crept into 
 bed. He lay for some time listening for the sound of Topsy’s 
 departure, but though there was absolute silence in the sitting- 
 room, she was apparently lingering there. When she went, 
 he knew, he would hear the creaking of the stairs, which were 
 divided from the head of his bed by a thin partition. He 
 became very drowsy, and was on the edge of sleep when he 
 heard a sound in the room. He opened his eyes and saw 
 Topsy standing by the door with a lighted candle in her hand. 
 
 ‘ Are you asleep ? ’ she asked. The candle-light made her 
 smile seem like a grimace and threw deep shadows round her 
 eyes. 
 
 ‘ Almost,’ said Denis, feeling annoyed at this unseasonable 
 visit ; * what ’s the matter ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Nothing,’ said Topsy. ‘ I only thought I ’d come and say 
 good-night.’ 
 
 ' Good-night,’ Denis returned. But Topsy did not move. 
 
 ‘ Are you really going to-morrow ? ’ she demanded. 
 
 Denis lifted his head from the pillow and stared at her 
 reproachfully. 'Yes,’ he answered. 
 
 ‘ H’m,’ said Topsy. She was silent for a while, then spoke 
 rapidly. ‘ I ’ve come really to tell you something,’ she 
 said, ‘ something that ’ll make you hate me, I expect. You 
 know that horrid old chart — the thing I put your temperature 
 on for the doctor to see ? ’ 
 
 Denis stared at her, nodding assent. She put down the 
 candle on the chest-of-drawers. 
 
 ‘ Well,’ she continued, 4 1 ’ve done it all wrong.’ She 
 gave a queer laugh. ‘ I ’ve done it all wrong — every night.’ 
 
 ‘ How do you mean ? ’ asked Denis, yawning. 
 
 She stared at him. ' Don’t you see what I mean ? ’ she 
 cried. ' I did it on purpose ; I made it seem as if you ’d 
 gone up every evening when you were really normal, — not 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 405 
 
 enough to really matter, but just enough to show you weren't 
 quite well. That 's what I did ; so there.' 
 
 She was still staring at him with a strange expression, — 
 an expression — where had he seen it before ? His drowsiness 
 left him suddenly. 
 
 4 What on earth did you do that for ? ' he asked, rather 
 curtly. 4 You knew that I wanted him to let me go back to 
 work.' 
 
 Topsy flung out her arms with a queer vehemence. 4 I 
 did, of course I did ! ' she said. 4 That 's why ! I don't want 
 you to go back to work. You ain't fit, even if you are normal. 
 They 're regular little liars, those thermometers. I know, 
 because I 've tried ; I took my own temperature the other 
 day, and then I drank a lot of hot water and took it again, and 
 the mercury didn't go up a scrap. That shows you what 
 they 're worth ! ' She stared at him for a moment, and then 
 cried, 4 You don't believe me ! You think it isn't true ! 
 Well, it isn't ; that wasn't the reason a bit ! I want you to 
 stay because I can't bear to think of you going, because even 
 when I 'm posing I think of nothing but you, because I love 
 and love you ! I 'm mad, I s'pose ; you can kill and beat 
 me ; I shan’t care ! ' She concluded this astounding outburst 
 by sinking on her knees at the bedside. Her arms stole round 
 Denis and clasped him tightly, she kissed his mouth, his fore- 
 head, and his neck. 4 Ooh ! ' she gasped hysterically. 4 I 
 never thought that I could be like this ! ' She began to sob. 
 
 4 If any one had told me, I 'd never have believed them ! ' she 
 cried. 
 
 Her lips were pressed against his own, he could feel her body 
 straining and panting against his heart ; and then it seemed 
 to him that he had found a solution of all the vague trouble 
 which had depressed him for so long. His brain became 
 extraordinarily clear and his heart began to beat heavily, 
 furiously, as if it would shatter itself to fragments. His lips 
 were palsy-stricken, and all his body trembled. The light 
 of the candle shone through her hair, so that he seemed to 
 be surrounded with a fiery aureole. 
 
 She was gasping out strange disconnected fragments of 
 
406 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 speech. ‘ I 'm not bad, though you might think it ! Never 
 before ! My dearest, my dearest ! Ever since that day — 
 in the studio — I wanted you ! And the last few days — as if 
 I 'd drank poison — I felt all over fire ! I 'm mad, I think • 
 I went away from the door three times, I did indeed ! If you 
 hadn't woken up ! ' She drew her face away from his and 
 looked at him, stroking his hair. ‘ Oh, you hate me, you hate 
 me because I 'm not her ! * she cried. ‘ You can think I 'm 
 her if you like ! ' she said, with a sob ; ‘ you can kill me if you 
 hate me. I don't want to live after this. I 'm bad, now, but 
 I don't care.' 
 
 The memory of his first sight of her in Noel's studio rose 
 vividly before him. Swift fire burnt through him, and he 
 pressed her convulsively to his breast. She cried out some- 
 thing about his heart, and released herself suddenly from 
 his arms. 
 
 * I must go, I must go,' she said in a muffled voice. She 
 turned and kissed him swiftly. 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes, I must go ! ' she repeated, almost eagerly, and 
 blew out the candle. The darkness seemed to rush upon him 
 and stifle him. He could hear her breathing heavily, painfully. 
 The sound of the closing door was followed by the creaking of 
 the stairs as she descended them. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 407 
 
 XLII 
 
 H E rose early after a sleepless night, and packed his 
 books and clothes in the bag which Noel had brought 
 him. Topsy did not appear at her accustopied hour, and he 
 felt devoutly thankful for her absence. His nerves were 
 intensely agitated f his hands trembled so violently that he 
 could scarcely pack « and in spite of all his efforts to concen- 
 trate his thoughts on commonplace affairs, his mind insisted 
 on reconstructing every detail in the scene of the previous 
 evening. 
 
 He saw himself, by the light of that strange event, in a 
 new and dreadful aspect. When the girl had caught him in 
 her arms and kissed him it was not love, he knew, that made 
 his senses reel, but lust — the yearning to possess her body 
 fiercely, cruelly, for an hour — and a longing to defy the 
 conventions of the world by an act which he had been taught 
 to regard as sinful. When she had left him so abruptly he 
 had been racked with the most acute torments of desire ; 
 he would have given his life and soul to be able to recall her. 
 But now, in the disillusionising light of morning, the madness 
 which had transformed him seemed shameful and disgusting 
 — a nightmare of unclean detail ; he had a brooding conscious- 
 ness of bodily and spiritual defilement, and felt that his shame 
 must be obvious to all honest eyes. At school, he remem- 
 bered, he had shown a nice contempt for boys who were 
 lewd ; what a prig he had been to imagine that he was 
 superior to them in decency, when the first temptation in his 
 life had resulted in a sinister collapse ! He had regarded 
 himself as virtuous because the women of the street inspired 
 him with horror ; on one occasion he had rebuked Noel for 
 saying that some of them were more humane, more generous 
 to their unhappy sisters, more honest in their own strange 
 way, than many pompous prelates, ambitious curates, and 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 408 
 
 devout and honourable women with slanderous tongues. He 
 had regarded them with harsh contempt as representing the 
 last vulgarity of vice, yet probably many of them had sunk 
 to their present condition through loving unwisely, through 
 the brutality of some drunkard, through the crime of parents 
 who prostituted them when they were children, whereas he 
 himself had sunk merely through a desire to gratify a base 
 physical appetite. He did not care for Topsy ; he liked 
 her well enough as a friend, and of course she had been 
 kind ; but now he hoped that he would never see her again. 
 How could he meet her, knowing that the thought of that 
 evening would be in her mind, making her eyes ashamed — or 
 worse ? How could he meet any one ? It seemed to him 
 that his old personality must have changed to one which 
 would amaze his friends ; yet he shrank from solitude, for 
 solitude meant evil memories, and as soon as he had packed 
 his bag he walked to the studio, feeling like a dark and 
 sinister shadow when he emerged into the sunshine. Noel was 
 out, so he went at once to his new room. 
 
 At any other time he would have realised that it was a 
 delightful room, large and bare and airy, with a big window 
 and light brown walls. A fire was laid in the grate ; he lit it, 
 and then went to the piano and played a few scales. He had 
 expected that the weeks of illness would have left his fingers 
 stiff, but they did not seem to have made any perceptible 
 difference to his technique. His spirits revived a little as 
 he touched the keys, and after he had played some exercises 
 he began to attempt a Weber sonata. He deliberately 
 avoided his beloved Beethoven ; what had his own sullied 
 and miserable temperament in common with the mighty soul 
 of supreme art ? A great creator, he thought, could possibly 
 by sheer force of genius rise superior to the vices of his life, 
 but an interpreter ought to be pure, and serene, — a clean- 
 souled enthusiast, not a wretched creature of moods who was 
 liable to become a wild beast at any moment. He felt almost 
 certain that his talent for playing great music had been 
 ruined for ever by the event of the previous evening. 
 
 Much to his surprise, however, he found that he was 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 409 
 
 playing the Weber extremely well, and when it was ended he 
 passed almost involuntarily to the Appassionata. His en- 
 forced idleness had really been beneficial ; the meaning of 
 the whole sonata became apparent to him as it had never been 
 before ; he was arrested by no technical difficulty, and 
 found a keen intellectual pleasure in controlling and develop- 
 ing the intricate sequence of noble sound. He was amazed 
 and delighted by his own powers ; during his illness, it seemed, 
 he had forgotten that he could play well, forgotten too that 
 great music was worth everything else in the world. When 
 he had finished the Appassionata he attacked the Allegro of 
 the Waldstein, and then played the Andante with variations 
 from the Funeral March sonata. He was just beginning the 
 Scherzo of the same work when he felt that there was some 
 one in the room, and turned to behold little Sandys, who was 
 listening on the threshold. 
 
 Sandys nodded and smiled and clapped his hands. 
 
 ‘ Better, better ! ' he cried. ‘ You 're waking up, you 're 
 growing virile ! Illness — physical and mental pain — it 's 
 all advantageous for the artist \ every sensation is potted 
 for future use. Your tendency was to be too tranquil, too 
 equable. You must cultivate your morbid imagination, you 
 must sweat out any kind of torpor by violent exercise. You 're 
 going on well.' Sandys smiled and blinked whilst he uttered 
 these remarkable and incongruous fragments of advice, and 
 rolled a cigarette in his long, bony fingers. Denis surveyed 
 him gloomily. His spirits drooped as soon as he ceased to 
 play. 
 
 4 After all, I think I 'm sick of music,' he said. 
 
 Sandys laughed. 
 
 4 Be as sick of it as you like, my child,' he retorted, ‘ as 
 long as you continue to play like that. Being sick of it is 
 all a part of the morbid imagination. It all helps. Paderew- 
 ski never plays so well as when he looks as if he wanted to 
 leap like a panther at the entire audience and crunch all its 
 bones. Be savage, be grumpy, be remorseful, but don't be 
 sleek and contented like me. I 'm going to lunch with you. 
 Noel said he would be back at one.' He inspected the pile of 
 
4io 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 music on Denis's table. 4 Have you got the Beethoven 
 sonatas for fiddle-and-piano ? ' he demanded. 
 
 4 No/ Denis answered. 4 But I 'll write you one like them, 
 only better, before we have lunch. Do you want them ? 
 Miss Duroy has got them, I think.' 
 
 4 Hullo ! ' said Sandys. 4 I never heard you call her that 
 before. I don’t want them, I 've got them, and I 'm going 
 to send them to you. I want you to coil yourself round the 
 Kreutzer like a boa-constrictor, and to swallow it wholesale. 
 Don't look so modest \ I 've talked to Landberger, and he 
 says that of course you 'll play it vilely, but not so vilely as 
 most people. I 'll bring my fiddle in a day or two, and we 'll 
 hammer away at it till Noel leaves for Australia in despair. 
 Didn't you know I could play the fiddle ? I was in the orches- 
 tra at a music-hall once, and fell madly in love with Vesta 
 Tilley, and she never knew. That 's settled, isn't it ? I 'll 
 bring round the music to-morrow.' 
 
 4 Of course it 's a splendid idea,' said Denis, 4 but I shall 
 take weeks to learn the Kreutzer, and much as I should love 
 to play it with you whenever you feel inclined, I can’t give 
 up all my work. Besides, I feel certain that you play the 
 violin very badly. Don't you think we had better wait until 
 we 're millionaires ? ' 
 
 4 O sordid soul ! ' declaimed Sandys. 4 O sordid soul 
 wrapped in a player's hide ! I may inform you in confidence 
 that I have other ends in view • I am not asking you to do it 
 for my sake. But anyhow, the Kreutzer is a work that you 
 must get to know, and some of the other sonatas, too. As 
 to my intentions, they are a dark and wonderful secret. But 
 I rather think it will be worth your while.' 
 
 4 Oh ! nothing 's worth while,' said Denis. But in reality 
 he was pleased with the little man's suggestion. The old 
 glamour of the artist-life was beginning to reassert itself in 
 his soul ; at least there would be refuge from sickly thoughts 
 in hard, healthy work. Very soon he found himself actually 
 embarked on an argument with Sandys, who had begun to 
 glance through the score of the suite. How quickly one’s 
 point of view could change ! He had shrunk from re-entering 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 411 
 
 life, but now that he was back in the strenuous world, able to 
 work, he no longer felt lonely, and already the distressing 
 affair of the previous evening seemed less vivid, less terrible. 
 The thought of it, however, recurred at intervals like a twinge 
 of pain. 
 
 Sandys fulfilled his promise ; he brought his violin and his 
 music to Denis's room, and during several weeks they devoted 
 a couple of hours each day to hard labour at the sonatas. 
 Sandys was quite a respectable performer, though his playing 
 was more remarkable for accuracy than for passion. He was 
 very much in earnest, and hurled shrill invective at Denis 
 when anything failed to satisfy him. Denis bore it meekly, 
 and became intensely enthralled by the work ; his strength 
 had returned, and he was gradually becoming less harassed 
 by the memory of the irremediable past. Meanwhile Noel, 
 in the studio near them, was pouring maledictions on the soul 
 of Topsy, who had vanished utterly, leaving him to finish his 
 picture as best he might without the valuable assistance 
 of her body. Inquiry at her lodging elicited the cheerless 
 information that she had gone into the country to stay with 
 relatives, leaving no address. Noel was furious at her 
 treachery, and scared her inefficient substitute into tears by 
 devoting, solemnly, and with excessively euphuistic phrases, 
 the whole race of models to eternal and poignant perdition ; 
 but Denis was heartily thankful for her departure. He 
 discovered that Noel had insisted on paying all the expenses 
 which she had incurred during his own illness. 
 
 It was imperative that he should make some money, and he 
 held a solemn financial consultation with Sandys. Although 
 the little man was extremely poor, he never seemed to have any 
 difficulty in finding work for others, and very soon he con- 
 ^trived to obtain several engagements for Denis as an ac- 
 companist. Denis accepted them eagerly, for he hated to 
 be living at Noel's expense ; then it occurred to him that 
 Sandys was actually giving away his scanty means of liveli- 
 hood, and protested against this noble self-sacrifice, with the 
 result that Sandys became almost angry, and stuttered. 
 
412 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ' D-don't be a b-blasted young fool ! ' he said. ‘ Do the 
 work you get, and don't worry about other people. S-struggle- 
 for-lifers can't be altruistic.' 
 
 ‘ But that 's just what you are ! ' cried Denis. ‘ You ought 
 to be playing these accompaniments yourself. I can't accept 
 them ; I should feel as if I had stolen your boots. You 're 
 too magnanimous for this sordid age.' 
 
 Sandys smiled again. 
 
 * He that steals my boots steals trash,' he said, waving 
 an ancient brown-leather shoe in the manner of a danseuse. 
 ‘ Don't be an ass, Denis ; I hate accompanying ; it gives me 
 spasms. It 's vulgar. And you do it much better than I do. 
 The silly public shall have the best, though I go barefoot. 
 Don't you try to put them off with second-rate Sandys when 
 they can have first-rate Denis, in a comparatively recent 
 dress-suit. I burst the seams of mine when I played Liszt 
 after drinking a Manhattan cocktail in Buffalo, Pa. And 
 I 'm writing a fugue that is lovely beyond the dreams of the 
 late Johann Sebastian. It melteth my vitals. Let me alone, 
 won't you ? ' He refused obstinately to play the accompani- 
 ments. ‘ If you don't do them, some other pifHLer will,' he 
 explained politely. ‘ I shan’t.' 
 
 Denis did not go to Hampstead, and when Rosalind and 
 Miss Amory came to see Noel's picture he retired to the fast- 
 nesses of the South Kensington Museum, where he meditated 
 over ancient instruments of music and endured many pangs of 
 self-contempt. He could never see her again, he felt, after 
 all that had happened ; he was sullied and detestable, and 
 would not dare to meet her eyes. No wonder she had not 
 cared for him ! Yet she cared for Grimshaw, who was in 
 all probability almost as unworthy as himself. A woman's 
 mind was as dark and labyrinthine as the bewildering interior 
 of the Museum. 
 
 Noel rebuked him for shunning the visitors, and Denis lied 
 feebly. 
 
 * I daren't face Miss Amory,' he explained. ‘ I was awfully 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 413 
 
 nasty to her when she came to see me. I was in a very bad 
 temper, and she talked rot.' 
 
 Noel looked at him. 
 
 ‘ Did she talk about Topsy and respectability ? ’ he asked. 
 
 * Yes/ said Denis, and blushed to intense crimson, so that 
 Noel laughed. 
 
 4 Topsy told me/ he said. * Silly woman, putting things 
 into people’s heads which wouldn’t ever have entered them ! 
 That kind of lunacy always makes me want to be wicked. 
 But never mind old Amory ; she has forgotten what you 
 said, I expect, or thought you had tremendous deliriums, or 
 something. Rosalind wants to see you ; she was awfully sick 
 because you weren’t here to-day.’ 
 
 So Rosalind also was an impostor. He tried to forget her 
 by working more fiercely than ever, and persisted in his 
 refusal to go to Hampstead. It is probable that Noel realised 
 that there was a more serious reason for his obstinacy than 
 the one alleged, but he asked no further questions. Sandys 
 went to Hampstead and returned, as usual, shyly ecstatic with 
 praise of Rosalind. He appeared to have no suspicion of the 
 Grimshaw affair. ' If we could put her into music, Denis ! ’ 
 he would cry. ‘ She ’s a symphony, a rhapsody ; anything 
 you like ! You must write it.’ Denis was only inclined to 
 compose a dirge. Much as he loved Sandys, there were 
 moments when he felt as if he could cheerfully delete him. 
 
 His royalties, which had been so carefully retained by 
 Mr. Wallaby, arrived in December, and he was able to repay 
 Noel, who protested wildly but in vain, and to live in a state 
 of comparative affluence. They celebrated the occasion by 
 giving a musical evening in the studio on Christmas Day ; 
 Sandys, of course, was a guest, and brought the great Dam- 
 boise, who was immensely cheerful, and made heavenly music 
 on his violin. No women were present ; Rosalind and Miss 
 Amory had gone to the country home of the latter, and Denis 
 uttered thanks to the gods for this deliverance. Grimshaw 
 came very late ; he was wizened, — looked like a sick serpent, 
 Denis thought. The mystical Wilson and several painters 
 
414 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 from adjacent studios completed the assembly. No one wore 
 dress-clothes and every one talked loudly, and the air was soon 
 thick with the smoke of many pipes and with the strange 
 vapours which ascended from a huge bowl of punch that Noel 
 had brewed. Damboise played; Denis played; Noel sang, and 
 also, I regret to say, recited Tennyson's Oriana , substituting 
 a very vulgar phrase for the reiterated name of its heroine, 
 and thereby convulsing the company ; little Sandys played, 
 and Wilson could not be restrained from declaiming a mystical 
 poem about Fand and the Magi. Grimshaw, even, contributed 
 to the entertainment by sketching an immense portrait of 
 Damboise, a masterly piece of work. The great musician 
 talked to Denis in the course of the evening, but not about 
 music ; he narrated innumerable absurd stories connected 
 with his tour in America ; how the custom-house authorities 
 had received his pet wolf, and how, when an army of women 
 had stormed the platform after one of his recitals with the 
 usual intention, he had brandished his violin and threatened 
 to break it on the head of the first who approached him } 
 
 * and you know, my dears, it is a Stradivarius that belonged 
 to Ludwig of Bavaria.' Even this threat, Damboise affirmed, 
 had not checked them, and when he reached the emergency 
 exit his coat had been torn from his back, and his forehead 
 was bleeding from the impact of a diamond tiara. ‘ My own 
 wife,' he said, ‘ was the only woman who behaved properly 
 in all that immense place. She left the room before the first 
 half of the recital was finished.' 
 
 Denis found that he was as amusing as he had seemed to 
 be on the night when he had watched him in the restaurant. 
 He was quite unaffected and boyish, and evidently enjoyed 
 life enormously. His esteem for Sandys did not prevent him 
 from shouting with laughter when he discovered that the little 
 man had been working at the violin part of the Kreutzer. 
 
 * On the piano he is a marvel — a lion ! ' he cried to Denis, his 
 great chest heaving like an ocean ; ‘ but on the violin he 
 makes noises like a mouse — tweek-tweek ! ' Sandys pre- 
 tended to be highly indignant, and danced up and down in 
 front of the giant, shaking his fists. ‘ You jolly well wait till 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 4i5 
 
 you hear it ! ' he said. * It fairly cuts you out. Oh ! this 
 professional jealousy ! ' Damboise patted his head. 4 Let 
 us hear it/ he said, 4 let us hear the mouse squeak. Begin it 
 before that fellow can read any more of his religious poetry/ 
 
 Sandys became serious very suddenly. 4 Ah ! if you would 
 play it 1 ' he said. But Damboise refused firmly ; he had 
 played enough ; he was tired ; his brain was on fire with 
 Noel's deadly potion. Sandys glanced at Denis. 4 How do 
 you feel ? ' he asked. 4 Shall we have a shot at it, just to 
 astonish them ? They won't listen unless they want to.' 
 
 He was evidently yearning to play the Kreutzer, so Denis 
 consented. Sandys explained to the company that they were 
 only going to try it over, and that no one was expected to 
 refrain from talking. Damboise mewed like a cat when the 
 violin was produced, but a moment later Denis saw him 
 making signals to Noel for a general silence. 
 
 Little Sandys was on his mettle, and played with more 
 vigour and less accuracy than usual. At the conclusion of 
 the sonata every one applauded except Damboise, who 
 possessed himself forcibly of the violin and tapped Denis 
 on the shoulder with the bow. 
 
 4 Those first few bars of the Allegretto again/ he said, 
 4 That was where the mouse began to squeak.' But when 
 once he had begun to play it was impossible for him to break 
 off, and they performed the whole of the Allegretto, much to 
 the disgust of Wilson, who was burning to recite another 
 poem. Oh ! but it was different from playing with Sandys ! 
 The violinist was in magnificent form, and Denis set his teeth, 
 firmly resolved to be worthy of that great honour. His nerves 
 were steady, and the consummate art of Damboise seemed 
 to endow him with novel and unknown power * every detail 
 in the music developed in his brain sharply, inevitably, so that 
 he felt it would be quite impossible to play a wrong note or to 
 throw inappropriate stress on any phrase. And what a keen 
 joy it gave one, this collaboration with a great artist ! When 
 the music ceased he knew that one of the finest occasions of his 
 life ended with it. 
 
 Sandys and the others applauded rapturously , and Damboise 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 416 
 
 patted him on the back. ‘ We go very well together/ he said. 
 4 It is curious ; you seem to feel, — to feel. And you are very 
 young ? ’ 
 
 4 Oh no/ Denis answered. ‘ I ’m twenty, — over twenty/ 
 
 Damboise screwed up his eyelids and stared at him. 
 
 ‘Yes/ he murmured. ‘ It is strange to find a boy who 
 is — like that, — and an English boy, above all. Do you not 
 play cricket very much ? ' 
 
 Little Sandys approached them with his face wreathed in 
 smiles. 
 
 ‘ I told you so, didn’t I ? ’ he said to Damboise. 
 
 Yet the absurd Denis went to bed that night in a state 
 of intense depression, thinking how splendid life would have 
 been if only he had contrived to keep his illusions, — if only he 
 had never gone to St. Paul’s, if only Topsy had jiot revealed 
 to him the particular kind of beast that he happened to be. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 417 
 
 XLIII 
 
 WO letters came to him with the New Year: one from 
 
 Sandys, commanding him to accompany a contralto 
 who was singing in the intervals of a recital by Damboise, 
 and the other from Gabriel Searle. Dr. Yorke, Gabriel an- 
 nounced, was ill, and had asked him to send Denis a cheque 
 for twenty-five pounds, the first quarterly payment of the 
 income which was due to him when he came of age. The 
 illness, Gabriel admitted, was not actually serious — a nervous 
 breakdown, presumably from overwork — but the patient's 
 behaviour was not reassuring. ‘ He has something on his 
 mind,' wrote Gabriel ; ‘ of course he will not confess the secret 
 which is troubling him, but I am certain that he imagines 
 that he has treated you badly.' * Imagines ' was good, 
 thought Denis. ‘ I do hope, my dear boy,' the letter con- 
 tinued, ‘ that you will try to seize this opportunity of a final 
 reconciliation. Although he has never spoken of you, 
 except when he asked me to send you this money, I know 
 that he thinks of you continually, and only yesterday I saw 
 your photograph — taken when you wore a sailor-suit — by 
 his bedside. Do come ! Now you are successful and happy 
 you can afford to be magnanimous. I have seen your name 
 frequently in the papers.' 
 
 For a moment Denis felt an amazing impulse to follow 
 Gabriel's advice. He imagined the scene of his return ; how 
 he would enter the room and surprise his father, and how 
 his father's face would suddenly lose all its weariness, and 
 would shine as it had shone in days long past when he saw 
 his son standing in the porch of the Red House to greet 
 him on his return from a long tiring round. But colder 
 thoughts succeeded this vision. The meeting, if Gabriel was 
 truthful, would not be difficult, but what of the following 
 days ? How could he endure to leave his busy life in London 
 
418 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 for the appalling monotony of existence at the Red House ? 
 His father, as soon as he was well, would resume all his ancient, 
 irritating habits ; he would be sententious, he would read 
 the paper during meals, he would speak stupidly of music, 
 and he would clear his throat in the old annoying way. 
 Worse than all this would be the fact that he would think 
 Denis had returned out of gratitude for receiving the money 
 that had been sent to him ; he would conclude that his son 
 could be bought. Denis shuddered as he thought of this last 
 probability. Oh ! it was impossible to go home now, — unless 
 he refused to accept the money. But he needed money ; he 
 could have starved, he believed, if his pride made it necessary, 
 but there would be no question of starving ; if his funds 
 ran out, he would merely become unromantically dependent 
 on Noel. The money was his by right ; to send it back would 
 be pointless. He would keep it, and he would not go. Even 
 if he wished to go, his future engagements rendered absence 
 from London practically impossible. 
 
 He wrote a letter to Gabriel explaining his position. He 
 was willing to come and see his father, he said, as soon as 
 he had leisure ; it was unreasonable to expect him to rush 
 away on the instant. Gabriel liked the letter even less than 
 its predecessors ; angry refusal seemed to him more hopeful 
 than its cold logic ; there was nothing boyish in its tone * 
 it was clearly phrased, temperate, and full of reason. As 
 long as Denis refused to come home because he was angry and 
 injured Gabriel knew that hope remained, but when he began 
 to allege the pressure of affairs as an excuse the situation was 
 alarming. He wrote again, and received no answer. But 
 though Denis was convinced that he was acting with all 
 prudence in postponing his return indefinitely, there was 
 something quite different from reason in his heart which 
 continually reminded him of home and seemed to reiterate 
 certain phrases in Gabriel's letter. 
 
 He continued to work very hard. Nothing happened to 
 distract him ; Rosalind did not appear in Chelsea, and Topsy 
 was still in the country. There was constant reminder of 
 Topsy in the studies on Noel's wall and in the large picture 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 419 
 
 which reproduced her with irritating faithfulness ; and the 
 memory of the last night in her rooms haunted him still, 
 but with a difference • he thought of it less with horror than 
 with dawning curiosity. Was he, after all, such a monster of 
 wickedness as he had imagined on the next day ? He had 
 regarded himself sullied for ever, but, after all, the astounding 
 event had made no difference in his life, had caused no 
 diminution in his musical talent. Was all that part of one's 
 nature distinct from one's ordinary existence, entirely separate 
 from one's art, and even from one's character ? And why, 
 when this passion was so intense, so natural, did the virtuous 
 persons of earth persist in hunting its victims with all the 
 sleuth-hounds of anger, yet showed no sort of organised 
 hatred against the mean, the liars, the bullies, the neatly 
 fraudulent ? Was it merely the blind revenge of a social 
 instinct which imagined itself to be outraged ? 
 
 On the night of Damboise's recital he arrived at the hall 
 very early, and was looking through the accompaniments 
 which he had to play when the great man came in, followed 
 by a tall slender person with a short black beard. Denis 
 recognised the latter as a French pianist of considerable 
 fame who often played with the master. A few minutes later 
 the singer, a contralto of massive proportions, arrived in 
 the artists' room, and Damboise and the pianist, whose name 
 was Ducrocq, went on to the platform. The first items in 
 which they were associated were really solos for Damboise, 
 but after the last group of songs they were to conclude the 
 programme with a Beethoven sonata for violin and piano, — 
 not, however, the Kreutzer. 
 
 Denis conversed with the singer, whom he found to be a 
 pleasant, unaffected creature, overwhelmed at that moment 
 with comic despair because she was intensely nervous. But 
 she sang a group of Schumann's songs very well, and after- 
 wards, in an ecstasy of relief, she poured compliments on the 
 head of her accompanist. When, after the second and last 
 group of songs, she re-entered the artists' room with a bouquet 
 in each hand, Damboise and the Frenchman overwhelmed her 
 
420 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 with congratulations. * And all the time/ said Damboise, who 
 was a very old friend, ‘ were you unaware, dear madame, of 
 the excessively large black smut that reposes on your nose ? * 
 The singer uttered a low wail, stared at her face in the mirror, 
 and made for the door. It was a heavy door, and closed by 
 means of a strong spring, and she went out so quickly that no 
 one had time to open it for her. Ducrocq sprang forward to 
 prevent it from catching on the train of her dress, and just 
 managed to seize it in time. Then the door closed with a 
 crash, and Ducrocq came back rubbing his wrist, and swearing 
 softly in French. 
 
 It was very soon obvious that the wrist was badly sprained, 
 and there was not the least possibility that its owner would 
 be able to play an arduous Beethoven sonata. Damboise 
 instantly became a magnificent study in despair ; he clutched 
 his long thick locks, he mopped his brow, he flung his hands 
 heavenward, standing on tiptoe; he rolled his eyes like a 
 moribund hero of opera. Then he seized Denis by the 
 shoulder and pushed him feebly towards the platform. 
 * They must be told ! ' he said. * Go and tell them ! ' 
 
 At that moment the singer returned, and on hearing what 
 had happened, added her contralto to Damboise’s hoarse 
 groans of despair. ‘ They all came for the sonata ! ' she said, 
 with noble self-abnegation ; ‘ but if you like I 'll sing them 
 some more songs. They 'll hate me, but it will be better than 
 nothing.' Then her eyes fell on Denis. ‘ Mr. Yorke ! ' she 
 cried. ‘ Can't you play the sonata ? ' Damboise turned to 
 stare at him, and he felt the joints of his knees relax suddenly. 
 
 ‘ An idea ! ' cried Damboise. ‘ Sandys told me that you 
 played several others just as finely as you played the Kreutzer. 
 Is this one of them ? ' 
 
 ‘ Sandys and I can play it,' said Denis, ‘ but with you it 
 would be different. And I 'm not certain, — I 've never done 
 anything big in public.' 
 
 Damboise beamed suddenly. ‘ Ah bah ! ' he said ; ‘ this 
 isn't public, this is a little tiny private recital. You mustn't 
 be nervous ; they will make every indulgence : I will make 
 them a speech You shall have the music — Ducrocq has it 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 421 
 
 with him — and the young man with the spectacles shall 
 turn over for you. Now, my dear boy, this is a great moment, 
 a great chance ! Will you save the situation ? Will you do 
 me this honour ? * 
 
 ‘ 1 11 try/ said Denis, after a moment. Damboise became 
 grave at once. 
 
 ' But you must be confident/ he said. ‘ There must be 
 no debacle , no smash-up ! You feel safe ? * 
 
 Denis did not answer, but his face was grimly determined. 
 He was already mentally running through the sonata. Dam- 
 boise looked at him for a moment, then turned and went on 
 the platform. Ducrocq came up to Denis and shook his hand 
 solemnly. 
 
 The hall seemed to be flooded with blinding light when he 
 entered it, and for a moment he endured all the agony of 
 acute panic. But as soon as he sat down at the piano his 
 nervousness departed ; he was dominated by the spell of 
 Damboise’s playing, and though he kept a wary eye on the 
 music, he had no real fear of failure. Very soon he began 
 to be conscious of an immense exhilaration of spirit, which 
 meant, of course, that the sonata was going well, that Dam- 
 boise and himself were completely en rapport. At length he 
 had found that it was possible actually to enjoy playing in 
 public ; the presence of a silent throng of listeners really 
 inspired him, and there was not the subtle antipathy between 
 the tone of the violin and that of the piano which, when he 
 played with Sandys, he had imagined to exist. 
 
 Not till it was over, and he stood beside Damboise bowing 
 to a fusillade of applause which seemed as if it would never 
 end, did he realise how great the strain had been. The 
 light flickered and grew faint before his eyes, and he felt 
 giddy, and intensely thirsty. He wondered if he could go off 
 the platform, for of course all the shouting and tumult was 
 a tribute to Damboise ; then he felt the violinist seize his 
 arm and propel him to the front of the stage. Damboise 
 stood by his side and made absurd gestures, as if he were a 
 conjurer who had miraculously produced a rabbit from a tall 
 hat, and the shouting became louder than ever. At that 
 
422 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 moment Denis caught sight of Rosalind, who was standing 
 near a doorway with Miss Amory and Sandys. The blood 
 rushed to his face, and he stared fixedly at her. Thank 
 Heaven he hadn’t known that she was there whilst he had been 
 playing ! 
 
 Damboise was at his elbow. ‘ Bow, bow ! ’ he said fiercely. 
 ‘ Bow to them, don’t go to sleep ! It ’s you that they applaud 
 now ! It is your triumph ! ’ Denis bowed mechanically 
 several times, with his eyes still fixed on Rosalind. The 
 hall began to grow empty, and at last he was permitted 
 to escape. Congratulations were showered upon him in 
 the artists’ room ; Ducrocq nobly asserted that his own 
 rendering would have been inferior to his dear young friend’s ■ 
 Damboise was ecstatic, and the contralto remarked that 
 she had known exactly what would happen. 
 
 Little Sandys came in breathless with excitement, waving 
 his arms. ‘ Magnificent ! magnificent ! } he kept on repeat- 
 ing. ' Denis, you ’re a made man ! The ball ’s at your feet 
 now ! ’ Denis interrupted him with a question about Rosa- 
 lind, and Sandys explained that she had departed in a cab. 
 
 ‘ She was delighted, my dear boy, absolutely delighted ! 
 But she wouldn’t come round. She said she would keep 
 her congratulations until she met you alone. Now I 
 suppose you’re sorry that we wasted our time over the 
 sonatas ! ’ 
 
 Denis sat down on a sofa, looking very tired and white. 
 That every one spoke so kindly of his playing was only 
 another instance of the irony of fate. In the midst of his 
 triumph he had realised that the face of Rosalind, as he saw it 
 for a moment ‘ beyond the roaring and the lights,’ wore an 
 expression of extraordinary sorrow, and he was trying vainly 
 to conceive what this startling fact might mean. It seemed 
 as if her eyes had been fixed on him in a desperate appeal 
 for help, and her lips had been tense with pain. He was not 
 mistaken ; this was no trick of the lights ; he had looked 
 at her steadily and made sure of it. He hardly heeded 
 the congratulations of his friends, and altogether behaved 
 so oddly that he frightened little Sandys, who insisted on his 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 423 
 
 drinking a brandy-and-soda. It seemed to Denis that 
 her eyes had sent a signal to him, that they had said, as 
 plainly as if a voice had spoken, 4 Come and see me. Come 
 and help me/ Did some strange sense tell her that he would 
 understand, that he would come ? Was she thinking of 
 his coming when she uttered the phrase which Sandys had 
 repeated — the phrase about seeing him alone ? 
 
 When they drove home, having at last contrived to escape 
 from Damboise, he refused to speak of music, but began to 
 question Sandys closely about Rosalind. Did she seem sad ? 
 Was she pale ? Did Sandys know if anything was wrong ? 
 The memory of her eyes troubled him so strangely that if 
 he had been alone, he thought, he would have driven at once 
 to Hampstead even at that late hour. Sandys affirmed that 
 when he met her outside the hall he had been struck by her 
 tired appearance ; but she couldn't really have been tired, 
 the little man explained wisely, for she talked brilliantly, 
 was delightful, enchanting, and more beautiful than ever. 
 There was nothing, so far as he was aware, to make her sad, — 
 except, of course, old Grimshaw’s illness. Grimshaw had 
 been her master for a long time, — Denis knew how much she 
 admired his work ; and Grimshaw was pretty bad ; the 
 doctors didn’t like his looks, and, worse still, he had given 
 himself up, was convinced that he was going to die, and 
 announced that his death would annoy no one and please 
 several people. Sandys supposed that this bitter dictum 
 was an allusion to Academic circles of painting. At any rate, 
 Grimshaw had been ordered to go abroad immediately, 
 which was very rough luck, for though he was rather a 
 grumpy devil, he had done some splendid work. 
 
 But Grimshaw’s illness, thought Denis, could not account 
 wholly for that expression of deep sadness ; she had known 
 for a long time that he was ill. It was more probable, how- 
 ever, that she was sad because the painter was going abroad * 
 but even if this was the explanation, why had she sent that 
 direct, poignant glance, that unmistakable message for 
 help, to himself, of all people, to the very person who, as she 
 had said, was incapable of understanding, of sympathy ? 
 
424 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 There was some deeper reason for her trouble, he felt certain, 
 something which concerned him intimately. 
 
 Little Sandys ascended to the studio in order that Noel 
 might receive a full and true account of the triumph of Denis. 
 Noel appeared to be properly pleased by the boy's success, 
 but he did not catch the infection of Sandys' excitement. 
 For the first time in their long acquaintance Denis noticed 
 that he seemed absent-minded and preoccupied. ‘ Were 
 you sitting with Rosalind ? ' he asked, when Sandys paused 
 to regain breath. Sandys nodded eloquently. ‘ How was 
 she ? Pretty fit ? ' said Noel. 
 
 ‘ Splendid, splendid ! ' cried Sandys. ‘ She grows more 
 wonderful every day. I wish you could have seen her when 
 Damboise announced that Denis would play in the sonata. 
 I shall never forget her face.' 
 
 Noel uttered a kind of growl, and refilled his pipe. Sandys 
 prophesied in glowing phrases concerning the future career 
 of Denis — a splendid ascent from glory to glory, with Dam- 
 boise for his guide, and himself as a humble follower. ‘ I 
 shall cling to you like a leech, Denis,' he announced, * you '11 
 never be able to shake me off ! ' Denis sat with his long legs 
 thrown over the arm of his chair, smoking a pipe, and wishing 
 that he could feel more grateful to the friendly little man. 
 The reaction that followed any keen artistic effort once more 
 oppressed him heavily ; he felt incapable of any emotion, 
 and could only think vaguely of Rosalind. But even then, 
 when all the excitement that the music brought had ebbed 
 away, he was certain that he had not misinterpreted the 
 expression in her eyes ; she had signalled to him for help, and 
 he would go to see her next morning. 
 
 At length Sandys departed in a final coruscation of prophecy 
 and rejoicing. Denis flung his legs off the arm of his chair, 
 rose, and knocked the ashes from his pipe. 
 
 ‘ I 'm for bed,' he said, rubbing his eyes. f Good-night, 
 Noel.’ 
 
 ‘ Good-night,' returned Noel. He was still gazing moodily 
 at the fire, and spoke mechanically. Denis reached the door, 
 then turned suddenly. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 425 
 
 4 Noel/ he said, ‘ what on earth is the matter with her ? 9 
 
 Noel swung round in his chair and stared at him. 
 
 4 What do you mean ? ' he said. He began to regard 
 Denis with a strange, suspicious expression ; his eyes were 
 almost hostile. 4 What are you talking about ? 1 he de- 
 manded. 
 
 ‘ About Rosalind/ Denis answered. He felt irritated by 
 Noel's lack of frankness, and was half inclined to show him 
 that his secret was already betrayed. ‘ To-night I saw her 
 at the end of the concert, and she looked absolutely miserable. 
 Do you know if there 's anything wrong ? 9 
 
 Noel still stared at him. 
 
 * Probably if you had looked at the other faces in the 
 audience,' he said at length, ‘ you would have seen the same 
 expression of misery on every one of them.' This remark, of 
 course, was in Noel's usual manner, but the tone in which he 
 spoke was quite foreign to him. ‘ You 've a wonderful ima- 
 gination, Denis. If I were you I should take it off to bed.' 
 
 Denis disregarded this sound fragment of advice. 4 You 
 all treat me as if I were a child,' he said angrily ; ‘ you think 
 I can’t see things ; that I don’t know. As a matter of fact 
 I know everything.' He paused and felt that he had begun 
 to talk nonsense. Noel kicked the fire vigorously and rose 
 from his chair 
 
 ‘ Then you 're a very unlucky boy — I mean man,' he said. 
 ‘ The way to be happy is to know nothing — and to avoid 
 poking your inquisitive nose into other people's mare's-nests. 
 You 're not made for that kind of thing ; what you are 
 made for is to play the piano and cultivate your own little 
 soul. I don't want to hear what it is that you think you 
 know, but I can inform you confidently that, whatever it is, 
 it 's wrong.' 
 
 Denis returned towards him. 
 
 ‘ It 's not wrong ! ' he said, and his voice trembled. ‘ I 
 know everything, and I think it 's too horrible. Sandys says 
 that he 's going to die, and I hope it 's true. I wouldn't ever 
 have believed it of her, but I found out. I 'm absolutely 
 certain ! ' 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 426 
 
 He fully expected that his outburst would infuriate Noel * 
 but after staring at him for a very long time, during which 
 he felt dismally conscious that all his dignity was ebbing, 
 the disgusting Noel began to laugh quietly. 
 
 ' Denis, you 're a prig ! ' was all that he said. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 427 
 
 XLIV 
 
 O N the morning after the concert he slept late, and when 
 he entered the studio he found that Noel had gone 
 out. In spite of the rebuff which he had received from his 
 friend, he still adhered to his resolution, and felt strangely 
 excited by the thought of going to Hampstead. Rosalind, 
 at any rate, no longer regarded him as a child ; she had 
 appealed for his help, had turned to him rather than to Noel 
 and Miss Amory, who had been accomplices in her folly ; 
 perhaps she realised at last that he had taken a wise view of 
 the deplorable affair in which she was entangled. Again he 
 became lost in vague speculations as to the cause of her 
 troubled expression. Had she discovered Grimshaw’s true 
 character at last ? Formerly, he had been convinced that 
 she knew all about the artist’s life, and loved him in spite of 
 that knowledge, but now, in the light of those sorrowful eyes, 
 he began to wonder if, after all, she had discovered at last that 
 she had worshipped an unworthy idol, and was searching 
 desperately for the means of freedom. 
 
 If he could only free her, — snatch her away from Grim- 
 shaw’s dishonourable hands ! But were his own more clean ? 
 He thought again of the scene in Topsy’s bedroom, and felt a 
 nauseating disgust. He was not worthy of Rosalind now, 
 for though he had partially expiated that disastrous affair in 
 bitter remorse, the fierce temptation had returned at intervals, 
 and there had been momentswhen he longed to seeTopsy again. 
 Yet all the while, he was certain, he loved Rosalind, even 
 though he passed whole days at work without thinking of her, 
 even though this hateful, recurring sensual obsession clouded 
 his brain and made him blind to everything that he had once 
 found delightful. He felt a longing to confess to her that 
 he was not the quiet, reserved, hard-working boy that she 
 imagined him to be, but an unhappy wretch who was the prey 
 
428 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 of wild passions, the creature of a hundred moods, the slave of 
 circumstance. But of course he would not confess • girls 
 were brought up in ignorance of all that kind of thing, or, if 
 they were not ignorant, they were trained to regard it with 
 cold horror. Perhaps this was right ; men were beasts ; he 
 was a beast. Yet there was no distinction made between 
 those who rejoiced in beastliness and those who collapsed after 
 struggling with intense temptation ; pious people branded 
 both classes as equally shocking. Rosalind was not a pious 
 person, but she would not understand. She would continue 
 to think of him as the simple youth that she, in her ignorance, 
 imagined him to be, and he would continue to be the complex 
 creature that he really was. Always this hateful misunder- 
 standing ! But at any rate he would go to Hampstead. 
 
 He was on the point of starting when there was a knock 
 at the door, and a moment later Grimshaw entered. Denis 
 had not seen him since Christmas night, and was startled by 
 the sinister change in his aspect. The painter was grotesquely 
 shrunken ; his clothes hung loosely from the sharp ridge of his 
 shoulders, his face was pale as wax and his eyes were un- 
 naturally bright. He walked with difficulty, and for some 
 moments was too breathless to speak. 
 
 ‘ Damn your bloody stairs ! ' he remarked at length, sinking 
 into a chair. 
 
 Though Denis disliked him intensely, he could not help 
 feeling sorry for him. Grimshaw looked at that moment like 
 a dying man ; the perspiration glistened on his forehead, and 
 his hands twitched horribly. 
 
 4 You don't look well,' said Denis ; 4 those stairs are 
 
 enough to give every one heart disease. Have some coffee ? 
 It 's quite warm ; I 've only just had breakfast.' 
 
 Grimshaw shook his head. 
 
 4 No. I '11 have a brandy-and-soda if you 've got one,' he 
 answered. He consumed the drink in two gulps, and gave a 
 sigh of relief. 
 
 4 That 's better,' he said, wiping his bristling moustache. 
 4 Is Noel out ? ' He assumed his usual attitude, stretching 
 out his legs and staring up at the ceiling. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 429 
 
 4 Yes/ Denis answered, * but he 'll be back very soon, I 
 expect. I know that he has a model coming this evening. 
 I 'm afraid I have to go out too,' he added. 4 But you 'll 
 wait to see Noel, won't you ? ' 
 
 Grimshaw continued to stare at the ceiling. 
 
 4 No,' he said, after a while, 4 I shan't wait to see Noel. 
 I didn't come to see Noel. I came,' he added slowly, 4 to see 
 you.' 
 
 Denis was so greatly surprised by this statement that he 
 could say nothing but 4 Oh ! really ! ’ in a tone that sounded 
 ironical. He always felt ill at ease when Grimshaw was 
 present, and looked forward without enthusiasm to a private 
 conversation with the painter. 4 Have a cigarette ? ' he 
 suggested. 
 
 4 No, thanks,' said Grimshaw. 4 When I inhale them they 
 make me cough blood. In order that you may pay par- 
 ticular attention to my remarks, I may as well inform you, 
 Mr. Denis Yorke, that I am a dying man. My doctor gives 
 me two months' life, with luck. Dreadful, isn't it ? Qualis 
 artifex pereo , as we say. But you needn't waste your breath 
 on lamentations or condolence ; we never cared much for 
 each other, you and I. I 've got something to say to you. 
 It 'll only take a few minutes,- — you needn't look so frightened. 
 Where were you going when I came in ? ' 
 
 4 To Hampstead,' said Denis. Grimshaw frowned. 
 
 4 Hampstead will keep,' he said. 4 You 're going to see 
 Rosalind, I suppose ? ' 
 
 4 Yes,' answered Denis. 
 
 Grimshaw smiled unpleasantly. 4 Going to tell her some 
 more about me ? ' he said. Denis stared at him, and he 
 continued : 4 1 want to know — merely from scientific curiosity 
 — what you said to set her against me ? ' His eyes shifted 
 suddenly ; he stared at the boy. 4 You did it very well ; 
 I always thought that you were a poor, fond sort of creature, 
 but I respect you now.' 
 
 His voice grew soft, and Denis writhed inwardly. 4 I don't 
 remember that I said anything much,' he answered. 4 She 
 knew 7 I disliked — the whole thing.' 
 
430 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Grimshaw shrugged his thin shoulders. 
 
 * Oh ! don't lie,' he said. * It isn’t worth it. I ’ve not 
 come on an errand of vengeance. When you were ill she 
 went to see you, and directly afterwards — that same evening 
 — I saw that she had changed. She has been — different — 
 ever since. You managed to put some very big spoke in my 
 wheel, and I want to know what it was. It must have been 
 a lie of some kind, for she knew all the truth about me. 
 You’re evidently an ingenious young person. What was 
 it?’ 
 
 He spoke almost gaily. A sudden horror of the situation 
 made Denis’s heart sink. It was monstrous that they should 
 be talking in this way of Rosalind, that Grimshaw should 
 cynically acknowledge his passion for her, that he himself 
 should be obliged to listen. He went towards the door. 
 
 ‘ I don’t see the use of discussing this any further,’ he said : 
 € you know that she would hate it if she knew.’ 
 
 Grimshaw sprang from his chair, hobbled across to the door, 
 and leant against it with folded arms. 
 
 4 It ’s no good,’ he said, ‘ you aren’t going until you answer 
 that question. If you try to push me away I shall break 
 internally, and you ’ll be had up for manslaughter. Now, out 
 with it, what did you say ? ’ 
 
 Denis was silent for some moments. Then he spoke very 
 sulkily. 
 
 ‘ Nothing,’ he said, f nothing, as far as I can remember, 
 except that I was in love with her myself.’ 
 
 This naive revelation appeared to have the most remarkable 
 effect on Grimshaw. He glared at Denis in speechless amaze- 
 ment for at least a minute, and then walked slowly towards 
 him. 
 
 ‘ Well, I ’m damned ! ’ he said. ‘ You told her that ! ’ 
 For a moment he looked as if he were going to fall upon Denis 
 and destroy him utterly ; then he glanced round the room 
 and sank into a chair. 
 
 ‘ Was it true ? ’ he said. Denis nodded. Grimshaw 
 contemplated him with intense curiosity. 
 
 ‘ You poor little devil ! ’ he said, with a short laugh. ‘ I ’m 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 43i 
 
 sorry for you.’ His expression changed ; a look of anxiety 
 intensified the haggard lines of his face. * So that was why 
 she became different ? ' he said slowly. 
 
 Denis was utterly sick of the interview. He flung himself 
 into a chair. ‘ Oh, I don't imagine so/ he said. * She told 
 me that she didn't care for me, and wouldn't ever.' 
 
 1 In so many words ? ' asked Grimshaw. 
 
 ‘ Yes, in so many words,' Denis answered. * Why do you 
 ask that ? ' 
 
 4 Because she has other ways of giving people that par- 
 ticular item of information,' said Grimshaw. His voice was 
 so harsh that Denis stared. Was it possible ? Did he mean 
 that Rosalind had given it to him ? 
 
 ‘ And that,' said Grimshaw, in a milder tone, c brings me to 
 my second reason for coming to see you. I know that you 
 were hanging about us in St. Paul’s Cathedral that day. Oh ! 
 don't imagine that I accuse you of stalking us, — even if you 
 did, I see now that it was excusable — and of course you didn't. 
 But I know that you turned up a moment before I kissed her 
 hand, and that you saw me do it.' 
 
 ‘ And should have liked to have thrown you down the 
 steps,' added Denis. 
 
 ‘ Quite so,' said Grimshaw. ‘ But perhaps you weren't 
 aware that I knew you were there, that I saw you come in, and 
 knowing what a young prig you were, I kissed her hand 
 merely to give your eavesdropping some definite result. It 
 was caddish of me, of course, but I am a cad as regards women. 
 And I may also tell you, Mr. Denis Yorke, that though I 've 
 been in love with her for ages, she has never cared a two- 
 penny damn for me ; she likes me — as a friend, — she pities 
 me ; she 's fool enough for that. So when I 'm dead, Mr. 
 Denis Yorke, don't you or any other virtuous little demi-semi- 
 curates dare to say that she was in love with me, that she 
 threw herself away on a drunkard who was married already, 
 for it 'salie! She never cared for me, and it 's only my 
 cursed selfishness, — the way I 've behaved, always going 
 about with her and letting every one see I was madly in love 
 with her — that makes people like you think she did. But 
 
432 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 because she liked my pictures, and because all the gentleness 
 and goodness of heaven and earth is in her soul, she pitied 
 me. That 's all, Mr. Denis Yorke ! * 
 
 And then Denis also pitied him, for even whilst he sat 
 there, the hopeless wreck of a strong man, his haggard face was 
 transfigured and became noble with the light of great love. 
 He had lied, the boy realised, about the affair in St. Paul's 
 in order to protect Rosalind from the scorn of fools — Denis 
 had seen her face on that occasion ; but whether he was lying 
 or was self-deceived when he asserted that Rosalind did not 
 care for him, it was less easy to decide. Could it be possible 
 that he did not realise that she loved him ? Was the glance 
 that she gave him eloquent only to poor Denis of all that was 
 in her heart ? If Grimshaw was blind to that he was certainly 
 unworthy of her ! 
 
 Meanwhile Grimshaw reiterated his last assertion. 'You 
 understand,' he said, ‘ you see clearly, my little prodigy, that 
 it was always a one-sided affair ; that she really cared no more 
 for me than she cared for the man Archibald — or for you. It 
 will not be a bad plan for you to devote the rest of your life 
 to letting people know this remarkable fact. You can say 
 anything you like about me. I shall be hors concours ; in the 
 beautiful language of Topsy, I shall have turned my toes up. 
 In the course of time, when the Chantrey Bequest is no longer 
 controlled by idiots, you will see my portrait of her in the 
 Tate Gallery. You can make it your mission to contradict 
 any foolish legend that our well-meaning friends may happen 
 to connect with that great work of art.' 
 
 Denis realised at length that Grimshaw was telling what he 
 imagined to be the truth, that he was actually convinced that 
 Rosalind did not care for him. The full pathos of the situa- 
 tion revealed itself suddenly ; the man was dying, and would 
 never know how great his good fortune had been ; he would 
 go abroad in ignorance of the fact that the girl whom he loved 
 was devoted to him, to him only. For some unknown reason 
 she had refrained, apparently, from speaking of her love, and 
 Grimshaw had been too blind to read her eyes. What a fool, 
 this poor Grimshaw ! certainly he didn't deserve to be told 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 433 
 
 the truth, — yet he was dying ; to know the truth would make 
 all the difference to the last weeks of his life, and only one 
 person could be hurt by his knowledge. The sentimentalist in 
 Denis became active ; here, he reasoned, was a chance to do a 
 kindness to a dying man and at the same time to perform a 
 prodigy of self-abnegation. But was Grimshaw really dying ? 
 
 The conflict in his mind was brief but very fierce. It would 
 be so easy to keep silence, to allow Grimshaw to remain 
 ignorant ; and perhaps Rosalind had really conquered her 
 love at last ; it was remarkable that she had seemed to be 
 changed after the interview with himself. But when he 
 looked at Grimshaw, and remembered the reason for his visit, 
 he felt nothing but pity. Grimshaw was wrong ; she could 
 not change, her soul was faithfulness itself. And Grimshaw, in 
 his queer way, had shown that he could be chivalrous ; he 
 loved her so greatly that he loathed the thought of her being 
 assailed by clamorous tongues, and in order to guard against 
 them he had forced himself to confide in a person whom he 
 disliked and despised. He was a decent fellow, after all ! 
 He deserved to know the truth. Denis rose from his chair 
 and went towards the painter. 
 
 ‘ You 're wrong/ he said, ‘ hopelessly wrong. I know 
 perfectly well that she 's in love with you, — as much in love 
 with you as you are with her. I 've been certain of it all 
 along, and I 'm more certain now.' 
 
 This last remark was an allusion to the unsuspected decency 
 that Grimshaw had proved himself to possess. The painter 
 did not appreciate the tribute and drummed on the chair 
 with his fingers. 
 
 ‘ You 're a pig-headed young fool/ he said. ‘ Haven't I 
 told you that she doesn't care a damn for me ? I ought to 
 know better than any one, I should think.' 
 
 ‘ But you don't,' said Denis. ‘ I knew her years before you 
 met her, and I saw her face in St. Paul's. I knew what it 
 meant. If she had looked in that way at me ' 
 
 Grimshaw interrupted him. ‘ I don't imagine that you 're 
 any judge of faces,' he said impatiently. ‘ You 've got to 
 believe what I told you, and not to go running after your own 
 
434 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 sickly theories. You talk like a sentimental Frenchwoman. 
 Damme, you 're disgusting/ 
 
 4 I may be/ Denis answered, 4 but I 'm right. And if you 
 want another proof that I am, here it is. She told me herself 
 that she loved you, and always would. I 'll swear it if you like/ 
 
 Grimshaw's expression changed. 
 
 4 You 're a liar ! ' he said. 4 What the devil are you driving 
 at, anyhow ? You 've no right to go and quote things that 
 she said to you in confidence. But I don’t believe you ; it 's 
 part of some deep game ; you want to send me on a fool’s 
 errand, I fancy.' But he was obviously impressed by Denis's 
 statement. 4 When do you pretend that she said that ? 9 
 he demanded after a moment. 
 
 4 In my room when I was ill,' answered Denis. 4 And it 's 
 true. Can’t you see that I couldn't invent it ? You know 
 that I love her ; I only want her to be happy ; - 1 don't care 
 about you or myself or any one. I hate the whole beastly 
 world, and if I knew that it was going to burst like a rotten 
 orange to-morrow, and that I could save it, I wouldn't stir a 
 finger except for her sake. She 's wretched — miserable — I 
 saw her face the other night. It 's because she knows you 're 
 very ill, or you haven’t been to see her, or something like that. 
 And as you 've made her fall in love with you, you may as 
 well try to save her from breaking her heart. Things are bad 
 enough as it is.' 
 
 This incoherent outburst seemed to have more effect on 
 Grimshaw than either of Denis's previous statements. He 
 stared keenly at the boy. 
 
 4 No, I haven’t been to see her,' he said in a quieter voice. 
 4 1 thought she didn't want me any more.' He paused, and 
 moved slowly across the room towards his hat. 
 
 4 It 's rather late now, I think,' he said. 4 But all the same 
 — I 'll go.' Again he stared at Denis, who had sunk into an 
 armchair. 
 
 4 I ought to have painted you,' said Grimshaw suddenly, 
 and went without another word. He did not even swear at 
 the stairs. 
 
 So Denis did not go to Hampstead. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 435 
 
 XLV 
 
 ‘ f^OME and see me at once . — Damboise.' 
 
 ^ The telegram arrived at breakfast-time, and Denis threw 
 it across the table to Noel. ‘ I suppose I must go/ he said. 
 But he felt a very faint curiosity concerning the reason 
 of the summons, and watched Noel's face with listless eyes, 
 Noel, who seemed to have recovered his usual good spirits, 
 hit him neatly on the nose with a lump of sugar. 
 
 ‘ Don’t make faces at the gifts of the gods,’ he said. ‘ There ’s 
 something immense behind this. Probably he has taken the 
 Albert Hall and is going to produce you as an infant prodigy 
 in a velvet suit and a lace collar. I should think you must go ! 
 Are my declining years to be spent in poverty ? Put your best 
 boots on and hurtle off.’ 
 
 Denis did not hurtle, but about an hour later he contrived 
 to reach the flat in Kensington Gore which Damboise occupied 
 during his visits to London. He found the great man alone 
 with Madame Damboise, a short, grey-haired woman with a 
 face as dark as a gipsy’s and bright, shrewd eyes. She seemed 
 very much interested in Denis, and informed him, in fairly 
 bad English, that she too had once been a pianist, but had 
 ceased to play in public when she married. ‘ All my time is 
 taken up with watching him,’ she said. 4 He is like a great 
 baby, so exigeant, — and angry ! When I am not there he 
 quarrels and quarrels with agents ! I have made peace for 
 him a hundred times ! ’ Damboise towered above her, smiling 
 vastly, and when she left them together he sang her praises 
 to Denis for nearly ten minutes. 
 
 ‘But I forget!’ he cried at last, striking his forehead 
 with his fist. ‘ I have something of immense importance 
 to say to you. I am going to give one more recital — a superb 
 programme — before I go abroad. It will be in Queen’s Hall, 
 and there will be no empty seats that day. There will be an 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 436 
 
 orchestra, of course, but I propose to dispense with its help 
 for the last item of the programme. I shall play the Kreutzer, 
 by very special request, and who, do you imagine, will play it 
 with me ? ' 
 
 Even then, when all the world seemed grey and wretched, 
 Denis could not help feeling a thrill of excitement. 
 
 ‘ Ducrocq, I suppose/ he said. Damboise gave a joyous 
 laugh. 
 
 ‘ Ducrocq has gone back to Paris/ he said. ‘ You are the 
 man — you, you! It will be superb — a triumph! You will 
 instantly become famous. Seriously, dear friend, it is a great 
 chance for you to prove to your country that she has produced 
 a young pianist of the highest talent. All London will be 
 there because of me, but they will not easily forget you. 
 Don't imagine, however, that I invite you to play because I 
 have a benevolent soul. I ask you simply because you are 
 the best man I can get.' 
 
 This was gratifying, thought Denis, — at least, it would have 
 been if it had not happened too late, like everything else. He 
 was sufficiently familiar with the mind of the London musical 
 public to know that his appearance with Damboise at Queen's 
 Hall would be a safe guarantee of his future success ; he would 
 be a made man, as little Sandys asserted. How easy it was, 
 after all, to be successful, in the ordinary external sense ; how 
 difficult to prevent one’s real life, ‘ the life of the mind,' from 
 rushing headlong to shipwreck and disastrous failure ! He 
 felt no intense joy because his great opportunity had come 
 at length ; rapid as his progress had been, it had not kept 
 pace with the swift advance of disillusion, with the steady 
 paralysis of his hope. He did not, however, inform Damboise 
 of these melancholy convictions, but thanked him with decent 
 heartiness. Damboise began to talk of money, speaking airily 
 of sums that seemed almost fabulous to Denis ; he showed 
 him a proof of the programme — an admirable selection which 
 would have rejoiced the heart of the claptrap-hating Sandys 
 — and Denis saw that his own name was already in print. 
 
 4 1 rather hoped you might not refuse ! ' Damboise remarked : 
 * you must send me a photograph for the large bills. And 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 437 
 
 don’t go hurting your fingers with your terrible cricket or 
 boxing, for this is a chance in a million for you, — though I 
 should not say so, I suppose. Plenty of time, too ! we play 
 in a month. Enfin , that is settled, is it not ? ’ 
 
 He dismissed the subject of music, and introduced Denis 
 to his baby, who exactly resembled him, and to his wolf- 
 hound, an enormous and dignified monster which the baby 
 treated with extreme familiarity. Madame Damboise en- 
 treated Denis to stay for luncheon, but Denis had an appoint- 
 ment with Landberger. He reiterated his thanks to Dam- 
 boise, shook hands many times with Madame, kissed the 
 baby, patted the dog, and at length managed to escape. 
 He did not feel in the least excited by the prospect of the great 
 concert, and wondered at his own calmness. Three months 
 ago, he knew, he would have hovered between hope and terror 
 for every moment of the day, but now he felt nothing but a 
 placid resolution to play his very best for Damboise’s sake. 
 He wished that he could keep the engagement a secret, for 
 there seemed to be unintentional irony in the congratulations 
 that would be showered upon him. 
 
 He told the news to Landberger, however, when he was 
 about to leave him after an hour of work. Landberger 
 grunted approval, and actually admitted that Denis had some 
 faint perception of the meaning of the Kreutzer sonata. ‘ But 
 you do get such a clammy tone, sometimes ! ’ Landberger 
 added. He did not seem to be surprised at the good fortune 
 of Denis. ‘ I always thought you might do something/ 
 he said, ‘ and at any rate you sit still when you play ; you 
 don’t look like a Hungarian gipsy who is undergoing torture. 
 Only don’t expect me to come and listen to you. The orches- 
 tra makes my belly ache. I don’t see anything funny in 
 that. If you had an inside like mine perhaps you wouldn’t 
 laugh at your elders and betters. Good-morning, sir ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Good-morning,’ said Denis. ‘ I won’t forget to send you 
 a ticket.’ He knew that Landberger never missed a chance of 
 hearing Damboise play. 
 
 As he went out of the old musician’s house he glanced at 
 his watch, and finding that it was after one o’clock he resolved 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 438 
 
 to take the Underground to South Kensington. A train was 
 standing in the station as he descended the steps, and he 
 leapt into a third-class compartment at the moment when it 
 began to move. There was only one other passenger in the 
 compartment, — a woman whose face was concealed by a 
 newspaper. He did not look at her. A moment later, when 
 his eyes were fixed on the grimy strands of wire which were 
 just visible on the wall of the tunnel, he was greatly startled 
 to hear a loud, clear voice exclaim, 4 Well, I never ! To 
 think that we should meet like this ! ' 
 
 He looked round quickly, and to his amazement and 
 horror realised that his travelling companion was no other 
 than Topsy — a most resplendent Topsy, in a new hat and a 
 short fur jacket. Formerly he had contemplated the possi- 
 bility of their meeting with most mingled sensations, but now 
 that she had actually reappeared, he felt nothing but a 
 violent desire to get away from her presence ; he was afraid to 
 meet her eyes, and once again inwardly cursed his ill-fortune. 
 
 Topsy displayed no embarrassment ; she smiled broadly 
 and extended her hand to be shaken. 
 
 ‘ My ! You do look startled ! 9 she said. ‘ Are you quite 
 well again, Mr. Yorke ? There 's some colour in your cheeks 
 at last, but you 're rather thin, ain't you ? And you 've had 
 your hair cut short. I liked to see you with it long ; made 
 you seem like a poet, didn’t it ? ' She looked at him with a 
 proprietary air which embarrassed Denis acutely. He had to 
 force himself to speak. 
 
 f Where have you been all this time ? ' he asked. His 
 voice sounded muffled, but Topsy did not seem to notice any 
 peculiarity. 
 
 ‘ In the country,' she answered, ‘ living among the ducks 
 and geese. A friend of mine married a gentleman with a farm 
 near Dorking, and they asked me to stay with them ever 
 so many times, so at last I went. Nice people, you know, 
 but oh ! ain't I glad to be back in Old Smoky ! It 's like 
 coming to life again after being dead and buried ! But you 
 like the country, don't you, Mr. Yorke ? I remember you 
 said so when you were ill.' 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 439 
 
 Thank Heaven ! she was keeping well within the bounds 
 of ordinary conversation, but in spite of this Denis was 
 dreadfully afraid that at any moment she might make some 
 tender allusion to that fatal scene. His experience of the 
 mind of woman was certainly limited. He noticed that 
 her cheeks were red and plump, her eyes very bright, and her 
 general aspect extremely joyous. She talked incessantly ; 
 was anxious to know if he admired her hat, inquired casually 
 about Rosalind and sarcastically about Miss Amory — whom 
 she called the mirror of virtue — and spoke with real concern 
 of Grimshaw, whom she had already seen. She was so plainly 
 and in all respects the Topsy with whom he had conversed so 
 often in Noel's studio, that gradually his embarrassment 
 departed, and he found himself answering her questions in 
 his usual voice. He began to wonder whether she had 
 actually forgotten that strange occasion, or whether, after 
 all, she attached to it no extraordinary significance. If she 
 had forgotten it, certainly he had no wish to jog her memory, 
 yet he was surprised to feel a tiny thrill of annoyance that 
 she should be so callous. There had been moments during 
 the last few weeks when he had thought of her as hiding 
 from every one whom she knew in a bitter condition of shame 
 and remorse. Obviously she was quite unrepentant, and had 
 been enjoying life even among the ducks and geese. 
 
 ‘ It 's jolly to see you looking well ! ’ she remarked. 
 
 ‘ Thanks to you ! ' said Denis. i I shall never forget your 
 kindness. I wanted to write, but no one knew where you had 
 gone.' Topsy made peremptory signals. 
 
 ‘ Stop it ! ' she cried. ‘ We 've had all that before. Mr. 
 Tellier 's the person to thank. He would pay for all your 
 medicine. By the bye, that reminds me I must go and see 
 Mr. Tellier to-morrow.' 
 
 4 I expect he ’ll kill you,’ said Denis. ‘ You went away 
 just when he wanted you badly. He had to get a girl called 
 Jones to take your place, and she wasn't at all satisfactory.' 
 
 Topsy snorted. 
 
 ‘ Mary Jones ! ' she cried disdainfully. ‘ That scarecrow ! 
 I should just think she wouldn’t be. You could put a pound 
 
440 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 of sand behind her collar-bones and never know it was there 
 when you looked at her. He 'll have to find some one rounder 
 than Mary J ones ! ' 
 
 ‘ Well, now that you 've come back he 'll be happy/ 
 said Denis. Topsy assumed a mysterious air, pursed up her 
 lips, and shook her head slowly. 
 
 ‘ Don't you be too sure about that, Mr. Yorke ! ' she said. 
 And when Denis asked for an explanation of this cryptic 
 phrase, she looked at him in silence for a moment. ‘ Can you 
 keep a secret ? ' she demanded. 
 
 Denis hoped that he could. 
 
 ‘ Well, then,' said Topsy, ‘ I '11 tell you one. I 'm not 
 going to be a model any more. I 've had enough of shivering 
 in badly warmed studios. I don't mean Mr. Tellier's, for 
 he 's been in Paris and learnt how to make a room nice and 
 stuffy, but some of the others were awful. Mr, Grimshaw 
 used to let his stove go out. Yes, I 'm fed-up with that kind 
 of life. I 'm going to retire.' 
 
 Denis did not believe that she spoke seriously. ‘ Where 
 are you going to retire to ? ' he asked. ‘ To the ducks and 
 geese ? You 'll be dreadfully bored, Topsy.' 
 
 Topsy looked at him solemnly. ‘ I 'm not joking,' she said ; 
 ‘ straight ! I 'm not. It 's a fact, I 've chucked it already, 
 though I may give Mr. Tellier a few more hours for his picture. 
 But that,' concluded Topsy darkly, ‘ that 's only if I get 
 permission. And I dare say I shan't be able to, even though 
 I do wear clothes in the picture. Some people are so par- 
 ticular, aren't they ? ' 
 
 Denis felt bewildered and slightly suspicious, — what in the 
 world did she mean ? Could it be possible that she expected 
 him, as a logical result of the scene in her room, to support 
 her for the rest of her life ? This fantastic idea filled his soul 
 with a horror that was reflected probably in his face. Topsy 
 watched him with a smile that seemed to him extremely 
 crafty, and did not speak for some moments. 
 
 ‘ I thought you 'd be surprised,' she said at length. She 
 leant forward towards him, and was about to continue 
 speaking when the train entered a resonant length of tunnel. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 441 
 
 She waited in this attitude, with her eyes fixed on his face, 
 until the noise grew less, and then went on, 'You look as if 
 you didn't believe it.’ 
 
 ‘ It is rather surprising,' said Denis. ' What are you going 
 to do instead ? ' 
 
 The train slowed down into Gloucester Road station. 
 Topsy's face became wreathed with dimples. ‘ Guess ! ' she 
 said archly. 
 
 ‘ Go on the stage,' suggested Denis feebly. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ‘ Wrong ! ’ she announced. * Have another, or give it 
 up ? Give it up ? but promise you won't tell any one, Mr. 
 Yorke ? ' 
 
 ‘ Yes,' said Denis, 
 
 ‘ Well, then,' Topsy declared, ' I 'm going to be married.' 
 
 For a moment the foolish Denis was convinced that this 
 amazing announcement was the prelude to a proposal from 
 Topsy to himself. Then, as he realised from her expression 
 that this notion was wildly absurd, he felt a deep thrill of 
 relief. Topsy was watching him keenly, and suddenly burst 
 into a laugh which had an oddly jarring tone. 
 
 ‘ You look quite pleased,' she cried. ‘ I thought you 
 would be ! ' she laughed again. ‘ Don't mind me, Mr. Yorke,' 
 she added after a moment. ' I 'm often taken that way. Oh 
 dear, oh dear ! Life is funny, isn't it ? ' 
 
 Oddly hard lines formed round her mouth and at the 
 corners of her eyes : he had a vision of what her face would be 
 after another twenty years. Then, in an instant, she was the 
 familiar, good-natured Topsy of the studio. 
 
 ‘ I met him when I was in the country,' she said. ‘ He came 
 to spend Christmas with my friends. He works in London 
 — he 's a clerk to a surveyor and earns four pounds a week, and 
 he 's thirty-five and very steady — not a bit like an artist. 
 But he 's a good sort and terribly gone on me, and I 'm tired 
 of living alone. He wore whiskers — only tiny ones near 
 his ears, and when he asked me to marry him first I told him 
 I couldn’t bear them. So he shaved them off and then asked 
 me again, and after a bit, when he 'd promised never to put 
 
44 2 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 any more pomade on his hair, I took him. He begged me to 
 chuck being a model at once, and we ’re to be married at 
 Easter. I ’m not sorry, on the whole. His Christian name 
 is Albert, but though he ’s quiet he ’s no fool. Wait a 
 minute and I ’ll show you his photo.’ 
 
 She opened a small bag which hung from her wrist and 
 produced the portrait of a commonplace man with a heavy 
 jaw and an uncomfortable collar. 'He’s got his whiskers 
 on there,’ she explained, ' he looks twice as young without 
 ’em. He would write that nonsense on it, — do you see ? — 
 “ Your loving old sweetheart, Bertie.” Silliness I call it, — a 
 man of his age ! ’ 
 
 Denis inspected the photograph and returned it with 
 thanks. 
 
 ‘ I hope you ’ll be very happy,’ he said. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! we shall hustle along all right, don’t you fear ! ’ 
 said Topsy. ‘ I shall miss the studios, I expect, at first, 
 but one can’t go racketing about alone all one ’s life. And 
 if there ’s babies it ’ll be fun,’ concluded Topsy calmly. 
 
 Denis was more and more astonished by her confidence. 
 Could she really be the girl who had held him in her arms 
 and kissed him with those burning and tremulous lips ? 
 Her eyes were clear and friendly ; there was no hint of em- 
 barrassment in her voice. Women, he decided, were absolute 
 mysteries ; one might live as long as Methuselah without 
 gaining any real insight into the amazing irresponsibility of 
 their minds. ' If there are babies it ’ll be fun,’ — how could 
 she say a thing of this kind to him — to him of all people ! 
 There was one possible explanation, — she must have com- 
 pletely forgotten that scene in her room. But she couldn't 
 have forgotten it ! Therefore she must think that it had no 
 importance. Was it possible that it hadn’t ? Did so strange 
 an event really count for nothing if one was a healthy, 
 practical animal like Topsy, with a perfect body and a desire 
 for babies ? If he had dared, he would have made some 
 allusion to the scene, merely to see what she would say, 
 but shyness forbade him. He was certain, however, that the 
 allusion would have embarrassed her as little as a remark 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 443 
 
 about the weather. And yet she continually worshipped her 
 strange god of respectability ! 
 
 He was so much preoccupied by these speculations that 
 he forgot to get out at South Kensington. Topsy prattled 
 blithely about her future prospects, and was apparently 
 unaware that she had supplied her fellow-traveller with 
 ample food for thought. At Sloane Square he wished her 
 good-bye as he stood on the platform. 
 
 ‘ So long, Mr. Yorke,’ she responded cheerfully. ‘ We ’re 
 going to live in Battersea, so I dare say I shall see you some- 
 times when I come across the Bridge. Battersea ’ll be further 
 away from London than ever, won’t it ? ’ They shook hands, 
 and then, just as the train was starting, she thrust her head 
 out of the window so that her mouth was close to his ear. 
 * I don’t really like him half as much as you,’ she said, ‘ but 
 you understand, don’t you ? That wouldn’t do ! So good- 
 bye, dear ! ’ 
 
 The train bore her away, nodding and smiling. Denis 
 remained on the platform until the buffers of the last carriage 
 had disappeared in the tunnel, then he walked slowly to the 
 Chelsea Embankment. 
 
 His emotions were conflicting. She had gone out of his 
 life, he supposed, — a consummation which, in his calmer 
 moments, he had considered eminently desirable ; yet though 
 he realised that she had acted wisely, he was uncomfortably 
 conscious of having received a staggering rebuff. That 
 affair which he had taken so seriously, which had altered 
 his whole view of life, seemed a mere episode to Topsy, and 
 not only did she regard it as trivial, but she seemed also 
 to assume that he himself would take the same superficial, 
 material point of view. ‘ That wouldn’t do ! ’ meant, he 
 supposed, that a repetition of the scene, a renewal of the 
 very brief relations which had existed between them, would 
 be unpractical, unwise. Commonplace convenience dictated 
 her attitude ; passion was a word that did not exist in her 
 vocabulary, yet it was hungry, irresistible passion which 
 had possessed her that night, — passion against which she had 
 fought in vain, as she herself confessed. He felt that he was 
 
444 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 disappointed in Topsy ) he had often shrunk from the prospect 
 of meeting her again, but at least, when the meeting actually 
 happened, she might have shown a hint of emotion, and have 
 realised that he was not so callous as herself. Topsy had 
 contrived to give him a draught of experience that was more 
 bitter than any of the medicine which she formerly ad- 
 ministered at his bedside. Of course he didn’t want her to 
 care, but nevertheless he had expected that she would, and 
 the discovery of her lightness was a shock to his self-esteem. 
 He felt that she had hurt him * he also felt that she had gone 
 near to making a fool of him. Of course, it would be much 
 better not to see her any more. He realised then that this 
 remarkable resolution had become a mere phrase ; he would 
 give anything to see her — under the old conditions. How 
 maddening it was, this perpetual veering round of one’s 
 mind ! What was it that little Sandys had said of Noel ? 
 ‘ Unstable as water ’ ? Denis knew that the words fitted much 
 more aptly to himself. His soul, and not that of Noel, was 
 become ‘ a lute on which all winds might play.’ If only 
 he could be like his lost self of six months ago, tranquil and 
 happy, enthusiastic about his work, and untroubled by the 
 caprices of other people and the shifting confusion of his 
 own mind ! Why had he changed so hatefully ? Did it 
 happen to every one when they came to manhood ? Noel 
 had escaped, at any rate ; he was the same as ever, no passions 
 tore his will to tatters, he was nearly always gay and always 
 self-controlled. 
 
 When he reached home he found Sandys alone in the 
 studio. The little man, who was having luncheon, sprang up 
 when Denis entered. ‘ I ’ve seen Damboise ! ’ he cried, 
 ‘ he told me ! It ’s splendid. You can put me down for 
 ten thousand in your will, for your fortune ’s as good as 
 made ! ’ He took hold of the flaps of Denis’s coat and looked 
 at him solemnly. ‘ Don’t you feel fairly bursting with 
 excitement ? ’ he demanded. 
 
 Denis laughed. * I ’d almost forgotten about it,’ he 
 said. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 445 
 
 * Don't pose ! ' cried Sandys shrilly, ‘ it 's tempting Provi- 
 dence. Do you know, my young friend/ he continued, 
 4 that you 're not only a fairly decent pianist, but also an 
 intensely fortunate young man ? If I, with my inconsider- 
 able talent, had had a chance like this when I was your age, 
 I should now be fat and famous. Imagine, then, what you 
 ought to be when you 're as old as I am ! ' 
 
 ‘ How old are you ? ' asked Denis, beginning to eat. 
 
 ‘ Thirty-three,' Sandys answered. 
 
 ‘ Through Life's dull path , so dim and dirty, 
 
 I have dragged on to three-and- thirty. 
 
 It 's a beautiful age, mellow and smooth, like a plum that 
 is ripe but still keeps its bloom. You 'll be a better man 
 when you reach it, Denis.' 
 
 ‘ Oh ! I shan't live to be as old as that ! ' said Denis with 
 deep conviction. ‘ At least I hope not.' 
 
 ‘ Tush ! ' said Sandys. ‘ Why not, indeed ? You 're 
 young, beautiful and accomplished, with no vices and good 
 health, and you take a cold bath every morning and smoke a 
 pipe. You 'll live till ninety, and you ought to rejoige at 
 the prospect. Sixty years of masterpieces, mon enfant , — quoi ? 9 
 
 ‘ I 'm a failure,' said Denis gloomily, and poured himself 
 a glass of beer. Sandys began to laugh. 
 
 ‘ You 're not,' he said. ‘ You 're only a young idiot, and 
 you 're angling for compliments. I won't talk to you any 
 more. Where 's Noel ? Why doesn't he come to look after 
 his shy guest ? He asked me to lunch here.' 
 
 But a few minutes later they heard Noel's step on the 
 stairs. He entered the studio, stared at them without 
 smiling, and passed into his tiny bedroom. Sandys turned to 
 Denis. 
 
 ‘ Hullo ! ' he remarked. 4 What 's the matter with our 
 Noel ? He looks as if he were cherishing a viper in his 
 bosom. His ruddy countenance is grim with thought. Do 
 you think he 's engaged to be married ? Once or twice lately 
 he has seemed actually depressed.' 
 
 * I expect he 's hungry,' said Denis. Noel came in a 
 
446 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 moment later and sat down at the table without a word. 
 Little Sandys addressed him with elaborate and formal 
 phrases, but Noel ignored him completely, and sitting stiffly 
 upright at the table, glowered at the wall beyond him. Sandys 
 refused to regard this strange behaviour as anything except 
 a joke on the part of Noel, and continued to babble nonsense. 
 Denis, however, when he looked at his friend, realised that 
 something serious had happened. Noel's face seemed almost 
 distorted, and his eyes had a queer expression which recalled 
 to the boy the memory of that night in the school sanatorium 
 when Noel had received the news of his mother's death. 
 What on earth had happened to him ? Had Noel, after 
 all, some secret trouble which had suddenly become in- 
 tolerable ? 
 
 ‘ Noel, what 's wrong ? ' he asked gently. 
 
 Noel lqoked at him with dull eyes. 
 
 ‘ You '11 find out soon enough,' he said. He tried to 
 eat, but it was obvious that the food almost choked him. 
 Sandys persisted insanely in his belief that Noel was playing 
 a part. 
 
 1 He 's having us on, Denis,' he said ; * don't you encourage 
 him. Very well done, old man, but we know your wily ways. 
 We aren't going to be frightened.' He was astonished the 
 next moment, however, for Noel, after glaring at him like a 
 maddened lion, suddenly struck him in the chest with all 
 the force of his big arm. Sandys reeled back in his chair with 
 a loud gasp, and Noel immediately began to look extremely 
 ashamed of himself. 
 
 ‘ I 'm awfully sorry, Archibald,' he said, ‘ I beg your 
 pardon. But I simply can't stand your rotting to-day. 
 I 've had some news, — beastly news.' He held out his hand 
 to Sandys, who shook it violently. 
 
 * I beg your pardon, old fellow,' said the little man, who 
 was still rather breathless. ‘ I was a fool not to see that 
 you were serious. I hope — if you don't mind me saying so — 
 that it 's nothing very bad ? ' 
 
 ‘ Oh ! I don't suppose you '11 think it bad,' Noel replied 
 in a tone of extraordinary bitterness ; ‘ it 's just knocked 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 447 
 
 all the bottom out of my life, that 's all/ He gulped down 
 some whisky and soda. It was the first time since his 
 schooldays that Denis had heard him make any serious 
 reference to his own affairs. * There isn't any reason why 
 you should think it bad,' he added, in a slightly defiant 
 tone. 
 
 They stared at him blankly, and then Sandys turned a 
 face full of alarmed interrogation towards Denis. Denis 
 shook his head. Perhaps Noel observed and was irritated 
 by these gestures, for after a few moments of silence he 
 pushed his chair violently from the table and spoke. 
 
 ‘ I may as well tell you/ he said. ‘ You 're bound to 
 know soon — every one seems to know already — and you had 
 better hear it from me than from some damned scandal- 
 monger. Grimshaw went to Italy yesterday, and Rosalind 
 went with him.' 
 
448 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 XLVI 
 
 T HIS curt announcement was followed by absolute 
 silence. Noel rose, and slowly filled a pipe from the 
 tobacco- jar on the mantelpiece, and Denis watched each of his 
 movements with the strange interest in trivial things that we 
 affect when some great catastrophe has befallen us of which 
 we are afraid to think. He tried to fight against a full 
 realisation of the meaning of Noel’s words, to shut out their 
 sense from his brain, to imagine even that they had not been 
 uttered. But gradually the truth forced itself through all 
 the feeble obstacles which he hurled in its way ; .tracking him 
 down like an assassin in a nightmare, and overtaking him 
 hatefully at last. 
 
 Rosalind had gone ; she had given herself, body and soul, 
 to the man who could never marry her ; she was his willing 
 victim, and for his sake had sacrificed her honour in a sordid 
 elopement. In spite of his deep distrust of Grimshaw, 
 Denis had never dreamed that such a horrible event could 
 happen ; she had seemed to him always superbly remote 
 from anything base or ugly ; his ideal of her shone per- 
 petually with the pure radiance of a star. But now his last 
 illusion had faded ; the star had fallen headlong into the 
 murky waters of passion, the ideal was besmirched for ever. 
 He stared blankly at Noel, and Noel spoke to him in a 
 harsh voice. ‘ Don’t look at me like that ! ’ he almost 
 shouted. 
 
 Then a strange thing happened. Little Sandys, who had 
 also been staring at Noel, suddenly dropped his face into 
 his hands and began to cry like a child, sobbing noisily and 
 absurdly. Noel sprang up and shook him roughly. 
 
 ‘ Don’t make a damned ass of yourself ! ’ he said furiously. 
 Sandys looked up at him, and Denis saw that tears were 
 trickling down his cheeks. * You fool, you sentimental little 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 449 
 
 fool ! * Noel cried, continuing to shake him. Sandys uttered 
 a stifled groan. 
 
 ‘ I know I am/ he said ? * I know, — but I can't help it. 
 I — I loved her myself. Grimshaw — of all people ! My God, 
 my God ! 9 He began to sob again. 
 
 € Oh, shut up, do ! 9 cried Noel, with intense exasperation. 
 * I dare say you did, and very likely I did too, but I don't 
 snivel like a cow that has lost its calf. You think about 
 nothing but your own miserable little soul ; think of her ! 
 Think what it means to her ! You don't matter ! ' 
 
 ‘ I always knew that I didn't,' said poor Sandys, drying his 
 eyes. ‘ But do you mean to say that you — you too ? ' 
 
 * Oh, shut up ! ' reiterated Noel. ‘ You 'd better go away * 
 you 've made a beast of yourself. I don't matter either, but 
 at any rate I 'll kill that brute. She 's been hypnotised \ he 
 carried her off by force ; she never cared for him — in that 
 way. But I 'll hunt him down ! ' 
 
 And then Denis began to laugh quietly, so that they 
 both thought he was mad. The grotesque and indecently 
 farcical aspect of the situation dawned upon him suddenly \ 
 the abrupt revelation that Noel and Sandys were in a condition 
 precisely similar to his own seemed the enormous jest of an 
 ironical Fate. What fools they were, — Sandys with his tears, 
 Noel with his noisy threats, and he himself with his shattered 
 ideal ! None of them was worthy of her, none had been 
 strong enough to wrest her from Grimshaw ; she had found 
 a lover — a real lover, not a half-hearted mute adorer — and 
 had chosen him in defiance of the world. She had done 
 well \ the present scene was a proof of that ! Grimshaw, if 
 he had been in any of their places, would not have snivelled, 
 or raved ridiculously, or felt completely crushed by Fate ; 
 he would have acted, calmly, quietly, without hesitating. He 
 was not one of ‘ the little lovers who curse and cry.' Oh ! 
 she had chosen wisely, — she had always been wise ! They 
 were the fools, the fluctuating, the uncertain, — and she had 
 known it instinctively. 
 
 He became conscious that Noel was glaring at him with 
 undisguised malevolence. 
 
450 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 ‘ Funny, isn’t it ? ’ Noel said. 1 Just the kind of thing 
 to make you laugh, isn’t it ? ’ The exterior corners of his 
 eyes seemed to be elevated like those of a Chinese ; his teeth 
 shone behind his moustache. The memory of the day in the 
 sanatorium came back more vividly than ever to Denis. 
 How strange it was that Noel, whom he had lately regarded 
 as the most tranquil and self-controlled of persons, should 
 break out in this extraordinary way, should behave, really, 
 with an abandonment as ridiculous as that of Sandys ! 
 Perhaps Noel realised that there was a certain critical expres- 
 sion in the boy’s face, for he spoke with increasing vehemence. 
 4 It ’s all very well for you to sit there looking like the calm 
 and judicial little prig that you are ! ’ he cried. ‘ You don’t 
 care a curse what becomes of her, do you ? You ’re just 
 interested, and rather shocked. I used to think that you 
 were going to turn into a decent sort of fellow, but I see now 
 that you ’re a prig, a prig, and a finicking little egotist ! All 
 you care for is your beastly self and your beastly music. You 
 chucked your old father as soon as you decently could, and 
 now, I suppose, you see that it ’s time to chuck Rosalind, and 
 then you ’ll chuck Sandys and me. You think we ’ve made 
 asses of ourselves, — I can see it in your face. So we have, but 
 you ought to feel damned sorry because you haven’t made an 
 ass of yourself too, and never will, but are just a cold-blooded, 
 mercenary, heartless little worm. You had your suspicions, 
 hadn’t you, that this might happen ? I remember the way 
 you kept on asking questions, — and now I suppose you ’ll 
 go telling every one that you suspected it from the first. 
 Such a pity, isn’t it, that a nice girl should throw her bonnet 
 over the mills in that way ? Don’t look at me as if I was an 
 acrobat in a music-hall ! You make me ill. You ’re worse 
 than Sandys.’ 
 
 Denis bore the brunt of this amazing attack with patience. 
 Noel was evidently half mad with irritation. Sandys, how- 
 ever, who had partially recovered, came to his rescue. 
 
 ‘ Let him alone,’ he said. ‘ I dare say he feels it nearly 
 as much as we do, though he doesn’t, as you say, make an ass 
 of himself. After all,’ he added with a pale smile, ‘ every one 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 45i 
 
 in the world wasn’t in love with her, you know.’ This 
 remark, for some strong reason, irritated Denis more than all 
 the insults that Noel had heaped upon him. 
 
 ‘ Well, I was, if you must know ! ’ he retorted. Noel stared 
 at him. 
 
 ‘ You, you little whipper-snapper ! ’ he said rudely. 
 
 ‘ Yes, I was,’ said Denis, ‘ and I told her so, too, which was 
 more than either of you had the pluck to do. And she told 
 me about Grimshaw.’ 
 
 They both stared at him. 
 
 ‘ She told you about Grimshaw ? ’ cried Noel. ‘ Why on 
 earth didn’t you say something, — to me, to any one ? ’ 
 
 ‘ When I began to you told me I was a prig,’ Denis answered. 
 Noel turned away ; his rage seemed to have died suddenly. 
 
 ‘ You see, we ’re all in the same boat ! ’ said Sandys with 
 a doleful squeak. ' What are we going to do ? ’ 
 
 Noel did not answer, but Denis spoke after a short silence. 
 
 ' Nothing,’ he said. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! we must do something ! ’ said little Sandys earnestly. 
 
 ‘ Perhaps Noel will be able to persuade her to leave him.’ 
 
 ‘ It ’s likely, isn’t it, when she loves him ? ’ said Denis. 
 ‘ And if he managed to persuade her, what good would it do ? 
 She would go on loving him still. Even if he dies she will go 
 on loving him. I don’t believe that you understand her a bit. 
 I don’t either, but I know that she won’t change.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, you know such a lot ! ’ growled Noel, pulling hard 
 at his unkindled pipe. But his rage had exhausted itself, 
 and soon he spoke almost calmly. ‘ Even now,’ he said, ‘ I 
 wouldn’t care if I thought she would be happy. But she 
 can’t be happy ; she ’s the last person in the world to stand a 
 — a situation — of that kind for long. Suppose she meets 
 people in Italy who know all about her and insult her ! 
 It ’s quite likely • it ’s bound to happen. And he ’s a beast ; 
 he never was straight with women ; he ’ll desert her, or 
 hit her when he ’s drunk. It ’s a loathsome business ! ’ 
 He dropped unconsciously into the intonation of his school- 
 days. 
 
 ‘ I don’t think that will happen, Noel,’ said little Sandys 
 
452 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 solemnly. ‘ You must remember that he 's practically a 
 dying man.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, and I hope he will die ! ' said Noel vindictively. 
 
 4 And when he dies, what will become of her ? She can't 
 come back here ; she 'll have to wander about Europe alone, 
 year after year. All her friends will cut her. You should 
 have heard the things Amory said, and Amory always pre- 
 tended to be superior to the conventions. It 's Amory's 
 fault, a great deal. She knew what was going on, and all the 
 time she used to prate about their beautiful friendship, — 
 Rosalind's and his, I mean.' 
 
 Sandys had a sudden idea. 
 
 ‘ Look here ! ' he cried excitedly. ‘ Suppose that we 're 
 all wrong ! Suppose that she only went with him from pity — 
 just to nurse him ! She must know that he 's dying ; she 
 wouldn't go and throw her reputation and all' that to the 
 winds just for the sake of living with a fellow in that hopeless 
 state for a few weeks. I believe she has gone merely to 
 look after him, and never bothered to realise that people 
 might talk. It would be just like her, and I don't know 
 why I didn't think of it before. I believe that 's what has 
 happened ; and if it is, we 're a pretty trio of fools ! If 
 he dies, I believe that she 'll come back and be utterly aston- 
 ished to find that any one thinks that she has acted strangely. 
 And if he doesn't die, she '11 leave him as soon as he is better, 
 or make Miss Amory and you go out and join her. I feel 
 certain that will happen ! ' 
 
 This laboriously constructed theory seemed actually to 
 impress Noel. 4 It 's just possible,' he said slowly, and lit 
 his pipe. The face of Sandys began to resume its normal 
 serenity. Denis felt a profound contempt for both of them. 
 How could they dupe themselves with such a fantastic idea ? 
 He himself, after all, was the only one who had any insight 
 into Rosalind’s motives ; it was passion, not pity, that had 
 driven her to go with Grimshaw, and when he died she would 
 die too ; she might live on, in the literal sense, but she would 
 be dead to everything in the world except them emory of the 
 man whom she had loved. Denis realised the meaning of 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 453 
 
 that reserve of quiet strength which he had always known her 
 to possess ; she had used it at last, and nothing would make 
 her waver or falter. Friends, the world, and even Death 
 would hurl themselves in vain against that barrier of iron 
 steadfastness and golden love. Noel and Sandys, however, 
 seemed to have no idea of its existence, and babbled of the 
 conventions like a pair of old women in a country parsonage ! 
 How limited and respectable they were, these artists who 
 imagined themselves to be so grandly aloof from the rules and 
 dogmas of earth ! 
 
 Sandys spoke again, with a funnily important air. ‘ The 
 more I think of it, the more I ’m convinced that I ’m right ! ’ 
 he said. ‘ But of course that only makes it all the more neces- 
 sary that we should do something, doesn’t it ? ’ 
 
 Denis turned upon him almost angrily. 
 
 ‘ Why ? ’ he demanded. Sandys waved a hand vaguely in 
 the air. 
 
 4 To protect her from her own thoughtlessness — her beauti- 
 ful thoughtlessness ! ’ he explained. Then he stared in 
 amazement at Denis. The boy seemed suddenly to have 
 become a man ; he spoke calmly, with authority, and there 
 was a strange gravity in his face. 
 
 ‘ Don’t you see,’ he said, ‘ that you oughtn’t to dare to 
 talk in that patronising way ? Don’t you see that we haven’t 
 — any of us — the least right to interfere ? She has been 
 wise — she always was wise — and we have been fools \ she ’s 
 happy, and just because we ’re disappointed we think we can 
 meddle with her happiness. Several times lately you ’ve 
 told me I ’m a prig,’ he went on, turning to Noel, ‘ but I 
 believe I ’m the only one of us who realises that her happiness 
 is the only thing that matters, — Oh yes ! You talked about 
 it, but you weren’t really thinking of it ! You were only 
 scoring off us. I loved her and I don’t love Grimshaw, but I 
 do believe that I ’m beginning to see that she has done the 
 right thing, the only possible thing for her.’ He paused 
 and met their eyes steadily. Little Sandys flung up his hands 
 in a gesture of despair. 
 
 ‘ And you said you were in love with her ! ’ he wailed. 
 
454 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 Noel scowled at Denis. ‘ You may not be a moral prig/ 
 he said, 4 but you 're an intellectual one. You 're interested 
 now, really, in nothing but the workings of your own little 
 mind. You think you 've found a noble attitude of re- 
 nunciation/ 
 
 ‘ I don't care ; I 'm beginning to understand things,' Denis 
 answered doggedly. And this was true. The bewildering 
 darkness that had oppressed his soul was gradually drifting 
 away before a strange new light ; he felt as if he had grown 
 old in a few moments, and that he was able to look at all 
 that had happened clearly and steadily ; to weigh every point 
 in the scale of hopeless, impartial reason. He had escaped 
 from himself, — he no longer saw the event through the dis- 
 torting medium of his own desires, but surveyed it, at last, 
 absolutely, with the calm eyes of a sympathetic stranger. 
 His idea that Rosalind had changed was revealed in all its 
 disloyal absurdity. She was the same Rosalind — the Rosa- 
 lind that he had loved since childhood — and this act of hers 
 was not the result of a mad impulse, but the inevitable ex- 
 pression of all the faithfulness and splendour of her heart. 
 The mundane aspect of the affair, which had hurt him at 
 first and appeared to dominate all the thoughts of Noel and 
 Sandys, was a fiction of their unworthy imaginations and had 
 no real existence. Nothing base could live where she was ; 
 like the princess of old, whose whiteness healed the sick and 
 restored vigour to the halt and the maimed, her presence 
 sanctified all that foolish and short-sighted people thought 
 sordid or doubtful ; she would be right in all conditions, for 
 she was wise because of her strength, and strong because she 
 was true-hearted. She had not wasted her intense vitality on 
 a thousand trivial things, but had realised it all in this great, 
 and, for her, inevitable action. Oh ! she was right, she was 
 right ! Whatever happened hereafter, she had made a success 
 of life ! She had flown into the sun, and left them all — 
 Noel, Sandys, and himself — burrowing like moles in earthy 
 darkness. Love was the one thing in the world that made 
 life worth living ; success and friendship, even art, he knew 
 only too well now, were pale phantoms beside its radiance. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 455 
 
 Rosalind, also, after a little while, had learnt this truth \ 
 she had ignored prudence and the world’s scorn, and turned 
 towards love, instinctively, irrevocably, for she was great of 
 soul. 
 
 But when he thought of himself, realising at last the 
 full extent of his loss, the new light seemed to desert him, 
 and he seemed to contemplate his own failure through a 
 mist of self-pitying tears. His hardly won manliness was 
 not proof against that deplorable spectacle, but at any 
 rate he knew that he had never been worthy of her ; that, as 
 she had said, he had not understood • and the fact that it 
 was his revelation to Grimshaw which had sent her lover back 
 to her did not seem to him, as it would have seemed a short 
 time before, another hideous instance of tragic irony. It 
 was appropriate ; he had played his tiny part in the drama ; 
 in his little way he had helped her. If Noel could have 
 known his thoughts at that moment, he would have been 
 obliged to admit more than ever that Denis was ‘ getting 
 on.’ 
 
 Noel, however, was concerned at present with the thoughts 
 of no one except himself. He maintained a gloomy silence, 
 and paced up and down the room ; at last he took up a palette 
 and some brushes and began to paint. Little Sandys sat 
 staring into vacancy with his mournful eyes, and occasionally 
 made some remark that was sufficiently fatuous. ‘ I must be 
 right ! ’ he kept on saying ; ‘ it ’s impossible that she could 
 really elope.’ ‘ She would know how it would hurt us all.’ 
 For some time Denis made no response to these ejaculations. 
 At last, when Sandys began to discuss the possibility of the 
 truants being in Rome, Florence, or on the Riviera, he lost 
 patience and lifted up his voice. 
 
 ‘ What ’s the use of thinking about that ? ’ he said • ‘ un- 
 less you intend to go and denounce them to the English 
 chaplain of the town where they happen to be j and what ’s 
 the use of talking about her motive for going ? Whatever it 
 was, you may be quite certain that she won’t ever look at any 
 of us, whether we think her good or wicked. We ’re nothing 
 more than friends, and never shall be. She ’s gone beyond 
 
456 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 us. We ’re little, and she ’s great. She couldn’t think of us — 
 in that way.’ 
 
 Noel actually endorsed this oracular utterance. 1 He ’s 
 right,’ he said to Sandys • * though of course he really thinks 
 that he ’s not so little as we are by a long shot.’ He painted 
 vigorously for some moments, and then added, * We may as 
 well drop the subject. Talking does no good.’ 
 
 ‘ But aren’t you going to do anything ? ’ cried Sandys. 
 
 Noel stared fiercely at his picture. 
 
 ‘ No,’ he answered. 
 
 Sandys shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Denis. 
 
 ‘ Aren’t you ? ’ he said. 
 
 ‘ I ’m going to work,’ said Denis. And he went to his 
 room. But he did no work for the remainder of that day. 
 A sterner task than music was in store for his soul. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 457 
 
 XLVII 
 
 I T was to music, however, that he turned for consolation 
 in the dark days which followed that crude and violent 
 scene. He worked at Beethoven with Damboise during the 
 mornings, and spent the afternoon and evening hours at his 
 own piano, playing everything that he had learnt since early 
 childhood, and finding a melancholy luxury in the memories 
 evoked by that long procession of sweet sound. Nights at 
 the Red House, late afternoons in the chilly, vault-like 
 practice-cells at school, came back to his mind with an almost 
 supernatural vividness ; sometimes, as he played, he felt 
 certain that his father was sitting behind him, dozing over 
 the paper in the broad circle of lamplight, or that he could hear 
 the heavy booming of the great bell that hung above the 
 entrance to the quadrangle. The simplest pieces of music, 
 at which he had toiled so painfully when he was no more 
 than five years old, had their subtle message for him ; time 
 seemed to have lent the gayest of them a strange pathos, — 
 something of the pathos, perhaps, which we feel when we 
 look on the toys used by babies in Greece two thousand years 
 ago, or the delicate fan which remains when the white hand 
 that fluttered it so daintily has long since crumbled to dust. 
 They seemed to be the voice of his dead self speaking from 
 the twilight of a past that had lately grown immeasurably 
 remote. And his father's voice was there also. But when 
 he turned from them to Bach and Beethoven it was the 
 atmosphere of Parnasse that surrounded him completely, and 
 every detail of the hours that he passed in the old studio 
 rose before him as he played. A shadowy Rosalind danced 
 for him with castanets and swaying pigtail ; he could even 
 remember the arrangement of the colours in her plaid frock, 
 and the funny way she had of coiling up her toes when he tried 
 to replace the shoes which had fallen off her feet. Mr. Duroy 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 458 
 
 leant over his shoulder, humming like an immense and 
 melodious bee, and marking the time with a large forefinger. 
 When he played some old accompaniments which he found 
 amongst his music he could hear the violin buzzing behind 
 him, or the voice which sang so softly, so perfectly. And one 
 song, above all others, returned to haunt him, mingled with 
 the dim notes of an ancient lute. 
 
 Et s’il veut s avoir pour quoi 
 
 La salle est deserte f 
 
 — Montrez-lui la la7>ipe eteinte , 
 
 Et la porte ouverte . . . 
 
 The familiar words came back to him with a new and 
 startling poignancy. Yet he was able once more to think of 
 Parnasse without any bitterness of regret * it had played its 
 part fully in their lives ; its influence would be with them 
 always. Surely, he thought, the chief consolation of human 
 existence was to be found in the fact, that when we look 
 back on the past we remember, to use the commonplace 
 phrase, only the pleasant things ; the memory of ugly environ- 
 ments becomes blurred ; that of happy scenes is abiding, and 
 grows clearer with time. His painful servitude at Boulter's 
 office and the last hateful months at the Red House had left, 
 he found, no sharp impression on his mind, but the details 
 of earlier days, when he had roamed the hills in happy solitude, 
 and was not yet estranged from his father, returned to him 
 again and again. Sometimes he felt strangely certain that 
 his old self, which had played its part in all these recurring 
 scenes, was dead, and that his new self was still unborn. 
 The news of Rosalind's departure made his former life seem 
 like a chapter that was ended, and though he continued to 
 work in his usual manner and made no alteration of any 
 kind in his actual existence, he was haunted perpetually by 
 the impression that he was about to become a new person, 
 that an epoch in his life had come to a close as completely 
 as if he had died. The sudden shock of that piece of news, 
 the slow realisation that Rosalind had, as Dr. Yorke used to 
 say, been true to herself in acting as she did, seemed to have 
 wrought some miraculous change in him ; he was not happy. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 459 
 
 but he was no longer desponding or petulant ; he was not 
 hopeful, but he felt grimly determined to press on, to wrestle 
 with the world, to get a little nearer the secret which had 
 made Rosalind’s life so successful, whilst its absence had been 
 the cause of his own miserable failure. He saw things clearly 
 now. A shallow observer would say, of course, that he, 
 with his musical triumphs, was the success, and she, with 
 her ruined reputation, the failure ; but he knew that a 
 judgment of this kind was wickedly superficial. She only had 
 triumphed ; she would triumph always, for there was some 
 strange quality in her soul which made her distinguish 
 infallibly between the essential and the trivial. She under- 
 stood ! She had a wisdom that was beyond all the theories 
 of sages ’ she would always be right. Long ago, at Parnasse, 
 he had been dimly conscious of the presence in her of this 
 mysterious quality. He was certain now that unless he could 
 discover the secret his second round with life would be as 
 great a failure as the first. Unstable as water, the plaything 
 of every veering wind — that was the history of all the days of 
 his boyhood. 
 
 The experience had left its mark on Noel also. When once 
 his fiery anger had burnt itself out, he became more thoughtful, 
 more gentle, even, than had ever seemed possible. He never 
 spoke of Rosalind, and a fortnight elapsed before he made 
 any allusion to the scene in the studio. One morning, how- 
 ever, he entered Denis’s room, and without any preliminary 
 remarks, apologised very quietly and humbly for everything 
 that he had said. 
 
 ‘ I was mad, I suppose/ he added ; ‘ the whole place turned 
 crimson. But even then I didn’t mean any of the things I 
 said to you and Archibald. I deliberately thought of the 
 beastliest lies that I could heave at you. It was his crying 
 that did it ■ when I see a man cry it makes me want to run 
 amok. You aren’t a prig, mon Denis ; you ’re the only one of 
 us that had an atom of sense.’ 
 
 He left the room abruptly. Not until many months had 
 elapsed did he tell Denis how he had received a letter from 
 Rosalind that morning. A day or two later he returned to 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 460 
 
 the studio with an old friend, — Narcisse, a pensive and melan- 
 choly hound, unresponsive to all the blandishments of Denis, 
 equally indifferent to sugar and music. Marie, Noel said, had 
 gone back to Paris because Miss Amory had become a vege- 
 tarian, so Narcisse had decided to migrate to Chelsea. The 
 dog walked stiffly round the studio, sniffing at the canvases 
 that were piled against the walls, then he sighed deeply, and 
 lay down in the space beneath the piano, from which abode of 
 darkness he could seldom be induced to move. 
 
 ‘ Poor beast ! ’ said Noel. ‘ He ’s getting old.' He fumbled 
 in his pockets for a moment, and then produced a small brown- 
 paper parcel which he handed to Denis. 
 
 ‘ I thought you might like this,’ he said in a queer voice. 
 ‘ Don’t open it now,’ he added. ‘ Keep it till you go back 
 to your room.’ 
 
 Denis obeyed. When he opened the parcel he found that it 
 contained a pair of small Spanish castanets. 
 
 The day of the concert drew near, and he worked harder 
 than ever, still haunted by the sense that he was inhabiting 
 some lonely limbo between the old life which he had left and 
 the new life to which he had not found the clue. Damboise 
 assured him that he was playing very well — becoming, actually, 
 a colosse ! — and little Sandys, whom he met frequently at the 
 flat, was in ecstasies. But Denis felt that there was something 
 lacking ; that the secret for which he had begun to grope was 
 also the secret of music, and his leisure was devoted to painful 
 heart-searchings. Damboise introduced him to a London 
 conductor who was perpetually on the watch for native 
 genius, and the conductor, having studied the suite, suggested 
 certain alterations and almost promised that his orchestra 
 should perform it at one of the Sunday concerts. Denis’s old 
 idea, that it should be named after Rosalind, returned to him ; 
 she had inspired every note, he felt now ; the first part was 
 built up from the joy that he had felt in her presence when 
 they were in France, and the second was full of the pain which 
 overwhelmed him when he thought that she had changed. 
 But to complete it a third part would have to be added, and 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 461 
 
 as yet he was unworthy even to attempt it. Some day he 
 would write it, that great, serene third part, — some day, when 
 the bewildering secret was wholly his. At present he must 
 abide in his lonely limbo ; his soul was heavily inarticulate ; 
 he could not compose. 
 
 He thought continually of Rosalind, without bitterness, — 
 without pain, even, and this seemed very strange. If he had 
 loved her as she deserved to be loved, could it have happened, 
 he thought ? Ought he not to have hated her, he wondered ? 
 Was his passion, in that dead life, not really so tremendous as 
 he imagined ? Was it only ‘ the light fire in the veins of a 
 boy ' ? It was curious that he seemed now to love her more 
 than ever, — but with a difference ; his boyish adoration of 
 her had returned, intensified, of course — far more strong and 
 faithful ; but the feverish passion which had forced him to 
 kiss her hands when she visited him during his illness 
 seemed to him now foolish and grotesque, — an insult to 
 her, an act which didn't in the least express his real feeling 
 towards her. Had he been the dupe of his imagination once 
 again ? 
 
 He could find no answer to these perplexing questions ; 
 time, perhaps, would solve them, or new wisdom would be 
 vouchsafed to him when he had found the great, mysterious 
 secret. For the present there was nothing left to him but 
 humility and the tonic of hard work. He had been a fool 
 from first to last, — a sentimental, self-conscious young idiot, 
 as Noel said, or should have said. All that folly had to be 
 lived down, and the thought of Rosalind would help him in the 
 process. 
 
 A week before the day appointed for the concert he was on 
 the point of going to see Damboise when there was a knock at 
 his door. He invited the visitor to come in, and was startled 
 to behold Gabriel Searle. There was no change in Gabriel's 
 aspect ; he looked as long and lazy and satirical as ever, and 
 when he spoke his voice had the drawling softness that Denis 
 remembered so well. 
 
 ‘ You see, I 've swooped upon you ! ' he said, closing the 
 door and placing his hat on the table. He shook hands with 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 462 
 
 Denis, and sank with a sigh into an armchair. 4 A cigarette, 
 an you love me, Denis ! * he murmured. 
 
 Denis produced his case, but Gabriel, after inspecting its 
 contents, waved it away with a white hand. 
 
 4 Americans ! 9 he said. 4 Forgive me, but I can't. “ I 've 
 heard the East a-calling, and I can't hear nothing else." In 
 plainer English, I only smoke Egyptians.' Denis thought it 
 was just like Gabriel to reinsert the aspirates when he quoted 
 Kipling. 
 
 4 Did you come up to London to-day ? ' he asked. 
 
 * This very morning,' said Gabriel ; 4 I have only been here 
 a few hours, yet long enough to have seen your face staring 
 very solemnly at me from innumerable posters. So I said to 
 myself, 44 the morning is fine, the parson is idle, the clerical 
 meeting will be stuffy and controversial, Chelsea is charming ; 
 let me go there and renew my acquaintance with the man of 
 genius." So I gat me into a hansom and here I am. My dear 
 boy, I 'm delighted at your success ! To be playing with 
 Damboise, at your age ! I suppose you feel tremendously 
 proud of yourself ? ' 
 
 4 Oh ! I don’t know. Not very,' Denis answered, looking 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 Gabriel obviously didn't believe him. 4 Well, you may, you 
 legitimately may ! ' he cried. 4 Why, it 's less than two years 
 since you left school ! ' 
 
 4 There are lots of fellows younger than I am who play — 
 give big recitals all by themselves, you know,' said Denis. 
 
 4 Some of them are so small that they can’t stretch the 
 octave.' 
 
 Gabriel waved scornful hands. 
 
 4 Oh ! infant prodigies,' he said. 4 They don't last, Denis. 
 But you 'll last, I know. I always felt that you would go 
 through with anything that you began. But you know, my 
 dear boy, that though you 're not an infant prodigy you 're a 
 prodigal infant. Why didn't you write to tell us of your great 
 success ? ' 
 
 Denis thought that Gabriel's humour had deteriorated. 
 
 4 It 's not as wonderful as all that,' he answered. 4 I knew 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 463 
 
 you would see about it in the papers. And I was bothered by 
 other things/ 
 
 ‘ Ha ! ’ said Gabriel. His manner, like the architecture of 
 the Memorial Building at school, vaguely suggested vestry 
 meetings. He was abominably parsonic. ‘ Ha ! ’ he repeated 
 with unction ; ‘ but I wasn’t the person who saw it in the 
 paper ! It was shown to me by some one else, — some one who 
 is always on the look-out for your name. I rather fancy that 
 you can guess whom I mean. And he was more grieved even 
 than I that you had not written. Yes ! I’m afraid that 
 you ’re a prodigal infant.’ 
 
 Gabriel, Denis thought, was really rather silly. His 
 jocular manner jarred intensely on the boy’s nerves. It was 
 a kind of clerical bedside manner, — intensely soothing, no 
 doubt, to rheumatic old women in cottages, but scarcely 
 appropriate to some one whom he had known intimately for 
 years. Meanwhile Gabriel had inspected the room. 
 
 ‘ You ’ve got a pleasant abode,’ he said, ‘ that thing of 
 Beethoven’s head is rather fine. And what a piano ! You ’ll 
 despise mine in future, I ’m afraid. I observed with my 
 falcon eye as I came in that young Tellier has a studio near you. 
 I should like to renew my acquaintance with him ; we met at 
 your school, you remember Lenwood, that other boy who 
 was there, has been made a fellow of some college at Oxford — 
 Balliol, I believe. By the way, what became of Tellier’s 
 cousin — the nice little girl with the black eyes who used to 
 wear a pigtail ? Do you ever see her ? You remember her, 
 of course.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, I remember her,’ Denis answered. ‘ She used to live 
 in London, but now she has gone away.’ 
 
 Gabriel waxed in facetiousness. 
 
 * Don’t you go falling in love with her, Denis,’ he said. 
 4 Remember that an artist is wedded to the Muse. I passed 
 the house where she lived with her father only a few days ago, — 
 Hollywood, it ’s called, but it had another name in their time. 
 The landlord is going to pull it down and put up a row of 
 cottages along the bank where it stood. Disgusting specula- 
 tion ! I hope he ’ll lose money over it. I think you are 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 464 
 
 looking older, Denis, and you 're very thin. You want a 
 change of air, I expect.' 
 
 ‘ I 'm all right, thanks,' Denis answered vaguely. He was 
 thinking of Parnasse. What a brute, that landlord, to think 
 of pulling it down ! But, after all, it didn't matter • nothing 
 could really destroy that beloved house. Its memory would 
 live eternally, in music, in pictures, in the human soul. 
 Parnasse was no temporary arrangement in bricks and 
 plaster ; Parnasse was an idea, Parnasse was immortal ! 
 Then he realised that Gabriel had been speaking, and caught 
 the end of his sentence. ‘ — wants you to come very soon, 
 and told me to tell you so.' He stared at Gabriel. ‘ Who 
 wants me to come ? ' he asked. 
 
 ‘ He does,' said Gabriel. ‘ He said so himself. He didn't 
 know that I was coming to London.' His voice had changed ; 
 there was no more unction, and he spoke quietly and gravely. 
 Denis observed the change, and stared at him with silent 
 wonder. Gabriel inspected the end of his cigarette for a 
 moment and then looked up at the boy. 
 
 ‘ Well, Denis ? ' he said. 
 
 Denis felt a thrill of irritation. Gabriel, obviously, had 
 meant to take him by surprise, had played a foolish kind of 
 trick upon him. Why couldn't he behave like an ordinary 
 man ? It was ridiculous to be so finicking and artful. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! I 'll come, some time soon,' he answered. ‘ But you 
 must know that I can't come now. There 's this concert in a 
 week, and I 've a lot of other work. Was this why you came 
 up to London ? ' 
 
 ‘Yes, I suppose it was,' said Searle, ‘ though there is a 
 clerical meeting in Dean's Yard.' 
 
 ‘ Why couldn't you say so at once ! ' cried Denis. The 
 exclamation surprised Searle. 
 
 ‘ I know that you think me a nuisance, Denis,' he said, ‘ a 
 kind of gadfly that is always buzzing round you ; I know that 
 an artist likes nothing better than to be left alone. But I 
 couldn't help coming to-day 1 I was at the Red House yester- 
 day afternoon, and was tremendously shocked by the change 
 in him.' 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 465 
 
 Denis was silent for a while. 
 
 ‘ Isn't he better ? * he asked. ‘ I thought that as you 
 hadn't written he was all right again.' 
 
 ‘ He 's not better,' said Gabriel. ‘ He 's very much worse. 
 He 's dangerously ill, and he 's fearfully depressed. Hope 
 seems to have left him altogether. But I believe that if you 
 went back with me to-morrow it would make all the difference. 
 Denis ! You can't hesitate now ! He may have treated 
 you tactlessly in the old days, but he 's your father. Even if 
 he had been absolutely brutal to you all his life, there ought to 
 be something in your heart now which would compel you to 
 go to him. Has London made you hard ? I don't believe it. 
 You were often obstinate and wilful, but I always knew that 
 you were really warm-hearted. If you hadn't loved him 
 you wouldn't have been so extremely sensitive when he 
 treated you unreasonably.' 
 
 He watched Denis anxiously. The boy drummed on his 
 knees with his fingers and stared at the window. His face did 
 not inspire Gabriel with relief. 
 
 ‘ Did he really say that — about my coming ? ' he asked at 
 length. 
 
 ‘ Of course he did,' Gabriel answered. ‘ And even if he 
 hadn't said it, you must see that it 's your duty to go to 
 him.' 
 
 ‘ Oh, duty ! ' said Denis. ‘ That 's a word ! The question 
 is, did he really mean it, or was he saying the right thing to 
 you ? I remember that he used to be like that.' 
 
 This piece of insight appeared to annoy Gabriel. 
 
 c It 's indecent, your saying such a thing now ! ' he cried. 
 Denis looked at him gravely. 
 
 ‘ I must say what I think,' he said, ‘ or what 's the use of 
 talking ? ' 
 
 4 Well, if you don't admit that you possess a sense of duty,' 
 said Gabriel ponderously, ‘ your instinct ought to take you to 
 him at once.' 
 
 4 And that 's what I don't feel,' said Denis. ‘ I only feel 
 numb. I 've gone back to him so often, — not from London, I 
 mean — but before, when we had quarrelled, and it was never 
 
466 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 any use. It didn’t alter him. I don’t believe it would alter 
 him now.’ 
 
 Gabriel looked shocked. 
 
 1 So you are hard ! ’ he said. 
 
 'Yes,’ said Denis. ' I suppose I am. I don’t know what 
 has happened. I can’t feel. I see that I ought to, of course. 
 But what is the use of my going to him if I ’m only pretending, 
 if I ’m a hypocrite ? He ’ll see through me, and that won’t 
 make him better.’ 
 
 ‘ And if he dies ? ’ said Gabriel. 
 
 Denis became silent. After some time he said, ' It ’s 
 better for him that he should die thinking me bad than that 
 he should die thinking me a hypocrite.’ 
 
 ‘ What have thoughts got to do with it ? ’ cried Gabriel. 
 
 ' Keep to facts : the facts are that he is dangerously ill and 
 wants to see you. You can’t get away from that. And he 
 loves you, and you loved him once.’ 
 
 * Before he changed,’ said Denis. 
 
 ‘ You were the one who changed ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Well, if I have, it ’s no use pretending that I haven’t.’ 
 
 Gabriel stared at him again. He had not expected that the 
 argument would take this extraordinary line. 
 
 ' You don’t seem to believe that he is longing to see you,’ 
 he said. ‘ On my word of honour, he is, and if you came 
 only for a day you would realise it. Ah, do, Denis ! I know 
 it would interfere with your work, but it would repay you.’ 
 
 Denis shook his head slowly. 
 
 * I couldn’t come for a day,’ he said. ‘ If I came at all, 
 it would have to be for good ; I should have to feel that I 
 couldn’t leave him even for a moment. And I don’t feel like 
 that,’ he concluded. 
 
 ‘ I can’t follow you,’ said Gabriel hopelessly. ‘ You seem 
 to be setting yourself some impossible standard of action, and 
 refusing to act at all because you can’t come up to it mentally. 
 Don’t you see that it ’s not a philosophical problem, but an 
 affair of life and death ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I can’t come as a hypocrite,’ Denis answered. He seemed 
 to be wrestling with some intricate thought. ‘ There ’s some- 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 467 
 
 thing I ought to feel and I don’t feel it,’ he went on ; 'so it 
 would do no good if I came.’ 
 
 Gabriel sprang up and began to walk to and fro. 
 
 ' Denis, don’t make me hate you ! ’ he cried in a strange 
 voice. ' What will you feel like if he dies ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I know what I ought to feel/ Denis answered. ' But as 
 a matter of fact I shan’t feel anything. The father that 1 
 loved seems to have died already — about the time when 1 
 first went to school. I keep on remembering what he was 
 like — in those days. I often see him. Then he changed 
 suddenly ; he began to hate everything that I did, every one 
 whom I liked. Perhaps, in time,’ he added, ' I may feel 
 differently about him, but I can’t at present.’ 
 
 Gabriel turned upon him almost violently. 
 
 ' Oh ! you ’re mad ! ’ he cried. ' You must be mad, unless 
 you ’re merely heartless, and don’t want to leave your music.’ 
 ' It ’s not that,’ said Denis. ' Sometimes I want to go 
 back to him, and to try and persuade myself that he didn’t 
 really die when I went to school ; but it ’s hopeless to think 
 of doing that at present. I can’t explain, but I know. I 
 feel numb. I can’t pretend. I must wait.’ 
 
 This was not lucid, and to Gabriel it seemed incomprehen- 
 sible nonsense. ' A little time ago you said that you would 
 come as soon as your concert was over,’ he said. 
 
 ' I know,’ Denis answered, ' but I ’ve seen things more 
 clearly even while we talked. I must wait until I begin to 
 
 feel — to feel ’ 
 
 Gabriel interrupted him. 
 
 ' Meanwhile your father dies ! ’ he cried indignantly. He 
 glanced wildly round the room, and then seized his hat. 
 ' You ’re horrible ! You appal me ! ’ he said solemnly. 
 'If I ’d ever thought that music would bring you to this 
 awful, callous condition, I ’d have died rather than encourage 
 you to learn it ! I feel as if it were my fault. You ’re not 
 only callous ; you ’re actually revengeful. You ’re convinced 
 really, I believe, that you have a chance of repaying your father 
 all the injuries that you imagine him to have done to you. 
 It ’s ghastly ! You ’ll be his murderer, I tell you plainly. 
 
468 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 If I reported to him what you have said he wouldn't wish to 
 live any longer.' He paused. His manner changed with 
 almost ludicrous rapidity. * There 's some one at your door,' 
 he said. 
 
 ‘ Come in ! ' cried Denis. The door opened, and a radiant 
 personality appeared on the threshold. It wore a shiny silk 
 hat and a smartly cut frock-coat and very light trousers ; 
 its boots shone like twin suns, and it leant upon a gold-headed 
 cane. Denis stared in wild surmise for a moment, and then he 
 recognised Gustus. 
 
 ‘Morning, Yorkie!' cried Gustus, with a flourish of his 
 hat. ‘ I 've run you down at last, you see ! ' He shook hands 
 vigorously with Denis, and then gazed upon him critically, 
 standing with his legs set widely apart and his cane a-swing. 
 
 ‘ Why, you 've quite grown up, Yorkie ! ' he cried. ‘ Where,' 
 he continued melodramatically, addressing the piano, ‘ where 
 is the pretty lad I used to know ? He lives in Town and lets 
 his whiskers grow. And you 're famous, Yorkie ; cabinet 
 portraits of you all over London ; audiences roaring, ladies 
 adoring, and all the rest of it. I 'm coming to hear you, 
 though it 's out of my line.' He turned to Gabriel, and 
 recognised him. ‘ If it isn't Mr. Searle ! ' he cried. ‘ You 
 don't remember me, sir, probably ; I 'm young Abrahams, 
 of Wychcombe. Glad to meet you. You may remember 
 my poor sister, who used to come and hear you read poetry. 
 She said you read it splendidly, — sang it like a bird ! ' 
 
 ‘ Indeed,' said Gabriel, with excessive grimness. ‘ A lyre- 
 bird, I presume ? ' He turned to Denis. ‘ I must go,' he 
 said. 
 
 Gustus protested vehemently. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! don't let me frighten you off, Mr. Searle,' he said. 
 
 * I may look alarming, but I 'm as mild as a new-born babe, 
 really. Let 's have a good talk about the old place.' 
 
 ‘ Many thanks,' said Gabriel, ‘ but I detest babes. And I 
 have a lot to do.' He shook hands perfunctorily with Denis. 
 
 ‘ I expect you ! ' he said in a low voice. 
 
 Gustus overheard him. 
 
 ‘ Going to get him down to the old place, Mr. Searle ? ' he 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 469 
 
 inquired affably. 4 They think a lot of him there now, I 
 expect. He 's the only genius they 've produced, except poor 
 old Boulter. So long, Mr. Searle, glad to have met you. 
 If ever you ’re passing the Gaiety Bar at one o'clock, drop in 
 and have a snack with me. You needn't be afraid. I see 
 lots of broadcloth there nearly every day.' 
 
 Gabriel departed hastily. As soon as he had gone Gustus 
 turned to Denis and shook his hand again. 
 
 4 Yorkie, my boy,' he cried. ‘ How goes it ? I'm living in 
 Town at last — managing clerk to Popham and Lobb — you 've 
 heard of them. Plenty of work, mostly litigation — rare sport ! 
 It makes my heart arise when I hear counsel in the High Court, 
 — and the judges with their jokes ! They 're different to what 
 they are on Circuit, I can tell you ; the judges, I mean. The 
 jokes are the same. I have a great time, and such evenings ! 
 I 'm jolly glad to see you, Yorkie. You and I always hit it 
 off, though you were so quiet.' 
 
 Denis inquired after the health of the Abrahams family. 
 ‘ The old birds are all right, I think,' said Gustus, ‘ though 
 I haven't seen 'em lately. But, of course, they were pretty 
 well knocked out of time by that affair.' Gustus elongated 
 his face to an expression of profound melancholy. * You 
 heard all about it, I suppose ? ' he said. 
 
 ‘ No,' answered Denis. ‘ I don't know what you mean. 
 Not Boulter ? He didn’t take any money that belonged to 
 them, did he ? ' 
 
 ‘ No, I don't mean Boulter,' said Gustus. ‘ The old rascal 
 was never caught, by the way, and is running a harem in 
 Mesopotamia, I expect. I mean about poor Cissy.' 
 
 ‘ Cecilia ! ' cried Denis. ‘ Miss Abrahams ? What hap- 
 pened to her ? ' 
 
 ‘ She isn’t Miss Abrahams any longer,' said Gustus gloomily. 
 ‘ She 's Mrs. Greaves, worse luck. That beast who used to be 
 in Boulter's persuaded her to hook it with him, — to shoot the 
 moon. You know how silly and romantic and lackadaisical 
 she was, always wanting some fellow to kiss and cuddle her ? 
 Well, she used to meet Greaves on the sly, and one morning 
 ma went to her room and found no one in it and a rope ladder 
 
470 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 hanging under the window. There wasn’t any need for a rope 
 ladder, really ; she could easily have walked out of the front 
 door if she ’d liked, or, at any rate, have climbed down the 
 plum-tree, but I expect she made Greaves bring it because it 
 was always used by people in the silly songs she used to sing 
 and the silly books she used to read. Anyhow she cleared 
 off, and the next thing we heard of her was when she wrote 
 from some place in France to tell us that she had been married 
 in London and all her golden dreams had become realities, 
 or some damned nonsense of that sort. The old people were 
 furious, of course ; they couldn’t abide Greaves. However, 
 there seemed nothing for it but to make the best of a bad 
 business. We didn’t hear from her again, and the next news 
 we had was in quite another tune. Some friend of ma’s who 
 was in Italy found Cissy half-starved in some stinking garret, 
 with a baby, and any amount of fleas. Master Greaves had 
 left her, and gone off with some dark-eyed beauty of the South. 
 He used to get drunk, and hit her, and all sorts of other 
 beastly things happened. You know I ’m not a weepy kind 
 of creature, but by Jove, Yorkie, when she came back with 
 her baby and I saw her face, I felt inclined to cry till I was 
 sick. And the baby ’s diseased, rotten. Luckily it can’t 
 live long. She ’s at home now, of course, but she hardly 
 speaks to any one, and she don’t sing sentimental songs any 
 more, poor thing ! He really did marry her, — I ’ll say that 
 for him, and we ’re going for a divorce. I wish I ’d been 
 called to the Bar ! I ’d give him a bit of cross-examination 
 that he wouldn’t forget in a hurry ! Nice story, isn’t it ? 
 Shows how wise it is to be sentimental, eh, Yorkie ? ’ 
 
 Denis said nothing. Poor Cecilia’s history seemed partially 
 to dissolve the ice that hemmed in his soul ; he felt a warm 
 thrill of pity sweep through him. What beasts men were ! 
 And yet, after all, had he any right to judge even Greaves ? 
 Would he himself, if similar temptations had attacked him, 
 have behaved less selfishly, less cruelly ? Lust seemed to 
 reduce every one to a common level of baseness. But the 
 thought of Cecilia and her doomed baby was horrible, not to be 
 borne. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 47i 
 
 ‘ I 'm going down to see her soon/ said Gustus after a 
 while. ‘ If you 're down too you might come over ; I believe 
 she would see you, and it would do her good. She does 
 nothing but watch the baby all day long. Well ! ' he con- 
 tinued in a more cheerful voice, 4 this isn't a very lively kind 
 of conversation for you, Yorkie ! Let 's talk about something 
 else. How 's the old man ? I saw him when I was last at 
 Wychcombe. He looked a good bit older, I thought ; rather 
 white about the gills. Have you seen him lately ? ' 
 
 Denis moved uneasily. 
 
 ‘ No,' he answered, 1 I haven't been home for some time.' 
 
 4 You 're pretty busy now you 're a notorious musician, I 
 expect ? ' asked Gustus. 
 
 ‘ Yes, I 'm pretty busy,' said Denis. 
 
 4 That 's what I tell them,' said Gustus. ‘ The old people 
 are always grumbling that I don't go down often enough — 
 we 've always been awfully good pals, you know — and I say 
 to them, “ Right oh ! of course it 's dreadful for you to be 
 deprived of the son who 's the light of your eyes and the 
 consolation of your old age, but I 've got my career to think 
 of." I mean to make a success of things, and if you want to 
 make a success of things, you 've got to be selfish. Self 's 
 the fellow ! Even you, Yorkie, have to be selfish, haven't 
 you, and stick to things here instead of going down every 
 week-end to gladden the fond heart of your aged parent. 
 Hullo ! what in thunder are you staring at ? Am I turning 
 pale ? ' 
 
 For Denis was gazing at Gustus as if that commonplace 
 person was an angel who had suddenly descended through the 
 ceiling. To Gustus, of all people, belonged the privilege of 
 assisting at the birth of the boy's new self — the privilege 
 which Gabriel Searle had contrived to miss. That one word, 
 which had fallen so lightly from the lips of the visitor, set 
 all his nerves quivering. A great light seemed to flood his 
 soul. Selfish ! that was all that he had been, an egoist, an 
 introspective, morbid egoist, — that, and only that, was his 
 true title ! He began to tremble violently, — so violently that 
 Gustus imagined him to be ill ; but he was not ill ; his 
 
472 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 sickness had passed away ; the scales had fallen miraculously 
 from his eyes. He was in possession of the truth at last ; he 
 had come nearer and nearer to it ; every one had helped him 
 on the way — Rosalind, Topsy, Noel, poor Cecilia, and even 
 Gabriel — and now Gustus had uttered the magic word which 
 revealed it. 
 
 The young lawyer stayed for nearly an hour, talking 
 incessantly, and unconscious that he had been raised to the 
 dignity of a tremendous instrument of Fate. At last he 
 departed, having made Denis promise to come and see him 
 in his lodgings at Hammersmith. As soon as he had gone 
 Denis locked his door and flung himself into the armchair. 
 
 It was true, hideously true. Throughout his life he had 
 thought of no one but himself. His solitary childhood had 
 been one long effort to repeat sensations which he had found 
 delightful. His extraordinarily precocious appreciation of 
 the subtle charm of atmosphere, of certain environments, his 
 delight in the rhythmic lines and colours of the hills, and the 
 friendly voice of the wind, his music, his dreams, — everything 
 had combined to foster this fatal habit of regarding himself 
 as the centre of the universe, of living entirely— except when 
 he was composing — as the passive recipient of impressions, of 
 taking all things and giving nothing in return. He had fed 
 on life and forgotten to settle the score, — forgotten that there 
 were others in the world to whom he owed a duty which he 
 should have repaid by instinct. The solitude of his early years 
 had atrophied his sympathetic powers, and when at last he 
 met people whom he loved, his love was selfish ; he regarded 
 them as so many contributors to the fund of delightful moods 
 that he hoarded in his soul ; he looked at them always from 
 the standpoint of their effect on his happiness. Long ago, he 
 remembered, he had imagined that there were certain persons 
 in the world who possessed a kind of rare gold which they 
 offered you in exchange for some that you possessed ; and he 
 began to realise that he had always accepted the gold and 
 given nothing in return. He had thought then, with the 
 foolishness of youth, that very few were privileged to possess 
 this rare currency, but now he was beginning to feel that 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 473 
 
 every one carried it with them through life, though in varying 
 quantity, and often in a somewhat inaccessible pocket. 
 And what was the gold but sympathy, — the power to feel 
 for others, to share their grief, the instinct to help them, 
 to find your happiness in aiding them to attain their own ? 
 Sympathy and forgetfulness of self, — this was the answer to 
 the riddle of life, the magic talisman that made existence 
 beautiful in the darkest places, the great compensation for 
 all the poverty and suffering and injustice in the world. 
 Looking back on his life, it seemed to him that every one 
 except himself had possessed this instinct. He could trace 
 its presence in the most unlikely people : Topsy had it, and 
 grim old Landberger, and the sentimental Sandys, and the 
 blatant Gustus ; they were all eager to help others without 
 a thought of their personal inconvenience ; Topsy, in spite 
 of her individualistic theories, would spend all her scanty 
 earnings on an invalid ; Landberger would work for days 
 with some poverty-stricken genius and refuse to accept any 
 remuneration ; Sandys would give away work that he himself 
 needed ; and Gustus nearly broke down when he spoke of his 
 sister, and was the most faithful and affectionate of sons. 
 Every one of them was doing something for others, whilst he 
 himself stood apart, consumed with cold egotism, living in a 
 dim dreamland until nothing seemed real but the fantastic 
 pageants of his imagination ; self-duped, self-drugged, an alien 
 amid the breezy reality of life ; a recreant, a useless encum- 
 brance. It was true that he had his art, and that great art 
 might be the finest of all means of sympathy ; but this did 
 not absolve him from practising the humbler forms of that 
 virtue. He had been the blindest and most dreary kind of 
 fool. His whole scheme of existence — at home, at school, in 
 London — had been planned without any thought for others ; 
 he had regarded life as a great road along which he was to 
 proceed in majestic and triumphant solitude. At home, as 
 soon as he had broken away from the instincts of childhood, 
 he had thought of his father as a mere accessory to the 
 amenities of his existence, and had begun to cherish resent- 
 ment against him as soon as their respective points of view 
 
474 
 
 THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 showed a hint of difference. At school he had stood apart 
 contemptuously, caring only for boys who amused him, as 
 Noel amused him, or who interested him, as Lenwood had 
 done. In London he had added the pediment to his temple 
 of folly, living entirely for himself, imagining that he was 
 worthy of Rosalind's love because he had a sentimental, 
 j ealous passion for her, — a passion which did not awake until 
 he saw that she worshipped a man whom he hated ; abandon- 
 ing himself, finally, to sensual desires which he would have 
 gratified in any selfish way if the opportunity for doing so had 
 occurred. It was a charming history of wilful folly and 
 failure. 
 
 But at last, after long darkness, the light had come. He 
 knew the secret now — the secret of Rosalind's wisdom. 
 The path was plain for him ; not humility alone, as he had 
 thought, would be the lamp that was to guide .him through 
 the new life, but sympathy and self-abnegation ; a belief 
 in others, not a haughty criticism of their imagined defects. 
 The road would be long and difficult, and no vainglorious, 
 lonely conqueror would pass in triumph down its length ; 
 instead, there would be the feeble and insignificant figure of 
 a traveller who had found, after long wandering in vague 
 mists, the true path, and at last set forth, not in cold isolation, 
 but in company with a host of other pilgrims, on a journey 
 where Love himself forbade that even the vilest should fall 
 by the wayside for lack of succour from his comrades. 
 
 The exaltation of youth knows no half-measures. The 
 first step on the road was obvious to Denis, and he made no 
 delay. That evening the great Damboise received a telegram 
 which caused him the keenest amazement that he had ever 
 experienced in the course of an adventurous existence. 
 
 ‘ My father is very ill,' it said. ‘ I am going to him, and 
 cannot play at the concert.' 
 
 ‘ He 's mad, mad as a wolf ! ' said Damboise. But he was 
 wrong. Denis had become sane. 
 
 The first round with life was at an end. 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 475 
 
 XLVIII 
 
 S he drove through London the rain was falling 
 
 steadily and the streets were dark, but when he 
 reached the junction for Wychcombe there was sunshine 
 beyond the purple range of the hills, and the faint fragrance 
 of earliest spring drifted in through the open window. 
 
 He felt nothing but a deep sense of peace. No reaction 
 had followed the excitement of his discovery ; no depressing 
 suspicion that, after all, his new resolve would grow weak 
 when it was tested by the petty trials of commonplace life ; 
 he was perfectly tranquil, and full of a strange new happiness. 
 Nor did he feel any regret because he had thrown away his 
 great chance of success ; he wondered only if Damboise 
 would be able to find some one who could play the Kreutzer. 
 Not that it mattered ; Damboise could easily alter the pro- 
 gramme ; the absence of a young and unknown pianist from 
 the great man’s concert would not trouble his innumerable 
 admirers. 
 
 When he descended from the train at the junction he 
 stood for some time looking at the distant hills, with a sense 
 that he had travelled over all the world since last he beheld 
 their familiar curve. A thrush was singing in a tree outside 
 the little station, and he could hear the thrilling notes of the 
 larks that hovered above the fields near the single line to 
 Wychcombe. An ancient rustic began to question the porter 
 in quavering dialect. The freshening wind drew Jiolian 
 music from the telegraph wires. 
 
 The medley of familiar sounds gave Denis a sensation to 
 which he had been a stranger for many years. He felt exactly 
 as if he were again a small boy who was returning from 
 school for the first time. He was going home, and he was 
 intensely, instinctively happy ! Oh ! even if he had not 
 
THE FIRST ROUND 
 
 476 
 
 been convinced already, wasn't that enough to prove that he 
 was at last on the right way ? 
 
 But more than ever he knew that he was right when he 
 saw his father's face. The eager expectancy of those eyes 
 seemed to burn into his heart ; and his own were dim with 
 sudden and surprising tears. How thin his father was, how 
 feeble and worn ! Yet in his face there was a light that 
 Denis remembered, though he had forgotten it for a while ; a 
 light that somehow, he felt sure, had never wholly ceased to 
 gleam, though he himself had grown so blind, so wilfully 
 blind ! He knew at last that there was a love which was proof 
 against all neglect and misunderstanding, a love that was 
 as instinctive as the strange yearning in his own heart. He 
 went quickly towards the bed. 
 
 ‘ Father ! ' he cried. He could say nothing else, but that 
 one word seemed to express all. 
 
 Dr. Yorke raised himself painfully on his pillows. 
 
 ‘ Ah, Denis, my dear boy, you 've come ! ' he said. ‘ The 
 afternoon train was a little late — a little late ' 
 
 He held out both his hands to his son. 
 
 Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty 
 at the Edinburgh University Press 
 
A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 
 PUBLISHED BY METHUEN 
 AND COMPANY: LONDON 
 
 36 essp:x STREET 
 
 
 w.c. 
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 General Literature, . 
 
 2-22 
 
 Little Galleries, 
 
 28 
 
 Ancient Cities, 
 
 22 
 
 Little Guides, . 
 
 28 
 
 Antiquary’s Books, 
 
 22 
 
 Little Library, 
 
 29 
 
 Arden Shakespeare 
 
 23 
 
 Little Quarto Shakespeare, 
 
 30 
 
 Beginner’s Books, . 
 
 23 
 
 Miniature Library, 
 
 30 
 
 Business Books, 
 
 23 
 
 Oxford Biographies, 
 
 30 
 
 Byzantine Texts, . 
 
 24 
 
 School Examination Series, 
 
 31 
 
 Churchman’s Bible, 
 
 24 
 
 School Histories, . 
 
 31 
 
 Churchman’s Library, . 
 
 24 
 
 Simplified French Texts, . 
 
 31 
 
 Classical Translations, 
 
 24 
 
 Standard Library, . 
 
 31 
 
 Classics of Art, 
 
 24 
 
 Textbooks of Science, . 
 
 32 
 
 Commercial Series, 
 
 25 
 
 Textbooks of Technology, . 
 
 32 
 
 Connoisseur’s Library, 
 
 25 
 
 Handbooks of Theology, 
 
 32 
 
 Illustrated Pocket Library of 
 
 
 Westminster Commentaries, 
 
 32 
 
 Plain and Coloured Books, 
 
 25 
 
 
 
 Junior Examination Series, 
 
 26 
 
 
 
 Junior School-Books, . 
 
 2 7 
 
 Fiction, 
 
 33-39 
 
 Leaders of Religion, 
 
 27 
 
 Books for Boys and Girls, 
 
 39 
 
 Library of Devotion, 
 
 27 
 
 Novels of Alexandre Dumas, 
 
 39 
 
 Little Books on Art, . , . 
 
 28 
 
 Methuen’s Sixpenny Books, 
 
 39 
 
 M 
 
 AY 
 
 I 909 
 
 
A CATALOGUE OF 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’S 
 
 PUBLICATIONS 
 
 In this Catalogue the order is according to authors. An asterisk denotes 
 that the book is in the press. 
 
 Colonial Editions are published of all Messrs. Methuen’s Novels issued 
 at a price above 2$. 6d. , and similar editions are published of some works of 
 General Literature. These are marked in the Catalogue. Colonial editions 
 are only for circulation in the British Colonies and India. 
 
 All books marked net are not subject to discount, and cannot be bought 
 at less than the published price. Books not marked net are subject to the 
 discount which the bookseller allows. 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s books are kept in stock by all good booksellers. If 
 there is any difficulty in seeing copies, Messrs. Methuen will be very glad to 
 have early information, and specimen copies of any books will be sent on 
 receipt of the published price plus postage for net books, and of the published 
 price for ordinary books. 
 
 I.P.L. represents Illustrated Pocket Library. 
 
 Part I. — General Literature 
 
 Abraham (George D.) THE COMPLETE 
 MOUNTAINEER. With 75 Illustrations. 
 Second Edition. Demy 8 vo. 1 5s. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Acatos(M. J.). See Junior School Books. 
 
 Adams (Frank). JACK SPRAT. With 24 
 Coloured Pictures. Super Royal x6mo. 2 s. 
 
 Adeney (W. F.), M.A. See Bennett (W. H.) 
 
 Ady (Cecilia M.). A HISTORY OF 
 MILAN UNDER THE SFORZA. With 
 20 Illustratious and a Map. Demy 87 >0. 
 ios. 6d. net. 
 
 ZEschylus. See Classical Translations. 
 
 /Esop. See I.P.L. 
 
 Ainsworth (W. Harrison). See I.P.L. 
 
 Aldis (Janet). THE QUEEN OF 
 LETTER WRITERS, Marquise de 
 S&VIGN&, Dame de Bourbilly, 1626-96. 
 With 18 Illustrations. Second Edition. 
 Demy 8 vo. 12 s. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Alexander (William), D.D., Archbishop 
 of Armagh. THOUGHTS AND 
 COUNSELS OF MANY YEARS. 
 Demy 1 6mo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Aiken (Henry). See I.P.L. 
 
 Allen (Charles C.). See Textbooks of 
 Technology. 
 
 Allen (L. Jessie). See Little Books on Art. 
 
 Allen (J. Romilly), F.S.A. See Antiquary’s 
 Books. 
 
 Almack (E.), F.S.A. See Little Books on 
 Art. 
 
 Amherst (Lady). A SKETCH OF 
 EGYPTIAN HISTORY FROM THE 
 EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRE- 
 SENT DAY. With many Illustrations 
 and Maps. A New and Cheaper Issue 
 Demy 8 vo. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Anderson (F. M.). THE STORY OF THE 
 BRITISH EMPIRE FOR CHILDREN. 
 With 42 Illustrations. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 
 Anderson (J. G.), B.A., NOUVELLE 
 GRAMMAIRE FRANCAISE, a l’usage 
 des ecoles Anglaises/ Crown 8 vo. 2 j. 
 EXERCICES DE GRAMMAIRE FRAN- 
 CAISE. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 
 Andrewes (Bishop). PRECES PRI- 
 VATAE. Translated and edited, with 
 Notes, by F. E. Brightman. M.A., of 
 Pusey House, Oxford. Cr. 8 vo. 6^. 
 
 See also Library of Devotion. 
 
 ‘Anglo= Australian.* AFTER-GLOW ME" 
 j MORIES. Cr. 8z >0. 6s. 
 j Anon. HEALTH, WEALTH, AND WIS- 
 1 DOM. Crown 8vo. is. net. 
 
 Aristotle. THE ETHICS OF. Edited, 
 with an Introduction and Notes by John 
 Burnet, M.A., Cheaper issue. Demy 8vo. 
 xos. 6d. net. 
 
 Asman (fi. N.), M.A., B.D. See Junior 
 
 School Books. 
 
 Atkins (H. G.). See Oxford Biographies. 
 Atkinson (C. M.). JEREMY BENTHAM. 
 
 Demy 8 vo. 5s. net. 
 
 * Atkinson (C. T.), M.A., Fellow of Exeter 
 College, Oxford, sometime Demy of Mag- 
 dalen College. A HISTORY OF GER- 
 MANY, from 1713 to 1815. With many 
 Maps. Demy 8vo. 15^. net. 
 
 Atkinson (T. D.). ENGLISH ARCHI 
 TECTURE. With 196 Illustrations 
 Second Edition. Fcap. 8 vo. 3^. 6d. net. 
 
 A GLOSSARY OF TERMS USED IN 
 ENGLISH . ARCHITECTURE. With 
 265 Illustrations. Second Edition. Fcap. 
 8 vo. 2 s ' 6d. net. 
 
General Literature 
 
 3 
 
 Auden (T.), M.A., F.S.A. See Ancient Cities. 
 Aurelius (Marcus). WORDS OF THE 
 ANCIENT WISE. Thoughts from Epic- 
 tetus and Marcus Aurelius. Edited by 
 W. H. D. Rouse, M.A., Litt. D. Fcap. 
 8z >o. 3-r. 6 d. net. 
 
 See also Standard Library. 
 
 Austen (Jane). See Standard Library, 
 Little Library and Mitton (G. E.). 
 
 Aves (Ernest). CO-OPERATIVE IN- 
 DUSTRY. Crown Svo. 5 s. net. 
 
 Bacon (Francis). See Standard Library 
 and Little Library. 
 
 Baden- Powell (R. S. S.) THE MATA- 
 BELE CAMPAIGN, 1896. With nearly 
 100 Illustrations. Fourth Edition. Large 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Bagot (Richard). THE LAKES OF 
 NORTHERN ITALY. With 37 Illustra- 
 tions and a Map. Fcap. 8 vo. 5s. net. 
 Bailey (J. C.), M.A. See Cowper (W.). 
 Baker (W. G.), M.A. See Junior Examina- 
 tion Series. 
 
 Baker (Julian L.), F.I.C., F.C.S. See 
 
 Books on Business. 
 
 Balfour (Graham). THE LIFE OF 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. With 
 a Portrait. Fourth Edition in one Volume. 
 Cr. 8z >0. Buckram , 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Ballard (A.), B.A., LL.D. See Antiquary’s 
 Books. 
 
 Bally (S. E.). See Commercial Series. 
 Banks (Elizabeth L.). THE AUTO- 
 BIOGRAPHY OF A ' NEWSPAPER 
 GIRL.’ Second Edition. Cr. Svo. 6 s. 
 Barham (R. H.). See Little Library. 
 Baring (The Hon. Maurice). WITH 
 THE RUSSIANS IN MANCHURIA. 
 Third Edition. Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 A YEAR IN RUSSIA. Second Edition. 
 Demy Svo. 10s. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Baring=Gould (S.). THE LIFE OF 
 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. With nearly 
 200 Illustrations, including a Photogravure 
 Frontispiece. Second Edition. Wide 
 Royal Svo. 10 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 THE TRAGEDY OF THE C2ESARS: 
 A Study of the Characters of the 
 
 CAESARS OF THE JULIAN AND CLAUDIAN 
 Houses. With numerous Illustrations from 
 Busts, Gems, Cameos, etc. Sixth Edition. 
 Royal Svo. 10.?. 6 d. net. 
 
 A BOOK OF FAIRYTALES. With 
 numerous Illustrations by A. J. Gaskin. 
 Third Edition. Cr. Svo. Buckram. 6 s., 
 also Demy Svo. 6 d. 
 
 OLD ENGLISH FAIRY TALES. With 
 numerous Illustrations by F. D. Bedford. 
 Third Edition. Cr. Svo. Buckram. 69. 
 THE VICAR OF MORWENSTOW. Re- 
 vised Edition. With a Portrait. Third 
 Edition. Cr. Svo. 3 j. 6 d. 
 
 OLD COUNTRY LIFE. With 69 .Illustra- 
 tions. Fifth Edition. Large Crown Svo. 6 s, 
 
 A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG: 
 English Folk Songs with their Traditional 
 Melodies. Collected and arranged by S. 
 Baring-Gould and H. F. Sheppard. 
 Demy \to. 6.9. 
 
 SONGS OF THE WEST: Folk Songs of 
 Devon and Cornwall. Collected from the 
 Mouths of the People. ByS. Baring-Gould, 
 M.A.,and H. Fleetwood Sheppard, M.A. 
 New and Revised Edition, under the musical 
 editorship of Cecil J. Sharp. Large Im- 
 perial Svo. 5 s. net. 
 
 A BOOK OF NURSERY SONGS AND 
 RHYMES. Edited by S. Baring-Gould. 
 Illustrated. Second and Cheaper Edition. 
 Large Cr. Svo. zs . 6 d. net. 
 
 STRANGE SURVIVALS : Some Chapters 
 in the History of Man. Illustrated. 
 Third Edition. Cr. Svo. 2 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 YORKSHIRE ODDITIES : Incidents 
 
 and Strange Events. Fifth Edition. 
 Cr. Svo. 2 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 THE BARING-GOULD SELECTION 
 READER. Arranged by G. H. Rose. 
 Illustrated. Crown Svo. is. 6 d. 
 
 THE BARING-GOULD CONTINUOUS 
 READER. Arranged by G. H. Rose. 
 Illustrated. Crown Svo. is. 6 d. 
 
 A BOOK OF CORNWALL. With 33 
 Illustrations. Second Edition. Cr. Svo. 6 s. 
 
 A BOOK OF DARTMOOR. With 60 
 Illustrations. Second Edition . Cr. Svo. 
 6 s. 
 
 A BOOK OF DEVON. With 35 Illus- 
 trations. Third Edition. Cr. Svo. 6 s. 
 
 A BOOK OF NORTH WALES. With 49 
 Illustrations. Cr. Svo. 6 s. 
 
 A BOOK OF SOUTH WALES. With 57 
 Illustrations. Cr. Svo. 65. 
 
 A BOOK OF BRITTANY. With 69 Illus 
 trations. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 A BOOK OF THE RHINE : From Cleve 
 to Mainz. With 8 Illustrations in Colour 
 by Trevor Hadden, and 48 other Illus- 
 trations. Second Edition . Cr. Svo. 6 s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 A BOOK OF THE RIVIERA. With 40 
 Illustrations. Cr. Svo. 6 s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 A BOOK OF THE PYRENEES. With 
 25 Illustrations. . Cr. Svo. 6 s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 See also Little Guides. 
 
 Barker (Aldred F.). See Textbooks of 
 Technology. 
 
 Barker (E.), M.A. (Late) Fellow of Merton 
 College, Oxford. THE POLITICAL 
 TFIOUGHT OF PLATO AND ARIS- 
 TOTLE. Demy Svo. 109. 6 d. net. 
 
 Barnes (W. E.), D.D. See Churchman’s 
 Bible. 
 
 Barnett (Mrs. P. A.). See Little Library. 
 
 Baron (R. R. N.), M.A. FRENCH PROSE 
 COMPOSITION. Third Edition. Cr Svo. 
 2 s. 6 d. Key , 39. net. 
 
 See also Junior School Books. 
 
 Barron (H. M.), M.A'., Wadham College, 
 Oxford. TEXTS FOR SERMONS. With 
 
4 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 a Preface by Canon Scott Holland. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Bartholomew^. G.), F.R.S.E. See C. G. 
 Robertson. 
 
 Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 
 Bastian (H. Charlton), M.A.,M.D., F.R.S. 
 THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE. With 
 Diagrams and many Photomicrographs. 
 Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Batson (Mrs. Stephen). A CONCISE 
 HANDBOOKOFGARDEN FLOWERS. 
 Fcap. 8vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 THE SUMMER GARDEN OF 
 PLEASURE. With 36 Illustrations in 
 Colour by Osmund Pittman. Wide Demy 
 8z >0. 15^. net. 
 
 Batten (Loring W.), Ph.D.,S.T.D. THE 
 HEBREW PROPHET. Cr.8vo. 3s.6d.net. 
 
 Bayley (R. Child). THE COMPLETE 
 PHOTOGRAPHER. With over 100 
 Illustrations. Third Edition. With Note 
 on Direct Colour Process. Demy 8 z >0. 
 ios. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Beard (W. S.). EASY EXERCISES IN 
 ALGEBRA FOR BEGINNERS. Cr. 8 vo. 
 is. 6 d. With Answers, is. 9 d. 
 
 See also Junior Examination Series and 
 Beginner’s Books. 
 
 Beckford (Peter). THOUGHTS ON 
 HUNTING. Edited by J. Otho Paget, 
 and Illustrated by G. H. Jalland. Second 
 Edition. Demy 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Beckford (William). See Little Library. 
 
 Beeching (H. C.), M.A., Canon of West- 
 minster. See Library of Devotion. 
 
 Beerbohm (Max). A BOOK OF CARI- 
 CATURES. Imperial \to. 11s. net. 
 
 Begbie (Harold). MASTER WORKERS. 
 Illustrated. DemyZvo. 7s.6d.net. 
 
 Behmen (Jacob). DIALOGUES ON THE 
 SUPERSENSUAL LIFE. Edited by 
 Bernard Holland. Fcap. 8 vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Bell (Mrs. Arthur G.). THE SKIRTS 
 OF THE GREAT CITY. With 16 Illus- 
 trations in Colour by Arthur G. Bell, 
 17 other Illustrations, and a Map. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Belloc (Hilaire), M.P. PARIS. With 
 7 Maps and a Frontispiece in Photogravure. 
 Second Edition, Revised. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 HILLS AND THE SEA. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 ON NOTHING AND KINDRED SUB- 
 JECTS. Fcap. 8 vo. 5^. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Bellot (H. H.L.), M.A. See Jones(L. A. A.). 
 
 Bennett (W. H.), M.A. A PRIMER OF 
 THE BIBLE. With a concise Bibliogra- 
 phy. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 
 Bennett (W. H.)and Adeney (W. F.). A 
 BIBLICAL INTRODUCTION. Fifth 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 7s. 6 d. 
 
 Benson (Archbishop) GOD’S BOARD 
 Communion Addresses. Second Edition. 
 Fcap. 8 vo. 3 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Benson (A. C.), M.A. See Oxford Bio- 
 graphies. 
 
 Benson (R. M.). THE WAY OF HOLI- 
 NESS T a Devotional Commentary on the 
 119th Psalm. Cr. 8 vo. 5$. 
 
 Bernard (E. R.), M.A., Canon of Salisbury. 
 THE ENGLISH SUNDAY: its Origins 
 and its Claims. Fcap. 8vo. is. 6d. 
 Bertouch (Baroness de). THE LIFE 
 OF FATHER IGNATIUS. Illustrated. 
 Demy 8 vo. 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 Beruete (A. de). See Classics of Art. 
 Betham=Edwards (Miss). HOME LIFE 
 IN FRANCE. With 20 Illustrations. 
 Fifth Edition. Crozvn 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Bethune- Baker (J. F.), M.A. See Hand- 
 books of Theology. 
 
 Bidez (J.). See Byzantine Texts. 
 
 Biggs(C. R. D. ), D. D. See Churchman’s Bible. 
 Bindley (T. Herbert), B.D. THE OECU- 
 MENICAL DOCUMENTS OF THE 
 FAITH. With Introductions and Notes. 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. net. 
 
 Binns (H. B.). THE LIFE OF WALT 
 WHITMAN. Illustrated. Demy 8 vo. 
 10s. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Binyon(Mrs. Laurence). NINETEENTH 
 CENTURY PROSE. .Selected and ar- 
 ranged by. Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Binyon (Laurence). THE DEATH OF 
 ADAM AND OTHER POEMS. Cr. 8vo. 
 3 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 See also Blake (William). 
 
 Birch (Walter de Gray), LL.D., F.S.A. 
 
 See Connoisseur’s Library. 
 
 Birnstingl (Ethel). See Little Books on Art. 
 Blackmantle (Bernard). See I.P. L. 
 
 Blair (Robert). See I.P. L. 
 
 Blake (William). THE LETTERS OF 
 WILLIAM BLAKE, together with a 
 Life by Frederick Tatham. Edited 
 from the Original Manuscripts, with an 
 Introduction and Notes, by Archibald G. 
 B. Russell. With 12 Illustrations. 
 Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE BOOK OF 
 JOB. With General Introduction by 
 Laurence Binyon. Quarto. 21s. net. 
 
 See also Blair (Robert), I.P.L., and 
 Little Library. 
 
 Bloom (J. Harvey), M.A. SHAKE- 
 SPEARE’S GARDEN. Illustrated. 
 Fcap. 8 vo. 3^. 6d. ; leather, 45-. 6d. net. 
 
 See also Antiquary’s Books 
 Blouet (Henri). See Beginner’s Books. 
 Boardman (T. H.), M.A. See French (W.) 
 Bodley (J. E. C.), Author of‘ France.’ THE 
 CORONATION OF EDWARD VII. 
 Demy 8 vo. 21 s. net. By Command of the 
 King. 
 
 Body (George), D.D. THE SOUL'S 
 PILGRIMAGE : Devotional Readings 
 
 from the Published and Unpublished writ- 
 ings of George Body, D.D. Selected and 
 arranged by J. H. Burn, B.D., F.R.S.E. 
 Demy 1 6mo. is. 6d. 
 
General Literature 
 
 Bona (Cardinal). See Library of Devotion. 
 
 Boon(F. C.)., B.A. See Commercial Series. 
 
 Borrow (George). See Little Library. 
 
 Bos (J. Ritzema). AGRICULTURAL 
 ZOOLOGY. Translated by J. R. Ains- 
 worth Davis, M. A. With 155 Illustrations. 
 Third Edition . Cr. 8r >0. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 Botting(C. G.), B.A. EASY GREEK 
 EXERCISES. Cr. 8 vo. 2s. 
 
 See also Junior Examination Series. 
 
 Boulting (W.) TASSO AND HIS TIMES. 
 With 24 Illustrations. Demy 8 vo. 10 s. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 Boulton (E. S.), M.A. GEOMETRY ON 
 MODERN LINES. Cr. 8vo. 2 s. 
 
 Boulton (William B.). SIR JOSHUA 
 REYNOLDS. P.R.A. With 49 Illustra- 
 tions. Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Bowden (E. M.). THE IMITATION OF 
 BUDDHA : Being Quotations from 
 
 Buddhist Literature for each Day in the 
 Year. Fifth Edition. Cr. 1 6mo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Boyle (W.). CHRISTMAS AT THE ZOO. 
 With Verses by W. Boyle and 24 Coloured 
 Pictures by H. B. Neilson. Super Royal 
 1 6mo. 2 s. 
 
 Brabant (F. G.) f M.A. See Little Guides. 
 
 Bradley (A. G.). ROUND ABOUT WILT- 
 SHIRE. With 14 Illustrations, in Colour 
 by T. C. Gotch, 16 other Illustrations, and 
 a Map. Second Edition. Cr.-8vo. 6s, 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF NORTHUMBER- 
 LAND. With 16 Illustrations in Colour by 
 Frank Southgate, R.B.A., and 12 from 
 Photographs. Second Edition. Demy 8 vo 
 7 s. 6d net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Bradley (John W. ). See Little Books on Art. 
 
 Braid (James), Open Champion, 1901, 1905 
 and 1906. ADVANCED GOLF. With 
 88 Photographs and Diagrams. Fourth 
 Edition. Demy 8 vo. ios. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Braid (James) and Others. GREAT 
 GOLFERS IN THE MAKING. Edited 
 by Henry Leach. With 24 Illustrations. 
 Second Edition. Demy 8 vo. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Brailsford (H. N.). MACEDONIA: 
 ITS RACES AND THEIR FUTURE. 
 With Photographs and Maps. Demy 8 vo. 
 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 Brodrick (Mary) and Morton (A. Ander= 
 son). A CONCISE DICTIONARY OF 
 EGYPTIAN ARCHAEOLOGY. A Hand- 
 Book for Students and Travellers. With 80 
 Illustrations and many Cartouches. Cr. 8vo. 
 3 s. 6d. 
 
 Brooks (E. E.), B.Sc. (Lond), Leicester 
 Municipal Technical School, and James 
 (W. H. N.), A.R.C.S., A.M.I.E.E., Muni- 
 cipal School of Technology, Manchester. 
 See Textbooks of Technology. 
 
 Brooks (E. W.). See Hamilton (F. T.) 
 
 Brown (P. II.), LL.D. SCOTLAND IN 
 
 5 
 
 THE TIME OF QUEEN MARY. Demy 
 8vo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Brown (S. E.), M.A. , B.Sc., Senior Science 
 Master at Uppingham. A PRACTICAL 
 CHEMISTRY NOTE - BOOK FOR 
 MATRICULATION AND ARMY CAN- 
 DIDATES. Easy Experiments on the 
 Commoner Substances. Cr. 4 to . 1 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Brown(J. Wood), M.A. THE BUILDERS 
 OF FLORENCE. With 74 Illustrations 
 by Herbert Railton. Demy \to. 18s.net. 
 
 Browne (Sir Thomas). See Standard 
 Library. 
 
 Brownell (C. L.). THE HEART OF 
 JAPAN. Illustrated. Third Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. ; also Demy 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 Browning (Robert). See Little Library. 
 
 Bryant (Walter W.), B. A., F.R.A.S., F.R. 
 Met. Soc., of the Royal Observatory, Green- 
 wich. A HISTORY OF ASTRONOMY. 
 With 35 Illustrations. Demy 8z>o. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Buckland (Francis T.). CURIOSITIES 
 OF NATURAL HISTORY. Illustrated 
 by H. B. Neilson. Cr. 8 vo. 3$. 6d. 
 
 Buckton (A. M.) THE BURDEN OF 
 ENGELA. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 3^ 
 6d. net. 
 
 EAGER HEART : A Mystery Play. Seventh 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. is. net. 
 
 KINGS IN BABYLON : A Drama. Cr. 8vo. 
 is. net. 
 
 SONGS OF JOY. Cr. 8 vo. is. net. 
 
 Budge (E. A. Wallis). THE GODS OF 
 THE EGYPTIANS. With over 100 
 Coloured Plates and many Illustrations. 
 Two Volumes . Royal 8 vo. ,£3, 3 s. net. 
 
 Bull (Paul), Army Chaplain. GOD AND 
 OUR SOLDIERS. Second Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Bulley (Miss). See Dilke (Lady). _ 
 
 Bunyan (John). See Standard Library and 
 Library of Devotion. 
 
 Burch (G. J.), M.A., F.R.S. A MANUAL 
 OF ELECTRICAL SCIENCE. Illus- 
 trated. Cr. 8vo. 3 s. 
 
 Burgess (Gelett). GOOPS AND HOW TO 
 BE THEM. Illustrated. Small \to. 6s. 
 
 Burke (Edmund). See Standard Library. 
 
 Burn (A. E.), D.D., Rector of Handsworth 
 and Prebendary of Lichfield. See Hand- 
 books of Theology. 
 
 Burn (J. H.), B. D., F. R. S. E. THE 
 CHURCHMAN’S TREASURY OF 
 SONG: Gathered from the Christian 
 poetry of all ages. Edited by. Fcap. 8 vo. 
 3-r. 6d. net. See also Library of Devotion. 
 
 Burnand (Sir F. C.). RECORDS AND 
 REMINISCENCES. With a Portrait by 
 H. v. Herkomer. Cr. 8vo. Fourth and 
 Cheaper Edi tion. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Burns (Robert), THE POEMS. Edited by 
 Andrew Lang and W. A. Craigie. With 
 Portrait. Third Edition. Demy 8vo, gilt 
 top. 6s. 
 
 See also Standard Library. 
 
6 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 Burnside (W. F.), M.A. OLD TESTA- 
 MENT HISTORY FOR USE IN 
 SCHOOLS. Third Edition. Cr. Svo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Burton (Alfred). See I.P. L. 
 
 Bussell (F. W.), D.D. CHRISTIAN 
 T H EO LOG Y A N D SOC 1 A L P ROGR ES S 
 (The Bampton Lectures of 1905). Demy 
 Sz >o. 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 Butler (Joseph), D.D. See Standard 
 Library. 
 
 Caldecott (Alfred), D.D. See Handbooks 
 
 of Theology. 
 
 Calderwood (D. S.), Headmaster of the Nor- 
 mal School, Edinburgh. TEST CARDS 
 IN EUCLID AND ALGEBRA. In three 
 packets of 40, with Answers, is. each. Or 
 in three Books, price 2d., 2d., and 3 d. 
 
 Canning- (George). See Little Library. 
 
 Capey (E. F. II.). See Oxford Biographies. 
 
 Careless (John). See I.P.L. 
 
 Carlyle (Thomas). THE FRENCH 
 REVOLUTION. Edited by C. R. L. 
 Fletcher, Fellow of Magdalen College, 
 Oxford. Three Volumes. Cr.Svo. 18s. 
 
 THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF OLIVER 
 CROMWELL. With an Introduction 
 by C. H. Firth, M.A., and Notes and 
 Appendices by Mrs. S. C. Lomas. Three 
 Volumes. Demy 8 vo. 18s. net. 
 
 Carlyle (R. M. and A. J.), M.A. See 
 Leaders of Religion. 
 
 Carmichael (Philip). ALL ABOUT 
 PHILIPPINE. With 8 Illustrations. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Carpenter (Margaret Boyd). T H E C H I LD 
 IN ART. With 50 Illustrations. Second 
 Editio?i. Large Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 Cavanagh (Francis), M.D. (Edin.). THE 
 CARE OF THE BODY. Second Edition. 
 Demy Svo. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Celano (Thomas of). THE LIVES OF ST. 
 FRANCIS OF ASSISI. Translated into 
 English by A. G. Ferrers Howell. With 
 a Frontispiece. Cr. Svo. 5s. net. 
 
 Channer (C. C.) and Roberts (M. E.). 
 LACEMAKING IN THE MIDLANDS, 
 PAST AND PRESENT. With 16 full- 
 page Illustrations. Cr. Svo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Chapman (S. J.). See Books on Business. 
 
 Chatterton (Thomas). See Standard 
 Library. 
 
 Chesterfield (Lord), THE LETTERS OF, 
 TO HIS SON. Edited, with an Introduc- 
 tion by C. Strachey, with Notes by A. 
 Calthrop. Two Volumes. Cr.Svo. 12 s. 
 
 Chesterton (G. K.). CHARLES DICKENS. 
 With two Portraits in Photogravure. Fifth 
 Edition. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 Childe (Charles P.), B.A., F.R.C.S. TPIE 
 CONTROL OF A SCOURGE : Or, 
 How Cancer is Curable. Demy Svo. 
 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Christian (F. W.). THE CAROLINE 
 ISLANDS. With many Illustrations and 
 Maps. Demy Svo. 12s. 6d. Jict. 
 
 Cicero. See Classical Translations. 
 
 Clapham (J. H.), Professor of Economics in 
 the University of Leeds. THE WOOL- 
 
 LEN AND WORSTED INDUSTRIES. 
 With 21 Illustrations and Diagrams. Cr. 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 Clarke(F. A.), M.A. See Leaders of Religion. 
 Clausen (George), A.R.A., R.W.S. SIX 
 LECTURES ON PAINTING. With 19 
 Illustrations. Third Edition. Large Post 
 Svo . 3s. 6 d. net. 
 
 AIMS AND IDEALS IN ART. Eight 
 Lectures delivered to the Students of the 
 Royal Academy of Arts. With 32 Illustra- 
 tions. Second Edition. Large Post Svo. 
 5s. net. 
 
 Cleather (A. L.). See Wagner (R). 
 Ciinch(G.), F.G.S. See Antiquary’s Books 
 and Little Guides. 
 
 Clough (W. T.) and Dunstan (A. E.). 
 
 See Junior School Books and Textbooks of 
 Science. 
 
 Cloustom (T. S.), M.D., C.C.D., F.R.S.E. 
 THE HYGIENE OF MIND. With 10 
 Illustrations. Fifth Edition. Demy Svo. 
 ns. 6d. net. 
 
 Coast (W. G.), B. A. EXAMINATION 
 PAPERS IN VERGIL. Cr. Svo. 2 s. 
 Cobb (W. F.), M.A. THE BOOK OF 
 PSALMS : with a Commentary. Demy Svo. 
 1 os. 6 d. net. 
 
 Coleridge (S. T.). POEMS. Selected and 
 Arranged by Arthur Symons. With a 
 Photogravure Frontispiece. Fcap. Svo. 
 2 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Collmgwood (W. G.), M.A. THE LIFE 
 OF JOHN RUSKIN. With Portrait. 
 Sixth Edition. Cr. Svo. 2 s 6d. net. 
 Collins (W. E.), M.A. See Churchman’s 
 Library. 
 
 Combe (William). See I.P.L. 
 
 Conrad (Joseph). THE MIRROR OF 
 THE SEA: Memories and Impressions. 
 Third Edition. Cr.Svo - 6s. 
 
 Cook (A. M.), M. A. , and Merchant (E. C.), 
 M.A. PASSAGES FOR UNSEEN 
 
 TRANSLATION. Selected from Latin and 
 Greek Literature. Fourth Ed. Cr.Svo. 3s. 6d. 
 LATIN PASSAGES FOR UNSEEN 
 
 TRANSLATION. ThirdEd. Cr.Svo. is.6d. 
 Coo ke= Taylor (R. W.). THE FACTORY 
 SYSTEM. Cr. Svo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 CoolMge (W. A. B.), M.A. THE ALPS. 
 With many Illustrations. Demy Svo. 
 7 s. 6d net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Corelli (Marie). THE PASSING OF THE 
 GREAT QUEEN. Second Edition. Fcap. 
 4to. is. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS GREETING. Cr. A to. is. 
 Corkran (Alice). See Little Books on Art. 
 Cotes (Everard). SIGNS AND POR- 
 TENTS IN THE FAR EAST. With 35 
 Illustrations. Second Edition. Demy Svo. 
 7 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Cotes (Rosemary). DANTE’S GARDEN. 
 With a Frontispiece. Second Edition. 
 Fcap. Svo. 2 s. 6d. ; leather , 3 s. 6d. net. 
 BIBLE FLOWERS. With a Frontispiece 
 and Plan. Fcap. Svo. 2s. 6d. net „ 
 
General Literature 
 
 7 
 
 Cowley (Abraham). See Little Library. 
 
 Cowper (William). THE POEMS. 
 
 Edited with an Introduction and Notes by 
 J. C. Bailey, M.A. Illustrated, including 
 two unpublished designs by William 
 Blake. Veiny 8 vo. io.v. 6d. net. 
 
 Cox(J. Charles). See Ancient Cities, Anti- 
 quary’s Books, and Little Guides. 
 
 Cox (Harold), B.A., M.P. LAND 
 
 NATIONALIZATION AND LAND 
 TAXATION. Second Edition revised. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Crabbe (George). See Little Library. 
 
 Craik (Mrs.). See Little Library. 
 
 Crane (C. P.), D.S.O. See Little Guides. 
 
 Crane (Walter), R.W.S. AN ARTIST’S 
 REMINISCENCES. With 123 Illustra- 
 tions by the Author and others from Photo- 
 graphs. Second Edition. Demy8vo. 18s. 
 net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 INDIA IMPRESSIONS. With 84 Illus- 
 trations from Sketches by the Author. 
 Second- Edition. Demy 8vo. js. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Crashaw (Richard). See Little Library. 
 
 Crawford (F. G.). See Danson (Mary C.). 
 
 Crofts (T. R. N.), M. A., Modern Language 
 Master at Merchant Taylors’ School. See 
 Simplified French Texts. 
 
 Cross (J. A.), M.A. THE FAITH OF 
 THE BIBLE. Fcap. 8 vo. 2$. 6 d. net. 
 
 Cruikshank (G.). THE LOVING BAL- 
 LAD OF LORD BATEMAN. With n 
 Plates. Cr. i6mo. is. 6 d. net . 
 
 Crump (B.). See Wagner (R.). 
 
 Cunliffe (Sir F. H. E.), Fellow of All Souls’ 
 College, Oxford. THE HISTORY OF 
 THE BOER WAR. With many Illus- 
 trations, Plans, and Portraits. In 2 vols. 
 Quarto. Vol. I. 15s. 
 
 Cunynghame (H. H.), C.B. See Connois- 
 seur’s Library. 
 
 Cutts(E. L.), D.D. See Leaders of Religion. 
 
 Daniell (G. W.), M.A. See Leaders of 
 Religion. 
 
 Dante (Alighieri). LA COMMEDIA DI 
 DANTE. The Italian Text edited by 
 Paget Toynbee, M.A., D.Litt. Cr.8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE DIVINE COMEDY. Translated 
 by H. F. Cary. Edited with a Life of 
 Dante and Introductory Notes by Paget 
 Toynbee, M. A., D.Litt. Demy 8vo. 6d. 
 
 T FI E PURGATORIOOF DANTE. 
 Translated into Spenserian Prose by C. 
 Gordon Wright. With the Italian text. 
 Fcap. 8z >0. 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 See also Little Library, Toynbee (Paget), 
 and Vernon (Hon. W. Warren). 
 
 Darley (George). See Little Library. 
 
 D’Arcy (R. F.), M.A. A NEW TRIGON- 
 OMETRY FOR BEGINNERS. With 
 numerous diagrams. Cr. 5 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Davenport (Cyril). See Connoisseur’s 
 Library and Little Books on Art. 
 
 Davenport (James). T FI E WASH- 
 BOURNE FAMILY. With 15 Illustra- 
 tions and a Map. Royal 8vo. 21s, net. 
 
 Davey (Richard). THE PAGEANT OF 
 LONDON. With 40 Illustrations in 
 Colour by John Fulleylove, R.I. InTvoo 
 Volumes. Demy 8 vo. 15J. net. 
 
 Davis (H. W. C.), M.A., Fellow and Tutor 
 of Balliol College. ENGLAND UNDER 
 THE NORMANS AND ANGEVINS : 
 1066-1272. With Maps and Illustrations. 
 Demy 8 vo. 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 Dawson (Nelson). See Connoisseur’s Library. 
 Dawson (Mrs. Nelson). See Little Books on 
 Art. 
 
 Deane (A. C.). See Little Library. 
 
 Deans (Storry R.). THE TRIALS OF 
 FIVE QUEENS: Katharine of 
 Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Mary Queen 
 of Scots, Marie Antoinette and Caro- 
 line of Brunswick. With 12 Illustrations. 
 Demy 8 vo. toj. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Dearmer (Mabel). A CHILD’S LIFE OF 
 CHRIST. With 8 Illustrations in Colour 
 by E. Fortescue-Brickdale. Large Cr. 
 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Delbos (Leon). THE METRIC SYSTEM. 
 
 Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 
 
 Demosthenes. AGAINST CONON AND 
 CALLICLES. Edited by F. Darwin 
 Swift, M.A. Second Edition. Fcap. 
 8 vo. 2 s. 
 
 Dickens (Charles). See Little Library, 
 I.P.L., and Chesterton (G. K.). 
 
 Dickinson (Emily). POEMS. Cr. 8 vo. 
 4 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Dickinson (G. L.) f M.A., Fellow of King's 
 College, Cambridge. THE GREEK 
 VIEW OF LIFE. Sixth Edition. Cr. 
 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Dilke(Lady), Bulley (Miss), and Whitley 
 (Miss). WOMEN’S WORK. Cr. 8 vo. 
 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Dillon (Edward), M.A. See Connoisseur’s 
 Library and Little Books on Art. 
 Ditchfield (P. H.), M.A., F.S.A. THE 
 STORY OF OUR ENGLISH TOWNS. 
 With an Introduction by Augustus 
 Jessopp, D.D. Second Edition. Cr.8vo. 6s. 
 OLD ENGLISH CUSTOMS: Extant at 
 the Present Time. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 ENGLISH VILLAGES. With 100 Illustra- 
 tions. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. net. 
 THE PARISH CLERK. With 31 
 Illustrations. Third Edition. Demy 8 vo. 
 7 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Dixon (W. M.), M.A. A PRIMER OF 
 TENNYSON. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 
 2 s. 6d. 
 
 ENGLISH POETRY FROM BLAKE TO 
 BROWNING. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 
 
 2S. 6d. 
 
 Dobbs (W. J.), M.A. See Textbooks of 
 Science. 
 
 Doney (May). SONGS OF THE REAL. 
 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3 s - &d. net. 
 
 Douglas (Hugh A.). VENICE ON FOOT. 
 With the Itinerary of the Grand Canal. 
 With 75 Illustrations and 11 Maps. Fcap. 
 8vo. 5J. net. 
 
8 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 Douglas (James). THE MAN IN THE 
 PULPIT. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Dowdell (J.), D.D., Lord Bishop of Edin- 
 burgh. FURTHER STUDIES IN THE 
 PRAYER BOOK. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 See also Churchman’s Library. 
 
 Drage (G.). See Books on Business. 
 
 Draper (F. W. M.). See Simplified French 
 Texts. 
 
 Driver (S. R.), D.D., D.C.L., Regius Pro- 
 fessor of Hebrew in the University of 
 Oxford. SERMONS ON SUBJECTS 
 CONNECTED WITH THE OLD 
 TESTAMENT. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 See also Westminster Commentaries. 
 
 Dry (Wakeling). See Little Guides. 
 Dryhurst(A. R.). See Little Books on Art, 
 Du Buisson(J. C.), M.A. See Churchman’s 
 Bible. 
 
 Duguid (Charles). See Books on Business. 
 Dumas (Alexandre). THE CRIMES OF 
 THE BORGIAS AND OTHERS. 
 With an Introduction by R. S. Garnett. 
 With 9 Illustrations. Cr. Svo. 6j. 
 
 THE CRIMES OF URBAIN GRAN- 
 DIER AND OTHERS. With 8 Illustra- 
 tions. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE CRIMES OF THE MARQUISE 
 DE BRINVILLIERS AND OTHERS. 
 With 8 Illustrations. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE CRIMES OF ALI PACHA AND 
 OTHERS. With 8 Illustrations. Cr. 8 vo. 
 6s. 
 
 Colonial Editions are also published. 
 
 MY MEMOIRS. Translated by E. M. 
 Waller. With an Introduction by Andrew 
 Lang. With Frontispiecesin Photogravure. 
 In six Volumes. Cr. 8z >o. 6s. each volume. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Vol. I. 1802-1821. Vol. III. 1826-1830. 
 Vol. II. 1822-1825. Vol. IV. 1830-1831. 
 Duncan (David), D.Sc., LL.D. THE LIFE 
 AND LETTERS OF HERBERT 
 SPENCER. With 15 Illustrations. Demy 
 8 vo. 15J. 
 
 Dunn (J. T)., D.Sc., and MundeIIa(V. A.). 
 
 GENERAL ELEMENTARY SCIENCE. 
 With 1 14 Illustrations. Second Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 2 s - 6d. 
 
 Dunstan (A. E.), B.Sc. (Lond.), East Ham 
 Technical College. See Textbooks of 
 Science, and Junior School Books. 
 
 Durham (The Earl of ). A REPORT ON 
 CANADA. With an Introductory Note. 
 Demy 8 vo. 4$. 6d. net. 
 
 Dutt (W. A.). THE NORFOLK BROADS. 
 With coloured Illustrations by Frank 
 Southgate, R.B.A. Second Edition. Cr. 
 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 WILD LIFE IN EAST ANGLIA. With 
 16 Illustrations in colour by Frank South- 
 gate, R.B.A. Second Edition. Demy 
 8 vo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 SOME LITERARY ASSOCIATIONS OF 
 EAST ANGLIA. With 16 Illustrations in 
 Colour by W. Dexter, R.B.A., and 16 
 other Illustrations. Demy 8 vo. ioj. 6d. net. 
 See also Little Guides. 
 
 Earle (John), Bishop of Salisbury. MICRO- 
 COSMOGRAPH 1 E, or A PIECE OF 
 THE WORLD DISCOVERED. Post 
 i6mo. 2 s. net. 
 
 Edmonds (Major J. E.), R.E. ; D.A.Q.-M.G. 
 
 See Wood (W. Birkbeck). 
 
 Edwards (Clement), M.P. RAILWAY 
 NATIONALIZATION. Second Edition , 
 Revised. Crown 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Edwards (W. Douglas). See Commercial 
 Series. 
 
 Edwardes (Tickner). THE LORE OF 
 THE HONEY BEE. With many Illustra- 
 tions. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 Egan (Pierce). See I.P.L. 
 
 Egerton (H. E.), M.A. A HISTORY OF 
 BRITISH COLONIAL POLICY. A 
 Cheaper Issue, with a supplementary chapter. 
 Second Ed . , R evised. Demy 8 vo. js. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Ellaby (C. G.). See Little Guides. 
 
 Ellerton (F. G.). See Stone (S. J.). 
 
 Epictetus. See Aurelius (Marcus). 
 
 Erasmus. A Book called in Latin EN- 
 CHIRIDION MILITIS CHRISTI ANI, 
 and in English the Manual of the Christian 
 Knight. Ecap. Svo. 3 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Ewald (Carl). TWO LEGS, AND OTHER 
 STORIES. Translated 'from the Danish 
 by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. 
 Illustrated by Augusta Guest. Large Cr. 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 Fairbrother (W. H.), M.A. THE PHILO- 
 SOPHY OF T. H. GREEN. Second 
 Edition. Cr. Svo. 35. 6 d. 
 
 Fea (Allan). SOME BEAUTIES OF THE 
 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. With 
 82 Illustrations. Second Edition. Demy 
 Svo . 12 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE KING. With 
 over 70 Sketches and Photographs by the 
 Author. New and revised Edition. 
 Demy Svo. qs. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 SECRET CHAMBERS AND HIDING- 
 PLACES. With 80 Illustrations. New and 
 revised Edition. Demy Svo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Ferrier (Susan). See Little Library. 
 
 Fidler (T. Claxton), M.Inst. C.E. See 
 Books on Business. 
 
 Fielding (Henry). See Standard Library. 
 
 Finn (S. W.), M. A. See J unior Examination 
 Series. 
 
 Firth (J. B.). See Little Guides. 
 
 Firth (C. H.), M.A. , Regius Professor of 
 Modern History at Oxford. CROM- 
 WELL’S ARMY: A History of the English 
 Soldier during the Civil Wars, the Com- 
 monwealth, and the Protectorate. Cr. Svo. 
 6s. 
 
 Firth (Edith E.). See Beginner’s Books. 
 
 FitzGerald (Edward). THE RUBAIYAT 
 OF OMAR KHAYYAM. Printed from 
 the Fifth and last Edition. With a Com- 
 mentary by Mrs. Stephen Batson, and a 
 Biography of Omar by E. D. Ross. Cr. 
 Svo. 6s. See also Miniature Library. 
 
General Literature 
 
 9 
 
 FitzGerald (H. P.). A CONCISE HAND- 
 BOOK OF CLIMBERS, TWINERS, 
 AND WALL SHRUBS. Illustrated. 
 Fcap. Zvo. 2 s - &d. net. 
 
 Fitzpatrick (5. A. O.). See Ancient Cities. 
 
 Flecker (W. H.), M.A.,D.C.L., Headmaster 
 of the Dean Close School, Cheltenham. 
 THE STUDENT’S PRAYER BOOK. 
 The Text of Morning and Evening 
 Prayer and Litany. With an Introduc- 
 tion and Notes. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Fletcher (J. S.). A BOOK OF YORK- 
 SHIRE. With 16 Illustrations in Colour 
 by Wal Paget and Frank Southgate, 
 R.B.A., and 12 from Photographs. Demy 
 8 vo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Flux (A. W.), M.A., William Dow Professor 
 of Political Economy in M‘Gill University, 
 Montreal. ECONOMIC PRINCIPLES. 
 Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Foat (F. W. G.), D.Litt., M.A., Assistant 
 Master at the City of London School. 
 LONDON : A READER FOR YOUNG 
 CITIZENS. With Plans and Illustra- 
 tions. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 
 Ford (H. G.), M.A., Assistant Master at 
 Bristol Grammar School. See Junior School 
 Books. 
 
 Forel (A.). THE SENSES OF INSECTS. 
 Translated by Macleod. Yearsley. With 
 2 Illustrations. Demy 8 vo. ibs. 6d. net. 
 
 Fortescue (Mrs. G.). See Little Books on 
 Art. 
 
 Fraser (J. F.). ROUND THE WORLD 
 ON A WHEEL. With 100 Illustrations. 
 Fifth Edition Cr. 8 vo. 65. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 French (W.), M.A. See Textbooks of Science. 
 
 Freudenreich (Ed. von). DAIRY BAC- 
 TERIOLOGY. A Short Manual for 
 Students. Translated by J. R. Ainsworth 
 Davis, M.A. Second Edition. Revised. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Fulford (H. W.), M.A. See Churchman’s 
 Bible. 
 
 Fuller (W. P.), M.A. See Simplified French 
 Texts. 
 
 Fyvie (John). TRAGEDY QUEENS OF 
 THE GEORGIAN ERA. With ^Illustra- 
 tions. Second Ed. Demy 8vo. 12s.6d.net. 
 
 Gallaher (D.) and Stead (W. J.). THE 
 COMPLETE RUGBY FOOTBALLER, 
 ON THE NEW ZEALAND SYSTEM. 
 With 35 Illustrations. Second Ed. Demy 
 8 vo. ios. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 GalIichan(W. M.). See Little Guides. 
 
 Gambado (Geoffrey, Esq.). See I.P.L. 
 
 Gaskell (Mrs.). See Little Library, Stan- 
 dard Library and Sixpenny Novels. 
 
 Gasquet, the Right Rev. Abbot, O.S.B. See 
 Antiquary’s Books. 
 
 George (H. B.), M. A., Fellow of New College, 
 Oxford. BATTLES OF ENGLISH HIS- 
 TORY. With numerous Plans. Fourth 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 3$. 6d. 
 
 A HISTORICAL GEOGRAPHY OF THE 
 
 A 
 
 BRITISH EMPIRE. Third Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3J. 6d. 
 
 Gibbins (H. de B.), Litt.D., M.A. IN- 
 DUSTRY IN ENGLAND : HISTORI- 
 CAL OUTLINES. With 5 Maps. Fifth 
 Edition. Demy Zvo. 10 s. 6d. 
 
 THE INDUSTRIAL HISTORY OF 
 ENGLAND. With Maps and Plans. 
 Fifteenth Edition, Revised. Cr. Zvo. 3s. 
 
 ENGLISH SOCIAL REFORMERS. 
 
 Second Edition. Cr. Zvo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 See also Hadfield (R. A.)., and Commer- 
 
 Gibbon (Edward). MEMOIRS OF MY 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS. Edited by 
 G. Birkbeck Hill, LL.D Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE 
 ROMAN EMPIRE. Edited, with Notes, 
 Appendices, and Maps, by J. B. Bury, 
 M.A., Litt.D., Regius Professor of Modern 
 History at Cambridge. In Seven Volumes. 
 Demy 8 vo. Gilt top. 8$. 6d. each. Also , 
 Crown 8 vo. 6s. each. 
 
 See also Standard Library. 
 
 Gibbs (Philip). THE ROMANCE OF 
 GEORGE VILLIERS : FIRST DUKE 
 OF BUCKINGHAM, AND SOME MEN 
 AND WOMEN OF THE STUART 
 COURT. With 20 Illustrations. Second 
 Edition. Demy 8 vo. 15^. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Gibson (E. C. S.), D.D., Lord Bishop of 
 Gloucester. See Westminster Commentaries, 
 Handbooks of Theology, and Oxford Bio- 
 graphies. 
 
 Gilbert (A. R.). See Little Books on Art. 
 
 Gloag (M. R.) and Wyatt (Kate M.). A 
 BOOK OF ENGLISH GARDENS. 
 With 24 Illustrations in Colour. Demy 
 8 vo. ioj. 6d. net. 
 
 Godfrey (Elizabeth). A BOOK OF RE- 
 MEMBRANCE. Being Lyrical Selections 
 for every day in the Year. Arranged by. 
 Fcap. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 ENGLISH CHILDREN IN THE OLDEN 
 TIME. With 32 Illustrations. Second 
 Edition . Demy 8 vo. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Godley (A. D.), M.A., Fellow of Magdalen 
 College, Oxford. LYRA FRIVOL A. 
 Fourth Edition. Fcap. 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 VERSES TO ORDER. Second Edition. 
 Fcap. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 SECOND STRINGS. Fcap. 8 vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Goldsmith (Oliver). THE VICAR OF 
 WAKEFIELD. With 10 Plates in 
 Photogravure by Tony Johannot. Leather , 
 Fcap. s'Z'MO. 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 See also I.P.L. and Standard Library. 
 
 Goinme (G. L,.). See Antiquary’s Books. 
 
 Goodrich- Freer (A.). IN A SYRIAN 
 SADDLE. Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Gorst (Rt. Hon. Sir John). THE CHIL- 
 DREN OF THE NATION. Second 
 Edition. Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Goudge (H. L.), M.A., Principal of Wells 
 Theological College. See Westminster Com- 
 mentaries. 
 
IO 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 Graham (P. Anderson). THE RURAL 
 EXODUS. The Problem of the Village 
 and the Town. Cr. 8z >o. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Granger (F. S.), M.A., Litt.D. PSYCH- 
 OLOGY. Third Edition. Cr. 8z >0. 2 s. 6 d. 
 THE SOUL OF A CHRISTIAN. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Gray (E. M‘Queen). GERMAN PASSAGES 
 FOR UNSEEN TRANSLATION. Cr. 
 
 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Gray (P. L.), B.Sc. THE PRINCIPLES OF 
 MAGNETISM AND ELECTRICITY. 
 With 181 Diagrams. Cr. 8vo. 3$. 6 d. 
 Green (G. Buckland), M.A. , late Fellow 
 of St. John’s College, Oxon. NOTES ON 
 GREEK AND LATIN SYNTAX. 
 Second Ed. revised. Crown 8vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 Greenidge (A.H. J.),M.A., D.Litt. A HIS- 
 TORY OF ROME : From the Tribunate of 1 
 Tiberius Gracchus to the end of the Jugur- 
 thine War, b.c. 133-104. Demy 8 vo. 
 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 Greenwell (Dora). See Miniature Library. 
 Gregory (R. A.). THE VAULT OF 
 HEAVEN. A Popular Introduction to 
 Astronomy. Illustrated. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 Gregory (Miss E. C.). See Library of 
 Devotion. 
 
 Grubb (H. C.). See Textbooks of Technology. 
 
 Hadfield (R. A.) and Gibbins (H. de B ). 
 
 A SHORTER WORKING DAY. Cr. 
 
 8 vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Hall (Mary). A WOMAN’S TREK FROM 
 THE CAPE TO CAIRO. With 64 Illus- 
 trations and 2 Maps. Second Edition. 
 Demy 8 vo. i6j. net. 
 
 Hall (R. N.) and Neal (W. G.). THE 
 
 ANCIENT RUINS OF RHODESIA. 
 Illustrated. Second Edition , revised. 
 Demy 8 vo. ios. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Iiall (R. N.). GREAT ZIMBABWE. 
 With numerous Plans and Illustrations. 
 Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net. 
 Hamel (Frank). FAMOUS FRENCH 
 SALONS. With 20 Illustrations. 
 Third Edition. Demy 8 vo. 12 s. 6d. net. 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Hamilton (F. J.), D.D. See Byzantine Texts. 
 Hannay (D.). A SHORT HISTORY OF 
 THE ROYAL NAVY, 1200-1688. Illus- 
 trated. Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Hannay (James O.), M.A. THE SPIRIT 
 AND ORIGIN OF CHRISTIAN 
 MONASTICISM. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE WISDOM OF THE DESERT. Fcafi. 
 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 Hardie (Martin). See Connoisseur’s Library. 
 Hare (A. T.), M.A. THE CONSTRUC- 
 TION OF LARGE INDUCTION COILS. 
 With numerous Diagrams. Demy 8 vo. 6s. 
 Harvey (Alfred), M.B. See Ancient Cities 
 and Antiquary’s Books. 
 Hawthorne(Nathaniel). See Little Library. 
 Heath (Frank R.). See Little Guides. 
 
 Heath (Dudley). See Connoisseur’s Library. 
 Hello (Ernest). STUDIES IN SAINT- 
 SHIP. Fcap 8 vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 Henderson (B. W.), Fellow of Exeter 
 College, Oxford. THE LIFE AND 
 PRINCIPATE OF THE EMPEROR 
 NERO. Illustrated. New and cheaper 
 issue. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 AT INTERVALS. Fcap8vo. 2 s. 6 d. net. 
 Henderson (M. Sturge). GEORGE 
 MEREDITH : NOVELIST, POET, 
 
 REFORMER. With a Portrait in Photo- 
 gravure. Second Edition. Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 Henderson (T. F.). See Little Library and 
 Oxford Biographies. 
 
 Henderson (T. F.), and Watt (Francis). 
 
 SCOTLAND OF TO-DAY. With 20 
 Illustrations in colour and 24 other Illus- 
 trations. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Henley (W. E.). ENGLISH LYRICS. 
 CHAUCER TO POE, 1340-1849. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Henley (W. E.)and Whibley (C.) ABOOK 
 OF ENGLISH PROSE, CHARACTER, 
 AND INCIDENT, 1387-1649. Cr. 8 vo. 
 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Henson (H.H.), B.D., Canon of Westminster. 
 LIGHT AND LEAVEN : Historical 
 and Social Sermons. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 Herbert (George). See Library of Devotion. 
 
 Herbert of Cherbury (Lord). See Minia- 
 ture Library. 
 
 Hewins (W. A. S.), B.A. ENGLISH 
 TRADE AND FINANCE IN THE 
 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. Cr. 8 vo. 
 
 2S. 6d. 
 
 Hewitt (Ethel M.) A GOLDEN DIAL. 
 A Day Book of Prose and Verse. E'cap. 
 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Hey (H.), Inspector, Surrey Education Com- 
 mittee, and Rose (G. H.), City and Guilds 
 Woodwork Teacher. THE MANUAL 
 TRAINING CLASSROOM : Wood- 
 
 work. Book I. 4 to. is. 
 
 Hey wood (W.). See St. Francis of Assisi. 
 Hill (Clare). See Textbooks of Technology. 
 Hill (Henry), B.A., Headmaster of the Boy’s 
 High School, Worcester, Cape Colony. A 
 SOUTH AFRICAN ARITHMETIC. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Hind (C. Lewis). DAYS IN CORNWALL. 
 With 16 Illustrations in Colour by William 
 Pascoe, and 20 other Illustrations and a 
 Map. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 Hirst (F. W.) See Books on Business. 
 Hoare (J. Douglas). A HISTORY OF 
 ARCTIC EXPLORATION. With 20 
 Illustrations& Maps. Demy8vo. 7s.6d.net. 
 Hobhouse (L. T.), late Fellow of C.C.C., 
 Oxford. THE THEORY OF KNOW- 
 LEDGE. Demy 8vo. ios. 6d. net. 
 Hobson (J. A.), M.A. INTERNATIONAL 
 TRADE : A Study of Economic Principles. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 2 S. 6d. net. 
 
 PROBLEMS OF POVERTY. An Inquiry 
 into the Industrial Condition of the Poor. 
 Seventh Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
General Literature 
 
 ii 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF THE UNEM- 
 PLOYED. Fourth Edition. Cr.8vo. zs.6d. 
 Hodgetts (E. A. Brayley). THE COURT 
 OF RUSSIA IN THE NINETEENTH 
 CENTURY. With 20 Illustrations. Two 
 Volumes. Demy 8 vo. 24 s. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Hodgkin (T.), D.C.L. See Leaders of 
 Religion. 
 
 Hodgson (Mrs. W.) HOW TO IDENTIFY 
 OLD CHINESE PORCELAIN. With 40 
 Illustrations. Second Edition. PostZvo. 6s. 
 Holden=Stone (G. de). See Books on 
 Business. 
 
 Holdich (Sir T. H.), K.C.I.E. THE 
 INDIAN BORDERLAND: being a 
 
 Personal Record of Twenty Years. Illus- 
 trated. Demy Svo. 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Holdsworth (W. S.), M.A. A HISTORY 
 OF ENGLISH LAW. In Two Volumes. 
 Vol. /. Demy 8 vo. 105. 6d. net. 
 
 Holland (H. Scott), Canon of St. Paul’s. 
 See Newman (J. H.). 
 
 Hollway-Calthrop (H. C.), late of Balliol 
 College, Oxford ; Bursar of Eton College. 
 PETRARCH : HIS LIFE, WORK, AND 
 TIMES. With 24 Illustrations. Demy 
 8 vo. 12 s. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Holt (Emily). THE SECRET OF POPU- 
 LARITY : How to Achieve Social Success. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Holyoake (G. J.). THE CO-OPERATIVE 
 MOVEMENT OF TO-DAY. Fourth Ed. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Hone (Nathaniel J.). See Antiquary’s Books. 
 Hook (A.) HUMANITY AND ITS 
 PROBLEMS. Cr. 8 vo. 5.?. net. 
 
 Hoppner. See Little Galleries. 
 
 Horace. See Classical Translations. 
 Horsburgh(E. L. 5 .), M.A. WATERLOO : 
 With Plans. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 5 s. 
 See also Oxford Biographies. 
 
 Horth (A. C.). See Textbooks of Technology. 
 Horton (R. F.), D.D. See Leaders of Religion. 
 Hosie (Alexander). MANCHURIA. With 
 Illustrations and a Map. Second Edition. 
 Demy 8 vo. 7s. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 How (F. D.)„ SIX GREAT SCHOOL- 
 MASTERS. With Portraits and Illustra- 
 tions. Second Edition. Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6d. 
 Howell (A. G. Ferrers). FRANCISCAN 
 DAYS. Being Selections for every day in 
 the year from ancient Franciscap writings. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 Howell (G.). TRADE UNIONISM— New 
 and Old. Fourth Edition . Cr. 8vo. 
 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Huggins (Sir William), K.C.B., O.M., 
 D.C.L. , F.R.S. THE ROYAL SOCIETY. 
 With 25 Illustrations. Wide Royal 8z >0. 
 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 Hughes (C. E.). THE PRAISE OF 
 SHAKESPEARE. An English Antho- 
 
 logy. With a Preface by Sidney Lee. 
 Demy 8 vo. 35. 6d. net. 
 
 Hughes (Thomas). TOM BROWN’S 
 SCHOOLDAYS. With an Introduction 
 and Notes by Vernon Rendall. Leather. 
 Royal 32 mo . 2 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Hutchinson (Horace G.) THE NEW 
 FOREST. Illustrated in colour with 
 50 Pictures by Walter Tyndale and 4 
 by Lucy Kemp-Welch. Third Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Hutton (A. W.), M.A. See Leaders of 
 Religion and Library of Devotion. 
 
 Hutton (Edward). THE CITIES OF 
 UMBRIA. With 20 Illustrations in Colour 
 by A. Pisa, and 12 other Illustrations. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 THE CITIES OF SPAIN. With 24 Illus- 
 trations in Colour, by A. W. Rimington, 
 20 other Illustrations and a Map. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 FLORENCE AND THE CITIES OF 
 NORTHERN TUSCANY, WITH 
 GENOA. With 16 Illustrations in Colour 
 by William Parkinson, and 16 other 
 Illustrations. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 ENGLISH LOVE POEMS. Edited with 
 an Introduction. Fcap. 8 vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 Hutton (R. H.). See Leaders of Religion. 
 
 Hutton (W. H.), M.A. THE LIFE OF 
 SIR THOMAS MORE. With Portraits 
 after Drawings by Holbein. Second Ed. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 5 s. 
 
 See also Leaders of Religion. 
 
 Hyde (A. G.) GEORGE HERBERT AND 
 HIS TIMES. With 32 Illustrations. 
 Demy 8 vo. 10s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Hyett (F. A.). FLORENCE : Her History 
 and Art to the Fall of the Republic. 
 Demy 8 vo. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Ibsen (Henrik). BRAND. A Drama. 
 Translated by William Wilson. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 3.?. 6d. 
 
 Inge (W. R.), M.A., Fellow and Tutor of 
 Hertford College, Oxford. CHRISTIAN 
 MYSTICISM. (The Bampton Lectures of 
 1899.) Demy 8 vo. 12 s. 6d. net. 
 
 See alsoLibrary of Devotion. 
 
 Ingham (B. P.). See Simplified French 
 Texts. 
 
 Innes(A. D.), M.A. A HISTORY OF THE 
 BRITISH IN INDIA. With Maps and 
 Plans. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 ENGLAND UNDER THE TUDORS. 
 With Maps. Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 
 
 1 os. 6d. net. 
 
 Jackson (C.E.), B. A., Senior Physics Maste 
 Bradford Grammar School, 
 of Science. 
 
 Jackson (S.), M.A. See Commercial Series. 
 
 Jackson (F. Hamilton). See Little Guides. 
 
 Jacob (F.), M.A. See Junior Examination 
 Series. 
 
12 
 
 Messrs. Methuen's Catalogue 
 
 James (W. H. N.). See Brooks (E. E.). 
 
 Jeans (J. Stephen). TRUSTS, POOLS, 
 AND CORNERS AS AFFECTING 
 COMMERCE AND INDUSTRY. Cr. 
 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 See also Books on Business. 
 
 Jebb (Camilla). A STAR OF THE 
 SALONS: Julie de Lespinasse. With 
 20 Illustrations. Demy 8 vo. xos. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Jeffery (Reginald W.), M.A. THE 
 THIRTEEN COLONIES OF NORTH 
 AMERICA. With 8 Illustrations and a 
 Map. Demy 8 vo. ys. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Jeffreys (D. Gwyn). DOLLY’S THEATRI- 
 CALS. Super Royal x6mo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Jenks(E.), M.A., B.C.L. AN OUTLINE 
 OF ENGLISH LOCAL GOVERNMENT. 
 Second Ed. Revised by R. C. K. Ensor, 
 M.A. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Jenner (Mrs. H.). See Little Books on Art. 
 
 Jennings (Oscar), M.D. EARLY WOOD- 
 
 CUT INITIALS. Demy \to. 2xs.net. 
 
 Jessopp (Augustus), D.D. See Leaders of 
 Religion. 
 
 Jevons (F. B.), M.A., Litt.D., Principal of 
 Hatfield Hall, Durham. RELIGION 
 IN EVOLUTION. Cr.Svo. 3*. 6d. net. 
 
 See also Churchman’s Library and Hand- 
 books of Theology. 
 
 Johnson (Mrs. Barham). WILLIAM BOD- 
 IIAM DONNE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 Illustrated. Demy 8 vo. 10 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Johnston (Sir H. H.), K.C.B. BRITISH 
 CENTRAL AFRICA. With nearly 200 
 Illustrations and Six Maps. Third Edition. 
 Cr. \to. 18s. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Jones (H.). See Commercial Series. > 
 
 Jones (H. F.). See Textbooks of Science. 
 
 Jones (L. A. Atherley), K.C., M.P., and 
 Bellot (Hugh H. L,), M.A., D.C.L. 
 THE MINER’S GUIDE TO THE COAL 
 MINES REGULATION ACTS AND 
 THE LAW OF EMPLOYERS AND 
 WORKMEN. Cr. 8 vo. 2 j. 6d. net. 
 
 COMMERCE IN WAR. Royal8vo. 2xs.nct. 
 
 Jones (R. Compton), M.A. POEMS OF 
 THE INNER LIFE. Selected by. Thir- 
 teenth Edition. Fcap.8vo. 2s.6d.net. 
 
 Jonson (Ben). See Standard Library. 
 
 Juliana (Lady) of Norwich. REVELA- 
 TIONS OF DIVINE LOVE. Ed.by Grace 
 W arrack. Third Ed. Cr. 8z >0. 3s. 6 d. 
 
 Juvenal. See Classical Translations. 
 
 ‘ Kappa.’ LET YOUTH BUT KNOW: 
 A Plea for Reason in Education. Cr. 8vo. 
 3 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Kaufmann (M.), M.A. SOCIALISM AND 
 MODERN THOUGHT. Second Edition 
 Revised and Enlarged. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 Keats (John). THE POEMS. Edited 
 with Introduction and Notes by E. de Selin- 
 court, M.A. With a Frontispiece in 
 Photogravure. Second Edition Revised. 
 Demy 8z >0. ys. 6d. net. 
 
 1 REALMS OF GOLD. Selections from the 
 Works of. Reap. 8 vo. 3 s. 6d. net. 
 
 See also Little Library and Standard 
 Library. 
 
 Keble (John). THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. 
 With an Introduction and Notesby W. Lock, 
 D.D., Warden of Keble College. Illustrated 
 by R. Anning Bell. Third Edition. Fcap. 
 8 vo. 3s. ’> Padded morocco , 5^. 
 
 See also Library of Devotion. 
 
 Kelynack (T. N.), M.D., M.R.C.P. THE 
 DRINK PROBLEM IN ITS MEDICO- 
 SOCIOLOGICAL ASPECT. By four- 
 teen Medical Authorities. Edited by. 
 With 2 Diagrams. Demy 8 vo. ys. 6 d. net. 
 Kempis (Thomas k). THE IMITATION 
 OF CHRIST. With an Introduction by 
 Dean Farrar. Illustrated by C. M. Gere. 
 Third Edition. Fcap. 8 vo. 3s. 6d.; padded 
 morocco. 5 s. 
 
 Also Translated by C. Bigg, D.D. Cr. 
 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 See also Montmorency (J. E, G. de)., 
 Library of Devotion, and Standard Library. 
 Kennedy (Bart.). THE GREEN 
 SPHINX. Cr. 8 vo. 3$. 6d. net. 
 
 Kennedy (James Houghton), D.D., Assist- 
 ant Lecturer in Divinity in'the University of 
 Dublin. ST. PAUL’S SECOND AND 
 THIRD EPISTLES TO THE CORIN- 
 THIANS. With Introduction, Dissertations 
 and Notes. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Kimmins (C. W.), M.A. THE CHEMIS- 
 TRY OF LIFE AND HEALTH. Illus- 
 trated. Cr. 8vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Kinglake (A. W.). See Little Library. 
 Kipling (Rudyard). BARRACK- ROOM 
 BALLADS. 8gth Thousand. Tvuenty- 
 fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also Leather. 
 Fcap. 8 vo. 5 s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 THE SEVEN SEAS. yyth Thousand. 
 Fourteenth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. Also 
 Leather. Fcap. 8 vo. 5^. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 THE FIVE NATIONS. 65 th Thousand. 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. Also 
 Leather. Fcap. 8 vo. 5s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. Seventeenth 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. A Iso Leather. Fcap. 
 8 vo. 5-r. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Knight (Albert E.). THE COMPLETE 
 CRICKETER. With 50 Illustrations. 
 Demy 8 vo. ys. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Kniglit(Ii. J.C.), B.D. SeeChurchman’sBible. 
 Knowling (R. J.), M.A. , Professor of New 
 Testament Exegesis at King’s College, 
 London. See Westminster Commentaries. 
 Lamb (Charles and Mary), THE WORKS. 
 Edited by E. V. Lucas. Illustrated. In 
 Seven Volumes. Demy 8 vo. ys. 6d. each. 
 
 See also Little Library and Lucas (E. V.) 
 Lambert (F* A. H.). See Little Guides. 
 
General Literature 
 
 Lambros (Professor S. P.). See Byzantine 
 Texts. 
 
 Lane -Poole (Stanley). A HISTORY OF 
 EGYPT IN THE MIDDLE AGES. Fully 
 Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Langbridge (F.), M. A. BALL ADS OF THE 
 BRAVE : Poems of Chivalry, Enterprise, 
 Courage, and Constancy. Third Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Law (William). See Library of Devotion 
 and Standard Library. 
 
 Leach (Henry). THE DUKE OF DEVON- 
 SHIRE. A Biography. With 12 Illustra- 
 tions. Demy Zvo. 12.9. 6d. net. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE LINKS. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 See also Braid (James). 
 
 Le Braz (Anatole). THE LAND OF 
 PARDONS. Translated by Frances M. 
 Gostling. With 12 Illustrations in Colour 
 by T. C. Gotch, and 40 other Illustrations. 
 Third Edition. Crown 8z >0. 6s. 
 
 Lee (Captain L. Melville). A HISTORY 
 OF POLICE IN ENGLAND. Cr. 8 vo. 
 35. 6 d. net. 
 
 Lewes (V. B.), M.A. AIR AND WATER. 
 
 Illustrated. Cr. 8 vo. vs. 6d. 
 
 Lewis (B. M. Gwyn). A CONCISE 
 HANDBOOK 9F GARDEN SHRUBS. 
 With 20 Illustrations. Fcap. 8 vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Lisle (Fortun^ede). See Little Books on Art. 
 Littlehales (H.). See Antiquary’s Books. 
 Llewellyn (Owen) and Raven=Mill (L.). 
 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR. With 85 
 Illustrations. Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Lock (Walter), D.D., Warden of Keble 
 College. ST. PAUL, THE MASTER- 
 BUILDER. Second Ed. Cr. 87 >0. 3$. 6d. 
 THE BIBLE AND CHRISTIAN LIFE. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 See also Keble (J.) and Leaders of Religion. 
 Locker (F.). See Little Library. 
 
 Lodge (Sir Oliver), F.R.S. THE SUB- 
 STANCE OF FAITH ALLIED WITH 
 SCIENCE: A Catechism for Parents 
 
 and Teachers. Ninth Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s net. 
 Lofthouse (W. F.), M.A. ETHICS AND 
 ATONEMENT. With a Frontispiece.^ 
 Demy 8 vo. 5J. net. 
 
 Longfellow (H. W .). See Little Library. 
 Lorimer (George Horace). LETTERS 
 FROM A SELF-MADE MERCHANT 
 TO HIS SON. Seventeenth Edition. Cr. 
 8 vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 OLD GORGON GRAHAM. Second Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Lover (Samuel). See I.P.L. 
 
 E. V. L. and C. L. G. ENGLAND DAY BY 
 DAY : Or, The Englishman’s Handbook to 
 Efficiency. Illustrated by George Morrow. 
 Fourth Edition. Fcap. 4 to . 15. net. 
 
 Lucas (E.V.). THE LIFE OF CHARLES 
 LAMB. With 28 Illustrations. Fourth 
 and Revised Edition in One Volume. 
 Demy 8 vo. 7 .v. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 tS 
 
 A WANDERER IN HOLLAND. With 
 20 Illustrations in Colour by Herbert 
 Marshall, 34 Illustrations after old Dutch 
 Masters, and a Map. Ninth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 65. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 A WANDERER IN LONDON. With 16 
 Illustrations in Colour by Nelson Dawson, 
 36 other Illustrations and a Map. Sixth 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 THE OPEN ROAD : a Little Book for Way- 
 farers. Fourteenth Edition. Fcap. 8 vo. 
 5s. ; India Paper , 7 s. 6 d. 
 
 THE FRIENDLY TOWN : a Little Book 
 for the Urbane. Fourth Edition. 1 'cap. 
 
 8 vo. 5s. : India Paper, 7 s. 6d. 
 
 FIRESIDE AND SUNSHINE. Fourth 
 Edition. Fcap. 8 vo. 5s. 
 
 CHARACTER AND COMEDY. Fourth 
 Edition. Fcap. 8 vo. 5s. 
 
 THE GENTLEST ART. A Choice of 
 Letters by Entertaining Hands. Fifth 
 
 Edition. Fcap. 8 vo. 5s. 
 
 A SWAN AND HER FRIENDS. With 24 
 Illustrations. Demy 8 vo. 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Lucian. See Classical Translations. 
 
 Lyde (L. W.), M.A. See Commercial Series. 
 
 Lydon (Noel S.). See Junior School Books. 
 
 Lyttelton(Hon. Mrs. A.). WOMEN AND 
 THEIR WORK. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Macaulay (Lord). CRITICAL AND HIS- 
 TORICAL ESSAYS. Edited by F. C. Mon- 
 tague, M.A. Three Volumes. Cr. 8 vo. i8j. 
 
 M ‘ Allen (J. E. B.), M.A. See Commercial 
 Series. 
 
 MacCulloch (J. A.). See Churchman’s 
 Library. 
 
 MacCunn (Florence A.). MARY 
 STUART. With 44 Illustrations, in 
 eluding a Frontispiece in Photogravure. 
 New and Cheaper Edition. Large Cr. 8 vo. 
 6s. 
 
 See also Leaders of Religion. 
 
 McDermott (E. R.). See Books on Business. 
 
 M‘Dowail(A. s.;. See Oxford Biographies. 
 
 Mackay (A. M.), B. A. See Churchman’s 
 Library. 
 
 Mackenzie (W. Leslie), M.A., M.D., 
 D.P.H., etc. THE HEALTH OF THE 
 SCHOOL CHILD. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 
 Macklin (Herbert W.), M.A. See Anti- 
 quary’s Books. 
 
 M‘Neile (A. H.)» B.D. See Westminster 
 Commentaries. 
 
 ‘ Mdlie Mori ’ (Author of). ST. CATHER- 
 INE OF SIENA AND HER TIMES. 
 With 28 Illustrations. Second Edition. 
 Demy 8z >0. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Magnus (Laurie), M.A. A PRIMER OF 
 WORDSWORTH. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 
 Mahaffy (J. P.), Litt.D. A HISTORY OF 
 THE EGYPT OF THE PTOLEMIES. 
 Fully Illustrated. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Maitland (F. W.), M.A., LL.D. ROMAN 
 CANON LAW IN THE CHURCH OF 
 ENGLAND. Royal Zvo. 7 s. 6d. 
 
14 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 MaJor(H.), B.A., B.Sc. A HEALTH AND 
 TEMPERANCE READER. Cr. Zvo. 
 
 IS. 
 
 Malden (H. E.), M.A. ENGLISH RE- 
 CORDS. A Companion to the History of 
 England. Cr. Zz >o. 3^. 6d. 
 
 THE RIGHTS AND DUTIES OF A 
 CITIZEN. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 
 is. 6d. 
 
 See also School Histories. 
 
 Marchant (E. C.), M.A., Fellow of Peter- 
 house, Cambridge. A GREEK ANTHO- 
 LOGY Second Edition. Cr. Zvo. 35. 6d. 
 See also Cook (A. M.). 
 
 Marks (Jeannette), M.A. ENGLISH 
 PASTORAL DRAMA from the Restora- 
 tion to the date of the publication of the 
 ‘Lyrical Ballads* (1660-1798). Cr. Zvo. 
 5 s. net. 
 
 Marr (J. E.)* F.R.S., Fellow of St John's Col- 
 lege, Cambridge. THE SCIENTIFIC 
 STUDY OF SCENERY. Third Edition. 
 Illustrated. Cr. Zvo. 6.?. 
 AGRICULTURAL GEOLOGY. Illustrated. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Marriott (J. A. R.), M.A. THE LIFE 
 AND TIMES OF LORD FALKLAND. 
 With 23 Illustrations. Second Edition. 
 Demy Zvo . 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Marvell (Andrew). See Little Library. 
 Masefield (John). SEA LIFE IN NEL- 
 SON’S TIME. Illustrated. Cr. Zvo. 
 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 ON THE SPANISH MAIN : or, Some 
 English Forays in the Isthmus of 
 Darien. With 22 Illustrations and a Map. 
 Demy Zvo. ios. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 A SAILOR’S GARLAND. Selected and 
 Edited by. Second Ed. Cr. Zvo. 3 s. 6d. net. 
 AN ENGLISH PROSE MISCELLANY. 
 
 Selected and Edited by. Cr. Zvo. 6j. 
 Maskell (A.). See Connoisseur’s Library. 
 Mason (A. J.), D. D. See Leaders of Religion. 
 Masterman (C. F. G.), M.A., M.P. 
 TENNYSON AS A RELIGIOUS 
 TEACHER. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Matheson (E. F.). COUNSELS OF 
 LIFE. Fcap. Zvo. 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 May (Phil). THE PHIL MAY ALBUM. 
 
 Second Edition. 4 to . is. net. 
 
 Meakin (Annette M. B.), Fellow of the 
 Anthropological Institute. WOMAN IN 
 TRANSITION. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Mellows (Emma S.). A SHORT STORY 
 OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. Cr. 
 Zvo. 3s. &d. 
 
 Methuen (A. M. S.), M.A. THE 
 TRAGEDY OF SOUTH AFRICA. 
 Cr. Zvo. 2 s. net. Also Cr. Zvo. 3d. net. 
 ENGLAND’S RUIN : Discussed in Six- 
 teen Letters to a Protectionist. 
 Eighth Edition. Cr. Zvo. 3d. net. 
 
 Miles (Eustace), M.A. LIFE AFTER 
 LIFE: or, The Theory of Reincarna- 
 tion. Cr. Zvo. 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 THE POWER OF CONCENTRATION: 
 How to Acquire it. Second Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 2 s ' 6d. net. 
 
 Millais (J. G.). THE LIFE AND LET- 
 TERS OF SIR JOHN EVERETT 
 MILLAIS, Presidentofthe Royal Academy. 
 With many Illustrations, of which 2 are in 
 Photogravure. New Edition. Demy Zvo. 
 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 See also Little Galleries. 
 
 Millin (G. F.). PICTORIAL GARDEN- 
 ING. With 21 Illustrations. Crown Zvo. 
 3 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Millis (C. T.), M.I.M.E. See Textbooks of 
 
 Technology. 
 
 Milne (J. G.) f M.A. A HISTORY OF 
 EGYPT UNDER ROMAN RULE. 
 Fully Illustrated. Cr.Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Milton (John). See Little Library and 
 Standard Library. 
 
 A DAY BOOK OF MILTON. Edited by 
 R. F. Towndrow. E'cap. Zvo. 2 s. 6d. net . 
 Minchin (H. C.),M. A. See Peel (R.). 
 Mitchell (P. Chalmers), M.A. OUTLINES 
 OF BIOLOGY. Illustrated. Second Edi- 
 tion. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Mitton (G. E.). JANE AUSTEN AND 
 HER TIMES. With 21 Illustrations 
 Second and Cheaper Edition Large Cr. 
 Zvo. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Moffat (Mary M.). QUEEN LOUISA OF 
 PRUSSIA. With 20 Illustrations. Fourth 
 Edition. Crown Zvo. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 ‘Moil (A.).’ See Books on Business. 
 
 Moir (D. M.). See Little Library. 
 
 Molinos (Dr. Michael de). See Library ol 
 Devotion. 
 
 Money (L. G. Chiozza), M.P. RICHES 
 
 AND POVERTY. Eighth Edition. Demy 
 Zvo. 5^. net. Also Cr. Zvo. is. net. 
 SOCIAL AND INDUSTRIAL PRO- 
 BLEMS. Demy Zvo. 5.?. net. 
 
 Montagu (Henry), Earl of Manchester. See 
 Library of Devotion. 
 
 Montaigne. A DAY BOOK OF. Edited 
 by C. F. Pond. Fcap. Zvo. 2 s. 6d. net. 
 Montgomery (H. B.) THE EMPIRE OF 
 THE EAST. With a Frontispiece in Colour 
 and 16 other Illustrations. Second Edition. 
 Demy Zvo. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Montmorency (J. E. G. de), B.A., LL.B. 
 THOMAS A KEMPIS, HIS AGE AND 
 BOOK. With 22 Illustrations. Second 
 Edition. Demy Zvo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Moore (H. E.). BACK TO THE LAND. 
 Cr. Zvo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Moorhouse (E. Hallam). NELSON’S 
 LADY HAMILTON. With 51 Portraits. 
 Second Edition. Demy Zvo. 7s. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Moran (Clarence G . ). See Books on Business. 
 More (Sir Thomas). See Standard Library. 
 
General Literature 
 
 i5 
 
 Morfill (W. R.), Oriel Conege, Oxford. A 
 HISTORY OF RUSSIA FROM PETER 
 THE GREAT TO ALEXANDER II. 
 With Maps and Plans. Cr. 8vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 Morich (R. J.), late of Clifton College. See 
 School Examination Series. 
 
 Morley (Margaret W.), Founded on. THE 
 BEE PEOPLE. With 74 Illustrations. 
 Sq. Crown 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 LITTLE MITCHELL: The Story of a 
 Mountain Squirrel told by Himself. 
 With many Illustrations. Sq. Cr. 8 vo. 2S.6d. 
 
 Morris (J.). THE MAKERS OF JAPAN. 
 With 24 Illustrations. Demy 8 vo. 12^. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 Morris (Joseph E.). See Little Guides. 
 
 Morton (A. Anderson). See Brodrick(M.). 
 
 Moule(H. C. G.), D.D., Lord Bishop of Dur- 
 ham. See Leaders of Religion. 
 
 Muir (M. M. Pattison), M.A. THE 
 CHEMISTRY OF FIRE. Illustrated. 
 Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6 d. 
 
 Mundella (V. A.), M.A. See Dunn (J. T.). 
 
 Munro(R.), M.A., LL.D. See Antiquary’s 
 Books. 
 
 Myers (A. Wallis), THE COMPLETE 
 LAWN TENNIS PLAYER. With many 
 Illustrations. Second Edition. Demy 8 vo. 
 ioj. 6d. net. 
 
 Naval Officer (A). See I. P. L. 
 
 Neal (W. G.). See Hall (R. N.), 
 
 Newman (Ernest). HUGO WOLF. 
 With 13 Illustrations. DemyZvo. js.6d.net. 
 
 Newman(George), M.D.,D.P.H.,F.R.S.E., 
 INFANT MORTALITY, A Social 
 Problem. With 16 Diagrams. Demy 
 8 vo. 7 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Newman (J. H.) and others. See Library 
 of Devotion. 
 
 Newsholme (Arthur), M.D., F.R.C.P. 
 THE PREVENTION OF TUBERCU- 
 LOSIS. Demy 8 vo. io.v. 6d. net. 
 
 Nichols (Bowyer). See Little Library. 
 
 Nicklin (T.), M.A. EXAMINATION 
 PAPERS IN THUCYDIDES. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 
 
 Nimrod. See I. P. L. 
 
 Norgate (G. Le Grys). THE LIFE OF 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. With 53 Illus- 
 trations by Jenny Wylie. Demy 8 vo. 
 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Norway (A. H.). NAPLES. Past and 
 Present. With 25 Coloured Illustrations 
 by Maurice Greiffenhagen. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8z >o. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Novalis. THE DISCIPLES AT SAlS AND 
 OTHER FRAGMENTS. Edited by Miss 
 Una Birch. Fcap. 8 vo. 3 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Officer (An). See I. P. L. 
 
 Oldfield (W. J.), M.A., Prebendary of 
 Lincoln. A PRIMER OF RELIGION. 
 Based on the Catechism of the Church 
 of England. Crown 8vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Oldham (F. M.), B.A. See Textbooks of 
 Science. 
 
 Oliphant (Mrs.). See Leaders of Religion. 
 
 Oliver, Thomas, M.D. DISEASES OF 
 OCCUPATION. With Illustrations. Se- 
 cond Edition. Demy 8 vo. 10 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Oman(C. W. C.), M. A., Fellow of All Souls’, 
 Oxford. A HISTORY OF THE ART 
 OF WAR IN THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 Illustrated. Demy 8 vo. 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 Ottley (R. L.), D.D. See Handbooks of 
 Theology and Leaders of Religion. 
 
 Overton (J. H.). See Leaders of Religion. 
 
 Owen (Douglas). See Books on Business. 
 
 Oxford (M. N.), ofGuy’s Hospital. A HAND- 
 BOOK OF NURSING. Fourth Edition. 
 Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Pakes (W. C. C.). THE SCIENCE OF 
 HYGIENE. Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 15$. 
 
 Parker (Gilbert), M.P. A LOVER’S 
 DIARY. Fcap. 8 vo. 5 s. 
 
 A volume of poems. 
 
 Parkes (A. K.). SMALL LESSONS ON 
 GREAT TRUTHS. Fcap. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 
 Parkinson (John). PARADISI IN SOLE 
 PARADISUS TERRESTRIS, OR A 
 GARDEN OF ALL SORTS OF PLEA- 
 SANT FLOWERS. Folio. £3, 3s. net. 
 
 Parmenter (John). HELIO-TROPES, OR 
 NEW POSIES FOR SUNDIALS. 
 Edited by Percival Landon. Quarto. 
 3 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Parmentier (Prof. Leon). See Bidez (J.). 
 
 Parsons (Mrs. C.). GARRICK AND HIS 
 CIRCLE. With 36 Illustrations. Second 
 Edition. Demy 8vo. 12^. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Pascal. See Library of Devotion. 
 
 Paston (George). SOCIAL CARICA- 
 TURE IN THE EIGHTEENTH 
 CENTURY. With over 200 Illustrations. 
 Imperial Quarto. £2, 12 s. 6d. net. 
 
 LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 
 AND HER TIMES With 24 Illustra- 
 tions. Second Edition. Demy 8 vo. 1 5^. net. 
 
 See also Little Books on Art and I.P.L. 
 
 Paterson (W. R.)(Benjamin Swift). LIFE’S 
 QUESTIONINGS. Cr. 8 vo. 3.?. 6d. net. 
 
 Patterson (A. H.). NOTES OF AN EAST 
 COAST NATURALIST. Illustrated in 
 Colour by F. Southgate, R.B.A. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 NATURE IN EASTERN NORFOLK. 
 With 12 Illustrations in Colour by Frank 
 Southgate, R.B.A. Second Edition. Cr. 
 8 vo. 65. 
 
 WILD LIFE ON A NORFOLK ESTU- 
 ARY. With 40 Illustrations by the Author, 
 and a Prefatory Note by Her Grace the 
 Duchess of Bedford. Demy 8 vo. 
 ios. 6d. net. 
 
 Peacock (Netta). See Little Books on Art. 
 
 Patterson (J. B.). See Simplified French 
 Texts. 
 
 Peake (C. M. A.), F.R.H.S. A CON- 
 CISE HANDBOOK OF GARDEN 
 ANNUAL AND BIENNIAL PLANTS. 
 With 24 Illustrations. Fcap. 8 vo. 3 s.6d. net. 
 
i6 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 Peel (Robert), and Mincliin (H. C.), M.A. 
 OXFORD. With ioo Illustrations in 
 Colour. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Peel (Sidney), late Fellow of Trinity College, 
 Oxford, and Secretary to the Royal Com- 
 mission on the Licensing Laws. PRACTI- 
 CAL LICENSING REFORM. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 
 Petrie (W. M. Flinders), D. C. L. , LL. D. , Pro- 
 fessor of Egyptology at University College. 
 A HISTORY OF EGYPT. Fully Illus- 
 trated. In six volumes. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. each. 
 Vol. i. From the Earliest Kings to 
 XVIth Dynasty. Sixth Edition. 
 
 Vol. ii. The XVIIth and XVIIIth 
 Dynasties. Fourth Edition. 
 
 Vol. iii. XIXth to XXXth Dynasties. 
 Vol. iv. The Egypt of the Ptolemies. 
 
 J. P. Mahaffy, Litt.D. 
 
 Vol. v. Roman Egypt. J. G. Milne, M.A. 
 Vol. vi. Egypt in the Middle Ages. 
 
 Stanley Lane-Poole, M.A. 
 
 RELIGION AND CONSCIENCE IN 
 ANCIENT EGYPT. Lectures delivered 
 at University College, London. Illustrated. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 2S. 6d. 
 
 SYRIA AND EGYPT, FROM THE TELL 
 EL AMARNA TABLETS. Cr. 8vo. 2 s.6d. 
 EGYPTIAN TALES. Translated from the 
 Papyri. First Series, ivth to xiith Dynasty. 
 Edited by W. M. Flinders Petrie. Illus- 
 trated by Tristram Ellis. Second Edi- 
 tion. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 
 EGYPTIAN TALES. Translated from the 
 Papyri. Second Series, xvmth to xixth 
 Dynasty. Illustrated by Tristram Ellis. 
 Crown Svo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 EGYPTIAN DECORATIVE ART. A 
 Course of Lectures delivered at the Royal 
 Institution. Illustrated. Cr. 8 vo. 3.?. 6d. 
 Phillips (W, A.). See Oxford Biographies. 
 Phillpotts (Eden). MY DEVON YEAR. 
 With 38 Illustrations by J. Ley Pethy- 
 bridge. Second and Cheaper Edition. 
 Large Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 UP ALONG AND DOWN ALONG. 
 Illustrated by Claude Shepperson. 
 Cr. 4 to. $s. net. 
 
 Phythian (J. Ernest). TREES IN NA- 
 TURE, . MYTH, AND ART. With 24 
 Illustrations. Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Plarr (Victor G.). See School Histories. 
 Plato. See Standard Library. 
 
 Plautus. THE CAPTIVI. Edited, with 
 an Introduction, Textual Notes, and a Com- 
 mentary, by W. M. Lindsay, Fell of 
 Jesus College, Oxford. Demy Svo. 10s.6d.net. 
 Plowden-Wardlaw (J. T.), B.A., King’s 
 College, Cambridge. See School Examina- 
 tion Series. 
 
 Podmore (Frank). MODERN SPIRI- 
 TUALISM. Two Volumes. Demy Svo. 
 21 s. net. 
 
 Pollard (Alice). See Little Books on Art. 
 Pollard (Eliza F.). See Little Books on Art. i 
 
 Pollock (David), M.I.N.A. See Books on 
 Business. 
 
 Potter (M. C.), M.A., F.L.S. AN 
 
 ELEMENTARY TEXT - BOOK OF 
 AGRICULTURAL BOTANY. Illus- 
 trated. Third Edition. Cr. Svo. 4 s. 6 d. 
 
 Power (J. O’Connor). THE MAKING 
 OF AN ORATOR. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 Prescott (O. L.). ABOUT MUSIC, AND 
 WHAT IT IS MADE OF. Cr. Svo. 
 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 Price (Eleanor C.). A PRINCESS OF 
 THE OLD WORLD. With 21 Ulus- 
 trations. Demy Svo. 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 Price (L. L.), M.A., Fellow of Oriel College, 
 Oxon. A HISTORY OF ENGLISH 
 POLITICAL ECONOMY FROM ADAM 
 SMITH TO ARNOLD TOYNBEE. 
 Fifth Edition. Cr. Svo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Protheroe (Ernest). THE DOMINION 
 OF MAN. Geography in its Human 
 Aspect. With 32 full-page Illustrations. 
 Second Edition. Cr. Svo. 2 s. 
 
 Quevedo Villegas. See Miniature Library. 
 
 ‘Q’ (A. T. Quiller Couch). TPIE 
 
 GOLDEN POMP. A Procession of 
 English Lyrics from Surrey to Shir- 
 ley. Second and Cheaper Edition. Cr. Svo. 
 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 G. R. and E. S. MR. WOODHOUSE’S 
 CORRESPONDENCE. Cr. Svo. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Rackham (R. B.), M.A. See Westminster 
 Commentaries. 
 
 Ragg (Laura M.). THE WOMEN ART- 
 ISTS OF BOLOGNA. With 20 Illus- 
 trations. Demy Svo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Ragg (Lonsdale). B.D., Oxon. DANTE 
 AND HIS ITALY. With 32 Illustra- 
 tions. Demy Svo. 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 Rahtz (F. J.), M.A., B.Sc., Lecturer in 
 English at Merchant Venturers’ Technical 
 College, Bristol. HIGHER ENGLISH. 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. Svo. 3$. 6d. 
 
 Randolph (B. W.), D .D. See Library of 
 Devotion. 
 
 Rannie (D. W.), M.A. A STUDENT’S 
 HI STORY OF SCOTLAND. Cr.Svo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 WORDSWORTH AND HIS CIRCLE. 
 With 20 Illustrations. Demy Svo. 12 s. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 Rashdall (Hastings), M.A., Fellow and 
 Tutor of New College, Oxford. DOC- 
 TRINE AND DEVELOPMENT. Cr. 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 Raven (J. J.), D.D., F.S.A. See Antiquary’s 
 Books. 
 
 Raven-Hill (L.). See Llewellyn (Owen). 
 
 Rawstorne (Lawrence, Esq.). See I.P.L. 
 
 Raymond (Walter). See School Histories. 
 
 *Rea (Lilian). MADAME DE LA FA- 
 YETTE. With many Illustrations. 
 Demy Svo. ioj. 6d. net. 
 
 Real Paddy (A). See I.P.L. 
 
 Reason (W.)/ M.A. UNIVERSITY AND 
 SOCIAL SETTLEMENTS. Edited by. 
 Cr. Svo. 2s. 6d. 
 
General Literature 
 
 17 
 
 Redpath (H. A.). M.A., D.Litt. See West, 
 minster Commentaries. 
 
 Rees (J. D.), C.I.E., M.P. THE REAL 
 INDIA. Second Edition. Demy8vo. 10s. 
 
 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 *Reich (Emil), Doctor Juris. WOMAN 
 THROUGH THE AGES. With 24 Illus 
 trations. Two Volumes. Demy8vo. 21s.net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Reynolds (Sir Joshua). See Little Galleries. 
 
 Rhoades (J. F.). See Simplified French Texts. 
 
 Rhodes (W. E.). See School Histories. 
 
 Rieu(H.), M.A. See Simplified French Texts. 
 
 Roberts (M. E.). See Channer (C. C.). 
 
 Robertson (A.), D.D., Lord Bishop of 
 Exeter. REGNUM DEL (The Bampton 
 Lectures of 1901). A New and Cheaper 
 Edition. Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Robertson (C. Grant). M.A., Fellow of 
 All Souls’ College, Oxford. SELECT 
 STATUTES, CASES, AND CONSTI- 
 TUTIONAL DOCUMENTS, 1660-1832. 
 Demy 8 vo. 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 Robertson (C. Grant) and Bartholomew 
 (J. G.), F.R.S.E., F.R.G.S. A HIS- 
 TORICAL AND MODERN ATLAS OF 
 THE BRITISH EMPIRE. Demy Quarto. 
 
 4 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Robinson (A. W.), M.A. See Churchman’s 
 Bible. 
 
 Robinson (Cecilia). THE MINISTRY 
 OF DEACONESSES. With an Introduc- 
 tion by the late Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Robinson (F. S.). See Connoisseur’s Library. 
 
 Rochefoucauld (La). See Little Library. 
 
 Rodwell (G.), B.A. NEW TESTAMENT 
 GREEK. A Course for Beginners. With 
 a Preface by Walter Lock, D.D., Warden 
 of Keble College. Fcap. 8 vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 Roe (Fred). OLD OAK FURNITURE. With 
 many Illustrations by the Author, including 
 a frontispiece in colour. Second Edition. 
 DemyZvo. 10 s. f>d. net. 
 
 Rogers (A. G. L.), M.A. See Books on 
 Business. 
 
 Romney (George). See Little Galleries. 
 
 Roscoe (E. S.). See Little Guides. 
 
 Rose (Edward). THE ROSE READER. 
 Illustrated. CV. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. Also in 4 
 Parts. Parts I. and II. 6d. each ; Part 
 III. 8 d. ; Part IV. 10 d. 
 
 Rose (G. H.). See Hey (H.)., and Baring- 
 Gould (S). 
 
 Rowntree (Joshua). THE IMPERIAL 
 DRUG TRADE. A Re-Statement of 
 the Opium Question. Third Edition 
 Revised. Cr. 8 vo. 2s. net. 
 
 Royde=Smith (N. G.). THE PILLOW 
 BOOK : A Garner of Many Moods. 
 Collected by. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 
 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 POETS OF OUR DAY. Selected, 
 with an Introduction, by. Fcap. 8 vo. $s. 
 
 A 
 
 Rubie (A. E.), D.D. See Junior School 
 
 Books. 
 
 Russell (Archibald G. B.). See Blake 
 (William). 
 
 Russell (W. Clark). THE LIFE OF 
 ADMIRAL LORD COLLINGWOOD. 
 With Illustrations by F. Brangwyn. 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Ryley (M. Beresford). QUEENS OF 
 THE RENAISSANCE. With 24 Illus- 
 trations. Demy 8 vo. 10s. 6d. net. 
 Sainsbury (Harrington), M.D., F R.C.P. 
 PRINCIPIA THERAPEUTICA. 
 Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 St. Anselm. See Library of Devotion. 
 
 St. Augustine* See Library of Devotion. 
 St. Bernard. See Library of Devotion. 
 
 St. Cyres (Viscount). See Oxford Bio- 
 graphies. 
 
 St. Francis of Assisi. THE LITTLE 
 FLOWERS OF THE GLORIOUS 
 MESSER, AND OF HIS FRIARS. 
 Done into English, with Notes by William 
 Heywood. With 40 Illustrations from 
 Italian Painters. Demy 8 vo. 5$. net. 
 
 See also Wheldon (F. W.), Library of 
 Devotion and Standard Library. 
 
 St. Francis de Sales. See Library of 
 Devotion. 
 
 ‘Saki’ (H.Munro). REGINALD. Second 
 
 Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Salmon (A. L.). See Little Guides. 
 
 Sathas (C.). See Byzantine Texts. 
 
 Schmitt (John). See Byzantine Texts. 
 Schofield (A. T.), M.D., Hon. Phys. Freiden- 
 ham Hospital. FUNCTIONAL NERVE 
 DISEASES. Demy8vo. 7 s. 6 d. net. 
 Scudamore (Cyril). See Little Guides. 
 S^lincourt (E. de.) See Keats (John). 
 
 Sells (V. P.), M.A. THE MECHANICS 
 OF DAILY LIFE. Illustrated. Cr. 8 vo. 
 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Selous (Edmund). TOMMY SMITH’S 
 ANIMALS. Illustrated by G. W. Ord. 
 Tenth Edition. Reap. 8vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 School Edition, is. 6 d. 
 
 TOMMY SMITH’S OTHER ANIMALS. 
 Illustrated by Augusta Guest. Fourth 
 Edition. Fcap. 8 vo. 2 s 6d. 
 
 School Edition , is. 6d. 
 
 Senter (George), B.Sc. (Lond.), Ph.D. 
 
 See Textbooks of Science. 
 
 Shakespeare (William). 
 
 THE FOUR FOLIOS, 1623 ; 1632 ; 1664 ; 
 1685. Each £4, 4s. net, or a complete set, 
 £ 12 , i2S. net. 
 
 Folios 3 and 4 are ready. 
 
 Folio 2 is nearly ready. 
 
 THE POEMS OF WILLIAM SHAKE- 
 SPEARE. With an Introduction and Notes 
 by George Wyndham. Demy 8 vo. Buck- 
 ram, gilt top , 10s. 6d. 
 
 * See also Arden Shakespeare, Standard 
 Library and Little Quarto Shakespeare. 
 
 3 
 
i8 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 Sharp (A.). VICTORIAN POETS. Cr. 
 Sz >o. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Sharp (Cecil). See Baring-Gould (S.). 
 Sharp (Elizabeth). See Little Books on Art. 
 Shedlock (J. S.) THE PIANOFORTE 
 SONATA. Cr. 8 vo. 55. 
 
 Shelley (Percy B.). See Standard Library. 
 Sheppard (H. F.), M.A. See Baring- 
 Gould (S.). 
 
 Sherwell (Arthur), M.A. LIFE IN WEST 
 LONDON. Third Edition. Cr. Zvo. 
 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Shipley (Mary E.). AN ENGLISH 
 CHURCH HISTORY FOR CHILD- 
 REN. With a Preface by the Bishop of 
 Gibraltar. With Maps and Illustrations. 
 Part I. Cr. Zvo. 2 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Sichel (Walter). See Oxford Biographies. 
 Sidgwick (Mrs. Alfred). HOME LIFE 
 IN GERMANY. With 16 Illustrations. 
 Second Edition. Demy Zvo. 10 s. 6 d. net. 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 Sime (John). See Little Books on Art. 
 Simonson (G. A.). FRANCESCO 
 
 GUARDI. With 41 Plates. Imperial 
 4 to. £2, 2 S. net. 
 
 Sketchley (R. E. D.). See Little Books on 
 Art. 
 
 Skipton (H. P. K.). See Little Books on 
 Art. 
 
 Sladen (Douglas). SICILY: The New 
 Winter Resort. With over 200 Illustrations. 
 Second Edition. Cr. Zvo. 5 s. net. 
 
 Small (Evan), M.A. THE EARTH. An 
 Introduction to Physiography. Illustrated. 
 Cr. Zvo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Smallwood (M. G.). See Little Books on 
 Art. 
 
 Smedley (F. E.). See I.P.L. 
 
 Smith (Adam). THE WEALTH OF 
 NATIONS. Edited with an Introduction 
 and numerous Notes by Edwin Cannan, 
 M.A. Two volumes. Demy Zvo. 2zs.net. 
 Smith (H. Clifford). See Connoisseur’s 
 Library. 
 
 Smith (Horace and James). See Little 
 Library. 
 
 Smith (H. Bompas), M.A. ANEW 
 JUNIOR ARITHMETIC. Crown Zvo. 
 Without Answers, 2s. With Answers, 2 s. 6 d. 
 Smith (R. Mudie). THOUGHTS FOR 
 THE DAY. Edited by. Fcap. Zvo. 
 3 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Smith (Nowell C.). See Wordsworth (W). 
 Smith (John Thomas). A BOOK FOR 
 A RAINY DAY : Or, Recollections of the 
 Events of the Years 1766-1833. Edited by 
 Wilfred Whitten. Illustrated. Wide 
 Demy Zvo. 12 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Snell (F. J.). A BOOK OF EXMOOR. 
 
 Illustrated. Cr. Zvo. 6 s. 
 
 Snowden (C. E.). A HANDY DIGEST OF 
 BRITISH HISTORY. Demy Zvo. 4$. 6 d. 
 Sophocles. See Classical Translations. 
 Sornet (L. A.), and Acatos (M. J.) See 
 Junior School Books. 
 
 South (E. Wilton), M.A. See Junior School 
 Books 
 
 Southey (R.). ENGLISH SEAMEN 
 Edited by David Hannay. 
 
 Vol. 1. (Howard, Clifford, Hawkins, 
 Drake, Cavendish). Second Edition. Cr. 
 Zvo. 6^. 
 
 Vol. 11. (Richard Hawkins, Grenville, 
 Essex, and Raleigh). Cr. Zvo. 6 s. 
 
 See also Standard Library. 
 
 Spence (C. H.), M.A. See School Examina- 
 tion Series. 
 
 Spicer (A. Dykes), M.A. THE PAPER 
 TRADE. A Descriptive and Historical 
 Survey. With Diagrams and Plans. Demy 
 Zvo. 12 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Spooner (W. A.), M.A. See Leaders ot 
 Religion. 
 
 Spragge (W. Horton), M.A. See Junior 
 
 School Books. 
 
 Staley (Edgcumbe). THE GUILDS OF 
 FLORENCE. Illustrated. Second Edition. 
 Royal Zvo. j6.t. net. 
 
 Stanbridge (J. W.), B.D. See Library of 
 Devotion. 
 
 ‘Stancliffe.* GOLF DO’S AND DONT’S. 
 
 Second Edition. Fcap. Zvo. is. 
 
 Stead (D. W.). See Gallaher (D.). 
 Stedman (A. M. M.), M.A. 
 
 INITIA LATINA : Easy Lessons on Elemen- 
 tary Accidence. Eleventh Edition. Fcap. 
 Zvo. is. 
 
 FIRST LATIN LESSONS. Eleventh Edi- 
 tion. Cr. Zvo. 2 s. 
 
 FIRST LATIN READER. With Notes 
 adapted to the Shorter Latin Primer and 
 Vocabulary. Seventh Edition. 18 mo. 
 
 is. 6 d. 
 
 EASY SELECTIONS FROM OESAR. 
 The Helvetian War. Fourth Edition. 
 1 Zmo. is. 
 
 EASY SELECTIONS FROM LIVY. The 
 Kings of Rome. Second Edition. 18 mo. 
 is. 6 d. 
 
 EASY LATIN PASSAGES FOR UNSEEN 
 TRANSLATION. Twelfth Ed. Fcap. 
 Zvo. is. 6 d. 
 
 EXEMPLA LATINA. First Exercises 
 in Latin Accidence. With Vocabulary. 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. Zvo. is. 
 
 EASY LATIN EXERCISES ON THE 
 SYNTAX OF THE SHORTER AND 
 REVISED LATIN PRIMER. With 
 Vocabulary. Twelfth and Cheaper Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. is. 6 d. Key, 3.?. net. 
 
 THE LATIN COMPOUND SENTENCE: 
 Rules and Exercises. Second Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. is. 6 d. With Vocabulary. 2 s. 
 NOTAN DA QUAEDAM : Miscellaneous 
 
 Latin Exercises on Common Rules and 
 Idioms. Fifth Edition. Fcap. Zvo. is. 6 d. 
 With Vocabulary. 2 s. Key, 2s. net. 
 LATIN VOCABULARIES FOR REPE- 
 TITION ; Arranged according to Sub- 
 jects. Sixteenth Edition. Fcap. Zvo. 
 is. 6 d. 
 
 A VOCABULARY OF LATIN IDIOMS. 
 
 18 mo. Fourth Edition, is. 
 
 STEPS TO GREEK. Third Edition , 
 vised. 1 8 mo. IS , 
 
General Literature 
 
 A SHORTKR GREEK PRIMER. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8z >o. is. 6 d. 
 
 EASY GREEK PASSAGES FOR UNSEEN 
 TRANSLATION. Fourth Edition , re- 
 vised. Fcap. 8 vo. is. 6 d. 
 
 GREEK VOCABULARIES FOR RE- 
 PETITION. Arranged according to Sub- 
 jects. Fourth Edition. Fcap. 8z >o. is 6 d. 
 
 GREEK TESTAMENT SELECTIONS. 
 For the use of Schools. With Introduc- 
 tion, Notes, and Vocabulary. Fourth 
 Edition. Fcap. 8 vo. 2s. 6 d. 
 
 STEPS TO FRENCH. Eighth Edition. 
 1 8 mo. 8 d. 
 
 FIRST FRENCH LESSONS. Ninth Edi 
 tion. Cr. 8 vo. is. 
 
 EASY FRENCH PASSAGES FOR UN- 
 SEEN TRANSLATION. Sixth Edi- 
 tion. Fcap. 8 vo. is. 6 d. 
 
 EASY FRENCH EXERCISES ON ELE- 
 MENTARY SYNTAX. With Vocabu- 
 lary. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 Key. 3 j. net. 
 
 FRENCH VOCABULARIES FOR RE- 
 PETITION : Arranged according to Sub- 
 jects. Thirteenth Edition. Fcap. 8 vo. is. 
 
 See also School Examination Series. 
 
 Steel (R. Elliott), M.A., F.C.S. THE 
 WORLD OF SCIENCE. With 147 
 Illustrations. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 See also School Examination Series. 
 
 Stephenson (C.), of the Technical College, 
 Bradford, and Suddards (F.) of the 
 Yorkshire College, Leeds. A TEXTBOOK 
 DEALING WITH ORNAMENTAL 
 DESIGN FOR WOVEN FABRICS. With 
 66 full-page Plates and numerous Diagrams 
 in the Text. Third Edition. Demy 8 vo. 
 7 s. 6 d. 
 
 Stephenson (J.), M.A. THE CHIEF 
 TRUTHS OF THE CHRISTIAN 
 FAITH. Cr. 8 vo. 3J. 6 d. 
 
 Sterne (Laurence). See Little Library. 
 
 Steuart (Katherine). BY ALLAN 
 WATER. Second E.dition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 RICHARD KENNOWAY AND HIS 
 FRIENDS. A Sequel to ‘By Allan 
 Water.’ Demy 8 vo. Ts. 6 d.net. 
 
 Stevenson (R. L.) THE LETTERS OF 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON TO 
 HIS FAMILY AND FRIENDS. 
 Selected and Edited by Sidney Colvin. 
 Eighth Edition. 2 vols. Cr. 8 vo. 12 s. 
 
 Library Edition. 2 vols. Demy 8 vo. 25.S. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 VAILIMA LETTERS. With an Etched 
 Portrait by William Strang. Seventh 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. Buckram. 6s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 THE LIFE OF R. L. STEVENSON. See 
 Balfour (G. ). 
 
 Stevenson (M. I.). FROM SARANAC 
 TO THE MARQUESAS. Being Letters 
 written by Mrs. M. I. Stevenson during 
 1887-8. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 LETTERS FROM SAMOA, 1891-95. Edited 
 and arranged by M. C. Balfour. With 
 
 19 
 
 many Illustrations. Second Edition Cr. 
 8 vo. 6s. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Stoddart (Anna M.). See Oxford Bio- 
 graphies. 
 
 Stokes (F. G.), B.A. HOURS WITH 
 RABELAIS. From the translation of Sir 
 T. Urquhart and P. A. Motteux. With 
 a Portrait in Photogravure. Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6 d. 
 net. 
 
 Stone (S. J.). POEMS AND HYMNS. 
 With a Memoir by F. G. Ellerton, 
 M.A. With Portrait. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Storr (Vernon F.), M.A., Canon of Win- 
 chester. DEVELOPMENT AND 
 DIVINE PURPOSE Cr. 8 vo. 5 s. net. 
 
 Story (Alfred T.). AMERICAN 
 SHRINES IN ENGLAND. With many 
 Illustrations, including two in Colour by 
 A. R. Quinton. Crown 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 See also Little Guides. 
 
 Straker (F.). See Books on Business. 
 
 Streane (A. W.), D.D. See Churchman’s 
 Bible. 
 
 Streatfeild (R. A.). MODERN MUSIC 
 AND MUSICIANS. With 24 Illustra- 
 tions. Second Ed. Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Stroud (Henry), D.Sc., M.A. ELEMEN- 
 TARY PRACTICAL PHYSICS. With 
 1 15 Diagrams. Second Edit., revised. 4 s. 6 d. 
 
 Sturch (F.), Staff Instructor to the Surrey 
 County Council. MANUAL TRAINING 
 DRAWING (WOODWORK). With 
 Solutions to Examination Questions, Ortho- 
 graphic, Isometric and Oblique Projection. 
 With 50 Plates and 140 Figures. Foolscap. 
 5$. net. 
 
 Suddards (F.). See Stephenson (C.). 
 
 Surtees (R. S.). See I.P.L. 
 
 Sutherland (William). OLD AGE PEN- 
 SIONS IN THEORY AND PRACTICE, 
 with some Foreign Examples. Cr. 8 vo. 
 3 j. 6 d. net. 
 
 Symes (J. E.), M.A. THE FRENCH 
 REVOLUTION. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 
 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Sympson (E. Mansel), M.A., M.D. See 
 Ancient Cities. 
 
 Tabor (Margaret E.). THE SAINTS IN 
 ART. With 20 Illustrations. Fcap. 8 vo. 
 3 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Tacitus. AGRICOLA. Edited by R. F. 
 Davis, M.A. Fcap. 8 vo. 2 s. 
 
 GERMANIA. By the same Editor. Fcap. 
 8 vo. 2 s. 
 
 See also Classical Translations. 
 
 TalIack(W.). HOWARD LETTERS AND 
 MEMORIES. Demy 8 vo. io.y. 6 d. net. 
 
 Tatham (Frederick). See Blake (William). 
 
 Tauler (J.). See Library of Devotion. 
 
 Taylor (A. E.). THE ELEMENTS OF 
 METAPHYSICS. Second Edition. Demy 
 8 vo. 10 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Taylor (F. G.), M.A. See Commercial Series. 
 
 Taylor (I. A.). See Oxford Biographies. 
 
 Taylor (John W.). THE COMING OF 
 THE SAINTS. With 26 Illustrations. 
 Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6 d. net. 
 
20 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 Taylor (T. M.)» M.A., Fellow of Gonville 
 and Caius College, Cambridge. A CON- 
 STITUTIONAL AND POLITICAL 
 HISTORY OF ROME. To the Reign of 
 Domitian. Cr. 8 vo. ys. 6 d. 
 
 Teasdale- Buckell (G. T.). THE COM- 
 PLETE SHOT. With 53 Illustrations. 
 Third Edition. Demy 8 vo. 12 s. Cd. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Tennyson (Alfred, Lord). EARLY 
 POEMS. Edited, with Notes and an 
 Introduction, by J. Churton Collins, 
 M.A. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, MAUD, AND THE 
 PRINCESS. Edited by J. Churton 
 Collins, M.A. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 See also Little Library. 
 
 Terry (C. S.). See Oxford Biographies. 
 
 Thackeray (W. M.). See Little Library. 
 
 Theobald (F. V.), M.A. INSECT LIFE. 
 Illustrated. Second Edition Revised. Cr. 
 8z to. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Thibaudeau (A. C.). BONAPARTE AND 
 THE CONSULATE. Translated and 
 Edited by G. K. Fortesque, LL.D. With 
 12 Illustrations. Demy 8 vo. 10 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Thompson (A. H.). See Little Guides. 
 
 Thompson (A. P.). See Textbooks of 
 Technology. 
 
 Tileston (Mary W.). DAILY STRENGTH 
 FOR DAILY NEEDS. Fifteenth Edi- 
 tion. Medium x 6 mo. 2 s. 6 d. net. Also an 
 edition in superior binding, 6s. 
 
 Tompkins (H. W.), F.R.H.S. See Little 
 Books on Art and Little Guides. 
 
 Toynbee (Paget), M.A., D.Litt. IN THE 
 FOOTPRINTS OF DANTE. A Trea- 
 sury of Verse and Prose from the works of 
 Dante. Small Cr. 8 vo. 4 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 See also Oxford Biographies and Dante. 
 
 Trench (Herbert). DEIRDRE WEDDED 
 AND OTHER POEMS. Second and 
 Revised Edition. Large Post 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 NEW POEMS. Second Edition. Large 
 Post 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Trevelyan (G. M.), Fellow of Trinity College, 
 Cambridge. ENGLAND UNDER THE 
 STUARTS. With Maps and Plans. Third 
 Edition. Demy 8 vo. ioj. 6 d. net. 
 
 Troutbeck (G. E.). See Little Guides. 
 
 Tyler (E. A.), B.A., F.C.S. See Junior 
 School Books. 
 
 Tyrrell-Gill (Frances). See Little Books 
 on Art. 
 
 Vardon (Harry). THE COMPLETE 
 GOLFER. With 63 Illustrations. Ninth 
 Edition. Demy 8z >o. 10s. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Vaughan (Henry). See Little Library. 
 
 Vaughan (Herbert M.), B.A. (Oxon.). THE 
 LAST OF THE ROYAL STUARTS, 
 HENRY STUART, CARDINAL, 
 DUKE OF YORK. With 20 Illustrations. 
 Second Edition. Demy 8 vo. 10 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 THE NAPLES RIVIERA. With 25 Illus- 
 
 trations in Colour by Maurice Greiffen- 
 hagen. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Vernon (Hon. W. Warren), M.A. READ- 
 INGS ON THE INFERNO OF DANTE. 
 With an Introduction by the Rev. Dr. 
 Moore. In Two Volumes . Second Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 15s. net. 
 
 READINGS ON THE PURGATORIO 
 OF DANTE. With an Introduction by 
 the late Dean Church. In Two Volumes. 
 Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 15s. net. 
 
 Vincent (J. E.). THROUGH EAST 
 ANGLIA IN A MOTOR CAR. With 
 16 Illustrations in Colour by Frank South- 
 gate, R.B.A., and a Map. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Voegelin (A.), M.A. See Junior Examina- 
 tion Series. 
 
 Waddell (Col. L. A.), LL.D., C.B. LHASA 
 AN D II S MYSTERIES. With a Record 
 of the Expedition of 1903-1904. With 155 
 Illustrations and Maps. Third and 
 Cheaper Edition. Medium 8 vo. ys. 6 d. net. 
 
 Wade (G. W.),D.D. OLD TESTAMENT 
 HISTORY. With Maps. Fifth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6j. 
 
 Wade (G. W.), D.D. , and Wade (J. H.), 
 M.A. See Little Guides. 
 
 Wagner (Richard). RICHARD WAG- 
 NER’S MUSIC DRAMAS: Interpreta- 
 tions, embodying Wagner’s own explana- 
 tions. By Alice Leighton Cleather 
 and Basil Crump. In Three Volumes. 
 Fcap 8z >0. 2 s. 6 d. each. 
 
 Vol. 1. — The Ring of the Nibelung. 
 Third Edition. 
 
 Vol. 11. — Parsifal, Lohengrin, and 
 The Holy Grail. 
 
 Vol. hi. — Tristan and Isolde. 
 
 Walkley (A. B.). DRAMA AND LIFE. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Wall (J. C.). See Antiquary’s Books. 
 
 Wallace Hadrill (F.), Second Master at 
 Herne Bay College. REYISlON NOTES 
 ON ENGLISH HISTORY. Cr. 8 vo. is. 
 
 Walters (H. B.). See Little Books on Art 
 and Classics of Art. 
 
 Walton (F. W.). See School Histories. 
 
 Walton (Izaak) and Cotton (Charles). 
 See I.P.L. 
 
 Walton (Izaak). See Little Library. 
 
 Waterhouse (Elizabeth). WITH THE 
 SIMPLE-HEARTED : Little Homilies to 
 Women in Country Places. Second Edition. 
 Small Pott 8 vo. 2 s. net. 
 
 See also Little Library. 
 
 Watt (Francis). See Henderson (T. F.). 
 
 Weatherhead (T. C.), M.A. EXAMINA- 
 TION PAPERS IN HORACE. Cr. 8 vo. 2 *. 
 
 See also Junior Examination Series. 
 
 Webber (F. C.). See Textbooks of Techno- 
 logy. 
 
 Weir (Archibald), M.A. AN INTRO- 
 DUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF 
 MODERN EUROPE. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Wells (Sidney H.) See Textbooks of Science. 
 
General Literature 
 
 21 
 
 Wells(J.)i M.A., FellowandTutor ofWadham 
 College. OXFORD AND OXFORD 
 LIFE. Third Edition. Cr . 8 vo. 3 s. 6 d. 
 
 A SHORT HISTORY OF ROME. Ninth 
 Edition. With 3 Maps. Cr. 8 vo. 3J. 6 d. 
 See also Little Guides. 
 
 Wesley (John). See Library of Devotion. 
 Wheldon (F. W.). A LITTLE BROTHER 
 TO THE BIRDS. The life-story of St. 
 Francis retold for children. With 15 Illus- 
 trations, 7 of which are by A. H. Buck- 
 land. Large Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Whibley (C. ). See Henley ( W. E.). 
 Whibley (L.), M.A., Fellow of Pembroke 
 College, Cambridge. GREEK OLIGAR- 
 CHIES : THEIR ORGANISATION 
 
 AND CHARACTER. Cr. 8z w. 6 s. 
 Whitaker (G. H.), M.A. See Churchman’s 
 Bible. 
 
 White (Gilbert). See Standard Library. 
 Whitfield (E. E.), M.A. See Commercial 
 
 Whitehead (A. W.). G A S P A R D D E 
 
 COLIGNY, Admiral of France. 
 With Illustrations and Plans. Demy 8 vo. 
 12 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Whiteley (R. Lloyd), F.I.C. , Principal of 
 the Municipal Science School, West Brom- 
 wich. AN ELEMENTARY TEXT- 
 BOOK OF INORGANIC CHEMISTRY. 
 Cr. 8 z >0. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Whitley (Miss). See Dilke (Lady). 
 Whitling (Miss L.), late Staff Teacher of 
 the National Training School of Cookery. 
 THE COMPLETE COOK. With 42 
 Illustrations. Demy 8 vo. js. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial edition is also published. 
 Whitten (W.), See Smith (John Thomas). 
 Whyte(A. G.), B.Sc. See Books on Business. 
 Wilberforce (Wilfrid). See Little Books 
 on Art. 
 
 Wilde (Oscar). DE PROFUNDIS. 
 
 Twelfth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 5^. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 THE WORKS. 
 
 A Uniform Edition. Demy 8 vo. 
 
 12 s. 6 d. net each volume. 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA : A Play. 
 POEMS. 
 
 INTENTIONS and THE SOUL OF MAN. 
 SALOMl A FLORENTINE TRA- 
 GEDY, and VERA; or, THE 
 NIHILISTS. 
 
 LADY WINDERMERE’S FAN; A Play 
 about a Good Woman. 
 
 A WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCE: 
 A Play. 
 
 AN IDEAL HUSBAND ; A Play. 
 
 THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EAR- 
 NEST : A Trivial Comedy for Serious 
 
 People. 
 
 A HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES, THE 
 HAPPY PRINCE, and OTHER TALES. 
 LORD ARTHUR SAVILE’S CRIME and 
 OTHER PROSE PIECES. 
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 
 
 Wilkins (W. H.), B.A. THE ALIEN 
 INVASION. Cr. 8 vo. 2s. 6 d. 
 
 Williams (A.). PETROL PETER: or 
 Pretty Stories and Funny Pictures. Illus- 
 trated in Colour by A. W. Mills. Demy 
 itto. 3$. 6 d. net. 
 
 Williamson (M. G.)., M.A. See Ancient 
 Cities. 
 
 Williamson (W.), B.A. See Junior Ex- 
 amination Series, Junior School Books, and 
 Beginner’s Books. 
 
 Wilmot- Buxton (E. M.). MAKERS OF 
 EUROPE. Outlines of European History 
 for the Middle Forms of Schools. With 12 
 Maps. Tenth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6 d. 
 
 THE ANCIENT WORLD. With Maps and 
 Illustrations. Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6d?. 
 
 A BOOK OF NOBLE WOMEN. With 
 16 Illustrations. Cr. 8 z >0. 3 s. 6 d. 
 
 A HISTORY OF GREAT BRITAIN: 
 from the Coming of the Angles to 
 the Year 1870. With 20 Maps. Cr. 8 vo. 
 3 s. 6 d. 
 
 See also Beginner’s Books. 
 
 Wilson( Bishop.)* See Library of Devotion. 
 
 Wilson (A. J.). See Books on Business. 
 
 Wilson (H. A.). See Books on Business. 
 
 Wilson (J. A.). See Simplified French 
 Texts. 
 
 Wilton (Richard), M.A. LYRA PAS- 
 TORALIS : Songs of Nature, Church, and 
 Home. Pott 8 z >0. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Winbolt (S. E.), M.A. EXERCISES IN 
 LATIN ACCIDENCE. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6 d. 
 
 LATIN HEXAMETER VERSE : An Aid 
 to Composition. Cr. 8 vo. 3J. 6 d. Key, 
 5s. net. 
 
 Windle (B. C. A.), D.Sc.,F.R.S., F.S. A. See 
 Antiquary’s Books, Little Guides, Ancient 
 Cities, and School Histories. 
 
 Wood (Sir Evelyn), F.-M., V.C., G.C.B., 
 G.C.M.G. FROM MIDSHIPMAN TO 
 FIELD-MARSHAL. With Illustrations, 
 and 29 Maps. Fifth and Cheaper Edition . 
 Demy 8 vo. 7 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Wood (J. A. E.). See Textbooks of 
 Technology. 
 
 Wood (J. Hickory). DAN LENO. Illus- 
 
 trated. Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Wood (W. Birkbeck), M. A., late Scholar of 
 Worcester College, Oxford, and Edmonds 
 (Major J. E.), R.E., D.A.Q.-M.G. A 
 HISTORY OF THE CIVIL WAR IN 
 THE UNITED STATES. With an 
 Introduction by H. Spenser Wilkinson. 
 With 24 Maps and Plans. Second Edition. 
 Demy 8 vo. 12 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 Wordsworth (Christopher), M.A. See 
 Antiquary’s Books. 
 
 Wordsworth (W.). THE POEMS OF. 
 With an Introduction and Notes by 
 Nowell C. Smith, late Fellow of New 
 College, Oxford. In Three Volumes. 
 Demy 8 vo. 15s. net. 
 
 POEMS BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 Selected with an Introduction by Stopford 
 
22 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 A. Brooke. With 40 Illustrations by E. 
 H. New, including a Frontispiece in 
 Photogravure. Cr. 8 vo. 7 s. 6 d. net. 
 
 See also Little Library. 
 
 Wordsworth (W.) and Coleridge (S. T.). 
 
 See Little Library. 
 
 Wright (Arthur), D. D., Fellow of Queen’s 
 College, Cambridge. See Churchman’s 
 Library. 
 
 Wright (C. Gordon). See Dante. 
 
 Wright (J. C.). TO-DAY. Thoughts on 
 Life for every day. Demyi6mo. 1s.6d.net. 
 Wright (Sophie). GERMAN VOCABU- 
 LARIES FOR REPETITION. Fcap. 8 vo 
 is. 6 d. 
 
 Wyatt (Kate M.). See Gloag (M. R.). 
 Wylde (A. B.). MODERN ABYSSINIA. 
 With a Map and a Portrait. Demy 8 vo. 
 15 s. net. 
 
 Wyllie (M. A.). NORWAY AND ITS 
 FJORDS. With 16 Illustrations, in Colour 
 
 by W. L. Wyllie, R.A., and 17 other 
 Illustrations. Crown 8 vo. 6j. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 Wyndham (George). See Shakespeare 
 (William). 
 
 Yeats (W. B.). A BOOK OF IRISH 
 VERSE. Revised and Enlarged Edition. 
 Cr. 8vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 Young (Filson). THE COMPLETE 
 MOTORIST. With 138 Illustrations. 
 New Edition ( Seventh ), with many addi- 
 tions. Demy. 8 vo. 12 s. 6d. net. 
 
 A Colonial Edition is also published. 
 
 THE JOY OF THE ROAD : An Apprecia- 
 tion of the Motor Car. With a Frontis- 
 piece in Photogravure. Small Demy 8 vo. 
 5s. net. 
 
 Zimmern (Antonia). WHAT DO WE 
 KNOW CONCERNING ELECTRI- 
 CITY? Fcap.8vo. 1s.6d.net. 
 
 Ancient Cities 
 
 General Editor, B. C. A. 
 
 Cr. 8vo. 
 
 Chester. By B. C. A. Windle, D.Sc. F.R.S. 
 
 Illustrated by E. H. New. 
 
 Shrewsbury. By T. Auden, M.A., F.S.A. 
 
 Illustrated by Katharine M. Roberts. 
 Canterbury. By J. C. Cox, LL.D., F.S.A. 
 
 Illustrated by B. C. Boulter. 
 
 Edinburgh. By M. G. Williamson, M.A. 
 Illustrated by Herbert Railton. 
 
 WINDLE, D.Sc., F.R.S. 
 
 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 Lincoln. By E. Mansel Sympson, M.A., 
 M.D. Illustrated by E. H. New. 
 
 Bristol. By Alfred Harvey, M.B. Illus- 
 trated by E. H. New. 
 
 Dublin. By S. A. O. Fitzpatrick. Illustrated 
 by W. C. Green. 
 
 The Antiquary’s Books 
 
 General Editor, J. CHARLES COX, LL.D., F.S.A. 
 Demy 8vo. 7 s. 6 d. net . 
 
 English Monastic Life. By the Right 
 Rev. Abbot Gasquet, O.S.B. Illustrated. 
 
 Third Edition. 
 
 Remains of the Prehistoric Age in 
 England. By B. C. A. Windle, D.Sc., 
 F.R.S. With numerous Illustrations and 
 Plans. 
 
 Old Service Books of the English 
 Church. By Christopher Wordsworth, 
 M.A., and Henry Littlehales. With 
 Coloured and other Illustrations. 
 
 Celtic Art in Pagan and Christian 
 Times. By J. Romilly Allen, F.S.A. 
 With numerous Illustrations and Plans. 
 Archaeology and False Antiquities. 
 
 By R. Munro, LL.D. Illustrated. 
 
 Shrines of British Saints. ByJ. C. Wall. 
 
 With numerous Illustrations and Plans. 
 
 The Royal Forests of England. By J. 
 C. Cox, LL.D., F.S.A. Illustrated 
 
 The Manor and Manorial Records. 
 
 By Nathaniel J. Hone. Illustrated. 
 English Seals. By J. Harvey Bloom. 
 Illustrated. 
 
 The Bells of England. By Canon J. J. 
 Raven, D.D., F.S.A. With Illustrations. 
 Second Edition. 
 
 Parish Life in Mediaeval England. By 
 the Right Rev. Abbott Gasquet, O.S.B. 
 With many Illustrations. Second Edition. 
 The Domesday Inquest. By Adolphus 
 Ballard, B.A., LL.B. With 27 Illustrations. 
 The Brasses of England. By Herbert 
 W. Macklin, M.A. With many Illustrations. 
 Second Edition. 
 
 English Church Furniture. By J. C. Cox, 
 LL.D., F.S.A., and A. Harvey, M.B. 
 Second Edition. 
 
 Folk-Lore as an Historical Science. By 
 G. L. Gomme. With many Illustrations. 
 ^English Costume. By George Clinch, F.G.S. 
 With many Illustrations. 
 
General Literature 
 
 23 
 
 The Arden Shakespeare 
 
 Demy 8vo. 2s. 6d. net each volume . 
 
 An edition of Shakespeare in single Plays. Edited with a full Introduction, Textual 
 Notes, and a Commentary at the foot of the page. 
 
 Hamlet. Edited by Edward Dowden. Second 
 Edition. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. Edited by Edward 
 Dowden. 
 
 King Lear. Edited by W. J. Craig. 
 
 Julius Caesar. Edited by M. Macmillan. 
 
 The Tempest. Edited by Moreton Luce. 
 
 Othello. Edited by H. C. Hart. 
 
 Titus Andronicus. Edited by H. B. Baildon. 
 
 Cymbeline. Edited by Edward Dowden. 
 
 The Merry Wives of Windsor. Edited by 
 H. C. Hart. 
 
 A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Edited by 
 H. Cuningham. 
 
 King Henry V. Edited by H. A. Evans. 
 
 All’s Well That Ends Well. Edited by 
 W.O. Brigstocke. 
 
 The Taming of the Shrew. Edited by 
 R. Warwick Bond. 
 
 Timon of Athens. Edited by K. Deighton. 
 
 Measure for Measure. Edited by H. C. 
 Hart. 
 
 Twelfth Night. Edited by Moreton Luce. 
 The Merchant of Venice. Edited by 
 C. Knox Pooler. 
 
 Tpoilus and Cressida. Edited by K. 
 Deighton. 
 
 The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Edited 
 by R. Warwick Bond. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. Edited by R. H. 
 Case. 
 
 Love’s Labour’s Lost. Edited by H. C. 
 Hart. 
 
 Pericles. Edited by K. Deighton. 
 
 King Richard iii. Edited by A. H. 
 Thompson. 
 
 The Life and Death of King John. Edited 
 by Ivor B. John. 
 
 The Comedy of Errors. Edited by Henry 
 Cuningham. 
 
 The Beginner s Books 
 
 Edited by W. WILLIAMSON, B.A. 
 
 Easy French Rhymes. By Henri Blouet. 
 
 Second Edition. Illustrated. Fcap.Zvo. is. 
 Easy Stories from English History. By 
 E. M. Wilmot-Buxton. Fifth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. is. 
 
 Stories from Roman History. By E. M. 
 
 Wilmot-Buxton Cr. 8 vo. is. 6 d. 
 
 A First History of Greece. By E. E. Firth. 
 Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 
 Books on 
 
 Cr. 8 vo. 
 
 Ports and Docks. By Douglas Owen. 
 Railways. By E. R. McDermott. 
 
 The Stock Exchange. By Chas. Duguid. 
 Second Edition. 
 
 The Business of Insurance. By A. J. 
 Wilson. 
 
 The Electrical Industry : Lighting, 
 
 Traction, and Power. By A. G. Whyte, 
 B.Sc. 
 
 The Shipbuilding Industry : Its History, 
 Practice, Science, and Finance. By David 
 Pollock, M.I.N.A. 
 
 The Money Market. By F. Straker. 
 
 The Business Side of Agriculture. By 
 A. G. L. Rogers, M.A. 
 
 Law in Business. By H. A. Wilson. 
 
 The Brewing Industry. By Julian L. 
 Baker, F. I.C., F.C.S. Illustrated, 
 
 Easy Exercises in Arithmetic. Arranged 
 by W. S. Beard. Third Edition. Fcap. 
 8 vo. Without Answers, is. With Answers. 
 is. 3 d. 
 
 Easy Dictation and Spelling. By W. 
 Williamson, B.A. Seventh Ed. Fcap.'&vo. is. 
 
 An Easy Poetry Book. Selected and 
 arranged by W. Williamson, B.A. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. is. 
 
 Business 
 
 is. 6d. net. 
 
 The Automobile Industry. By G. de 
 Holden-Stone. 
 
 Mining and Mining Investments. By 
 ‘A. Moil.’ 
 
 The Business of Advertising. By Clarence 
 G. Moran, Barrister-at-Law. Illustrated. 
 
 Trade Unions. By G. Drage. 
 
 Civil Engineering. By T. Claxton Fidler, 
 M.Inst. C.E. Illustrated. 
 
 The Iron Trade of Great Britain. By 
 J. Stephen Jeans. Illustrated. 
 
 Monopolies, Trusts, and Kartells. By 
 F. W. Hirst. 
 
 The Cotton Industry and Trade. By 
 Prof. S. J. Chapman, Dean of the Faculty 
 of Commerce in the University of Man- 
 chester. Illustrated. 
 
24 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 Byzantine Texts 
 
 Edited by J. B. BURY, M.A., Litt.D. 
 
 The Syriac Chronicle known as that of 
 Zachariah of Mitylene. Translated by 
 F. J. Hamilton, D.D., and E. W. Brooks. 
 Demy 8 vo. 12 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Evagrius. Edited by L. Bidez and L6on 
 Parmentier. Demy 8 vo. ios. 6d. net. 
 
 The History of Psellus. Edited by C 
 Sathas. Demy 8 vo. 15.?. net. 
 
 Ecthesis Chronica and Chronicon Athen. 
 arum. Edited by Professor S. P. Lambros. 
 Demy Svo. 7 s. 6d. net. 
 
 The Chronicle of Morea. Edited by John 
 Schmitt. Demy Svo. 15s. net. 
 
 The Churchman’s Bible 
 
 General Editor, J. H. BURN, B.D., F.R.S.E. 
 
 Fcap. Svo. is. 
 
 The Epistle of St. Paul the Apostle to 
 the Galatians. Explained by A. W. 
 Robinson, M. A. Second Edition. 
 Ecclesiastes. Explained by A. W. Streane, 
 D.D. 
 
 The Epistle of St. Paul the Apostle to 
 the Philippians. Explained by C. R. D. 
 Biggs, D.D. Second Edition. 
 
 The Epistle of St. James. Explained by 
 H. W. Fulford M.A. 
 
 . 6d. net each. 
 
 Isaiah. Explained by W. E. Barnes, D.D. 
 
 Two Volumes. With Map. 2 s. net each. 
 The Epistle of St. Paul the Aposti.e to 
 the Ephesians. Explained by G. H. Whita- 
 ker, M.A. 
 
 The Gospel According to St. Mark. 
 Explained by J. C. Du Buisson, M.A. 
 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to 
 the Colossi ans and Philemon. Ex- 
 plained by H. J. C. Knight. 2 s. net. 
 
 The Churchman’s Library 
 
 General Editor, J. H. BURN, B.D., F.R.S.E. 
 Crown Svo. 35-. 6 d. each. 
 
 The Beginnings of English Christianity. 
 
 By W. E. Collins, M.A. With Map. 
 
 The Workmanship of the Prayer Book : 
 Its Literary and Liturgical Aspects. By J. 
 Dowden, D.D. Second Edition , Revised 
 and Enlarged. 
 
 Evolution. By F. B. Jevons, M.A., Litt.D. 
 
 Some New Testament Problems. By 
 Arthur Wright, D.D. 6s. 
 
 The Churchman’s Introduction to the 
 Old Testament. By A. M. Mackay, B.A. 
 Second Edition . 
 
 Comparative Theology. By J. A. Mac- 
 Culloch. 6s. 
 
 Classical Translations 
 
 Crown Svo. 
 
 iEscHYLUS — The Oresteian Trilogy (Agamem- 
 non, Choephoroe, Eumenides). Translated 
 by Lewis Campbell, LL.D. 5^. 
 
 Cicero — De Oratore I. Translated by E. N. 
 
 P. Moor, M.A. Second Edition. 3 s. 6d. 
 Cicero — The Speeches against Cataline and 
 Antony and for Murena and Milo. Trans- 
 lated by H. E. D. Blakiston, M.A. 55. 
 Cicero — De Natura Deorum. Translated by 
 F. Brooks, M.A. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Cicero — De Officiis. Translated by G. B. 
 Gardiner, M.A. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Horace — The Odes and Epodes. Translated 
 by A. D. Godley, M.A. 2 s. 
 
 Lucian — Six Dialogues Translated by S. T. 
 Irwin, M.A. 3s. 6 d. 
 
 Sophocles — Ajax and Electra. Translated by 
 E. D. Morshead, M.A. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Tacitus — Agricola and Germania. Trans- 
 lated by R. B. Townshend. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Juvenal — Thirteen Satires. Translated by 
 S. G. Owen, M.A. 2 s.6d. 
 
 Classics of Art 
 
 Edited by Dr. J. H. W. LAING 
 
 The Art of the Greeks. By H. B. Walters. I Velazquez. By A. de Beruete. With 94 
 With 112 Plates and 18 Illustrations in the Plates. Wide Royal Svo. 10 s. 6d. net. 
 Text. Wide Royal 8 vo. 12 s. 6d. net. 
 
General Literature 
 
 25 
 
 Commercial Series 
 
 Crown Svo. 
 
 British Commerce and Colonies from 
 Elizabeth to Victoria. By H. de B. 
 Gibbins, Litt.D., M. A. Fourth Edition. 2 s. 
 
 Commercial Examination Papers. By H. 
 
 de B. Gibbins, Litt.D., M.A. is. 6 d. 
 
 The Economics of Commerce, By H. de 
 B. Gibbins, Litt.D., M.A. Second Edition, 
 is. 6 d. 
 
 A German Commercial Reader. By S. E. 
 
 Bally. With Vocabulary. 2s. 
 
 A Commercial Geography of the British 
 Empire. By L. W. Lyde, M.A. Seventh 
 Edition. 2s. 
 
 A Commercial Geography of Foreign 
 Nations. By F. C. Boon, B.A. 2$. 
 
 A Primer of Business. By S. Jackson, 
 M.A. Fourth Edition, is. 6 d. 
 
 A Short Commercial Arithmetic. By F. 
 
 G. Taylor, M.A. Fourth Edition. 15. 6 d. 
 French Commercial Correspondence. By 
 S. PL Bally. With Vocabulary. Fourth 
 Edition. 2 s. 
 
 German Commercial Correspondence. By 
 S. E. Bally. With Vocabulary. Second 
 Edition. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 A French Commercial Reader. By S. E. 
 
 Bally. With Vocabulary. Second Edition. 2 s. 
 Precis Writing and Office Correspond- 
 ence. By E. E. Whitfield, M.A. Second 
 Edition. 2 s. 
 
 A Entrance Guide to Professions and 
 Business. By H. Jones, is. 6 d. 
 
 The Principles of Book-keeping by Double 
 Entry. By J. E. B. M'Allen, M.A. 2 s. 
 Commercial Law. By W. Douglas Edwards. 
 Second Edition. 2 s. 
 
 The Connoisseur’s Library 
 
 Wide Royal S vo. 25 s. net . 
 
 Mezzotints. By Cyril Davenport. With 40 
 Plates in Photogravure. 
 
 Porcelain. By Edward Dillon. With 19 
 Plates in Colour, 20 in Collotype, and 5 in 
 Photogravure. 
 
 Miniatures. By Dudley Heath. With 9 
 Plates in Colour, 15 in Collotype, and 15 in 
 Photogravure. 
 
 Ivories. By A. Masked. With 80 Plates in 
 Collotype and Photogravure. 
 
 English Furniture. By F. S. Robinson. 
 With 160 Plates in Collotype and one in 
 Photogravure. Second Edition. 
 
 English Coloured Books. By Martin 
 Hardie. With 28 Illustrations in Colour 
 and Collotype. 
 
 European Enamels. By Henry H. Cunyng- 
 hame, C.B. With 54 Plates in Collotype 
 and Half-tone and 4 Plates in Colour. 
 
 Goldsmiths’ and Silversmiths’ Work. By- 
 Nelson Dawson. With many Plates in 
 Collotype and a Frontispiece in Photo- 
 gravure. Second Edition. 
 
 Glass. By Edward Dillon. With 37 Illus- 
 trations in Collotype and 12 in Colour. 
 
 Seals. By Walter de Gray Birch. With 52 
 Illustrations in Collotype and a Frontispiece 
 in Photogravure. 
 
 Jewellery. By H. Clifford Smith. With 50 
 Illustrations in Collotype, and 4 in Colour. 
 Second Edition. 
 
 The Illustrated Pocket Library of Plain and Coloured Books 
 
 Fcap &7jo. 3 s. 6 d. net each volume . 
 
 COLOURED BOOKS 
 
 Old Coloured Books. By George Paston. 
 
 With 16 Coloured Plates. Fcap. 8 vo. 2 s. net. 
 The Life and Death of John Mytton, Esq. 
 By Nimrod. With 18 Coloured Plates by 
 Henry Aiken and T. J. Rawlins. Fourth 
 Edition. 
 
 The Life of a Sportsman. By Nimrod. 
 
 With 35 Coloured Plates by Henry Aiken. 
 Handley Cross. By R. S. Surtees. With 
 17 Coloured Plates and 100 Woodcuts in the 
 Text by John Leech. Second Edition. 
 
 Mr. Sponge’s Sporting Tour. By R. S. 
 Surtees. With 13 Coloured Plates and 90 
 Woodcuts in the Text by John Leech. 
 Jorrocks’ Jaunts and Jollities. By R. S. 
 Surtees. With 15 Coloured Plates by H. 
 Aiken. Second Edition. 
 
 Ask Mamma. By R. S. Surtees. With 13 
 Coloured Plates and 70 Woodcuts in the 
 Text by John Leech. 
 
 The Analysis of the Hunting Field. By 
 R. S. Surtees. With 7 Coloured Plates by 
 Henry Aiken, and 43 Illustrations on Wood. 
 The Tour of Dr. Syntax in Search of 
 the Picturesque. By William Combe. 
 With 30 Coloured Plates by T. Rowlandson. 
 The Tour of Doctor Syntax, in Search 
 of Consolation. By William Combe. 
 With 24 Coloured Plates by T. Rowlandson. 
 The Third Tour of Doctor Syntax in 
 Search of a Wife. By William Combe. 
 With 24 Coloured Plates by T. Rowlandson. 
 The History of Johnny Quae Genus : the 
 Little Foundling of the late Dr. Syntax. 
 By the Author of ‘The Three Tours.’ With 
 24 Coloured Plates by Rowlandson. 
 
 The English Dance of Death, from the 
 Designs of T. Rowlandson, with Metrical 
 Illustrations by the Author of ‘Doctor 
 Syntax.’ Two Volumes. 
 
 This book contains 76 Coloured Plates. 
 
 {Continued. 
 
26 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 Illustrated Pocket Library of Plain and Coloured ’Books— continued. 
 
 This Dance of Life : A Poem. By the Author 
 of ‘Doctor Syntax.’ Illustrated with 26 
 Coloured Engravings by T. Rowlandson. 
 
 Life in London : or, the Day and Night 
 Scenes of Jerry Hawthorn, Esq., and his 
 Elegant Friend, Corinthian Tom. By 
 Pierce Egan. With 36 Coloured Plates by 
 I. R. and G, Cruikshank. With numerous 
 Designs on Wood. 
 
 Real Life in London : or, the Rambles 
 and Adventures of Bob Tallyho, Esq., and 
 his Cousin, The Hon. Tom Dashall. By an 
 Amateur (Pierce Egan). With 31 Coloured 
 Plates by Aiken and Rowlandson, etc. 
 Two Vohimes. 
 
 The Life of an Actor. By Pierce Egan. 
 With 27 Coloured Plates by Theodore Lane, 
 and several Designs on Wood. 
 
 The Vicar of Wakefield. By Oliver Gold- 
 smith. With 24 Coloured Plates by T. Row- 
 landson. 
 
 The Military Adventures of Johnny 
 Newcome. By an Officer. With 15 Coloured 
 Plates by T. Rowlandson. 
 
 The National Sports of Great Britain. 
 With Descriptions and 50 Coloured Plates 
 by Henry Aiken. 
 
 The Adventures of a Post Captain. By 
 A Naval Officer. With 24 Coloured Plates 
 by Mr. Williams. 
 
 PLAIN 
 
 The Grave : A Poem. By Robert Blair. 
 Illustrated by 12 Etchings executed by Louis 
 Schiavonetti from the original Inventions of 
 William Blake. With an Engraved Title Page 
 and a Portrait of Blake by T. Phillips, R.A. 
 
 The illustrations are reproduced in photo- 
 gravure. 
 
 Illustrations of the Book of Job. In- 
 vented and engraved by William Blake. 
 
 These famous Illustrations — 21 in number 
 — are reproduced in photogravure. 
 
 Windsor Castle. By W. Harrison Ainsworth. 
 With 22 Plates and 87 Woodcuts in the Text 
 by George Cruikshank. 
 
 Gamonia : or the Art of Preserving Game ; 
 and an Improved Method of making Planta- 
 tions and Covers, explained and illustrated 
 by Lawrence Rawstorne, Esq. With 15 
 Coloured Plates by T. Rawlins. 
 
 An Academy for Grown Horsemen : Con- 
 taining the completest Instructions for 
 Walking, Trotting, Cantering, Galloping, 
 Stumbling, and Tumbling. Illustrated with 
 27 Coloured Plates, and adorned with a 
 Portrait of the Author. By Geoffrey 
 Gambado, Esq. 
 
 Real Life in Ireland, or, the Day and 
 Night Scenes of Brian Boru, Esq., and his 
 Elegant Friend, Sir Shawn O’Dogherty. 
 By a Real Paddy. With 19 Coloured Plates 
 by Heath, Marks, etc. 
 
 The Adventures of Johnny Newcome in 
 the Navy. By Alfred Burton. With 16 
 Coloured Plates by T. Rowlandson. 
 
 The Old English Squire : A Poem. By 
 John Careless, Esq. With 20 Coloured 
 Plates after the style of T. Rowlandson. 
 
 The English Spy. By Bernard Black- 
 mantle. An original Work, Characteristic, 
 Satirical, Humorous, comprising scenes and 
 sketches in every Rank of Society, being 
 Portraits of the Illustrious, Eminent, Eccen- 
 tric, and Notorious. With 72 Coloured 
 Plates by R. Cruikshank, and many 
 Illustrations on wood. Two Volumes . 
 7s. net, 
 
 BOOKS 
 
 The Tower of London. By W. Harrison 
 Ainsworth. With 40 Plates and 58 Woodcuts 
 in the Text by George Cruikshank. 
 
 Frank Fairlegh. By F. E. Smedley. With 
 30 Plates by George Cruikshank. 
 
 Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover. With 24 
 Illustrations by the Author. 
 
 The Compleat Angler. By Izaak Walton 
 and Charles Cotton. With 14 Plates and 77 
 Woodcuts in the Text. 
 
 The Pickwick Papers. By Charles Dickens. 
 With the 43 Illustrations by Seymour and 
 Phiz, the two Buss Plates, and the 32 Con- 
 temporary Onwhyn Plates. 
 
 Junior Examination Series 
 
 Edited by A. M. M. STEDMAN, M.A. Fcaf. 8 vo. is. 
 
 Junior French Examination Papers. By 
 F. Jacob, M.A. Second Edition. 
 
 Junior English Examination Papers. By 
 W. Williamson, B.A. 
 
 Junior Arithmetic Examination Papers. 
 
 By W. S. Beard. Fifth Edition. 
 
 Junior Algebra Examination Papers. By 
 S. W Finn, M.A. 
 
 Junior Greek Examination Papers. By T. 
 C. Weatherhead, M.A. Key, 3.?. 6 d. net. 
 
 Junior Latin Examination Papers. By C. 
 G. Botting, B.A. Fifth Edition. Key, 
 3 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Junior General Information Examina- 
 tion Papers. By W. S. Beard. Key, 
 3-y. 6d. net. 
 
 Junior Geography Examination Papers. 
 By W. G. Baker, M.A. 
 
 Junior German Examination Papers. By 
 A. Voegelin, M.A. 
 
General Literature 
 
 2 7 
 
 Methuen’s Junior School-Books 
 
 Edited by O. D. INSKIP, LL.D. 
 A Class-Book of Dictation Passages. By 
 W. Williamson, B.A. Fourteenth Edition . 
 Cr. 8 vo. is. 6 d. 
 
 The Gospel According to St. Matthew. 
 Edited by E. Wilton South, M.A. With 
 Three Maps. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6 d. 
 
 The Gospel Accordingto St. Mark. Edited 
 by A. E. Rubie, D.D. With Three Maps. 
 Cr. Svo. is. 6 d. 
 
 A Junior English Grammar. By W. William- 
 son, B.A. With numerous passages for parsing 
 and analysis, and a chapter on Essay Writing. 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 
 
 A Junior Chemistry. By E. A. Tyler, B.A. , 
 F.C.S. With 78 Illustrations. Fourth Edi- 
 tion. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 The Acts of the Apostles. Edited by 
 A. E. Rubie, D.D. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 
 
 A Junior French Grammar. By L. A. 
 Sornet and M. J. Acatos. Third Edition. 
 Cr. 8 z >0. 2s. 
 
 Elementary Experimental Science. Phy- 
 sics by W. T. Clough, A.R.C.S. Chemistry 
 by A. E. Dunstan, B.Sc. With 2 Plates and 
 
 , and W. WILLIAMSON, B.A, 
 
 154 Diagrams. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 
 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 A Junior Geometry. By Noel S. Lydon. 
 With 276 Diagrams. Seventh Edition. Cr. 
 8 vo. 2 s. 
 
 Elementary Experimental Chemistry. 
 By A. E. Dunstan, B.Sc. With 4 Plates and 
 109 Diagrams. Third Edition. Cr. 
 8to. 2 s. 
 
 A Junior French Prose. By R. R. N. 
 
 Baron, M.A. Third Edition. Cr.Svo. 2 s. 
 The Gospel According to St. Luke. With 
 an Introduction and Notes by William 
 Williamson, B.A. With Three Maps. Cr. 
 8 vo. 2 s. 
 
 The First Book of Kings. Edited by A. E. 
 
 Rtjbie, D.D. With Maps. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 
 
 A Junior Greek History. By W. PI. 
 Spragge, M.A. With 4 Illustrations and 5 
 Maps. Cr. 8 vo. 2s. 6 d. 
 
 A School Latin Grammar. By H. G. Ford, 
 M.A. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 A Junior Latin Prose. By H. N. Asman, 
 M.A., B.D. Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 Leaders of Religion 
 
 Edited by H. C. BEECHING, M.A., Canon of Westminster. With Portraits. 
 
 Cr. 8 vo. 
 
 Cardinal Newman. By R. H. Hutton. 
 
 John Wesley. By J. H. Overton, M.A. 
 
 Bishop Wilberforce. By G. W. Daniell, 
 M.A. 
 
 Cardinal Manning. By A. W. Hutton, M.A. 
 
 Charles Simeon. By H. C. G. Moule, D.D. 
 
 John Knox. ByF.MacCunn. Second Edition. 
 
 John Howe. By R. F. Horton, D.D. 
 
 Thomas Ken. By F. A. Clarke, M.A. 
 
 George Fox, the Quaker. ByT. Hodgkin, 
 D. C. L. 7 'hird Edition. 
 
 John Keble. By Walter Lock, D.D. 
 
 The Library 
 
 With Introductions and 
 Small Pott Svo, cloth , : 
 
 The Confessions of St. Augustine. Edited 
 by C. Bigg, D.D. Sixth Edition. 
 
 The Imitation of Christ : called also the 
 Ecclesiastical Music. Edited by C. Bigg, 
 D.D. Fifth Edition. 
 
 The Christian Year. Edited by Walter 
 Lock, D. D. Fourth Edition. 
 
 Lyra Innocentium. Edited by Walter 
 Lock, D.D. Second Edition. 
 
 The Temple. Edited by E. C. S. Gibson, 
 D.D. Second Edition. 
 
 A Book of Devotions. Edited by J. W. 
 Stanbridge. B.D. Second Edition. 
 
 A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy 
 Life. Edited by C. Bigg, D.D. Fourth Ed. 
 
 A Guide to Eternity. Edited by J. W. 
 Stanbridge, B.D. 
 
 2 s. net . 
 
 Thomas Chalmers. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 Lancelot Andrewes. By R. L. Ottley, 
 D.D. Second Edition. 
 
 Augustine of Canterbury. By E. L. 
 Cutts, D.D. 
 
 William Laud. By W. H. Hutton, M.A. 
 Third Edition. 
 
 John Donne. By Augustus Jessopp, D.D. 
 Thomas Cranmer. By A. J. Mason, D.D. 
 Bishop Latimer. By R. M. Carlyle and A. 
 J. Carlyle, M.A. 
 
 Bishop Butler. By W. A. Spooner, M.A. 
 
 of Devotion 
 
 (where necessary) Notes. 
 
 '. ; leather , 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 The Inner Way. By J. Tauler. Edited by 
 A. W. Hutton, M.A. 
 
 On the Love of God. By St. Francis de 
 Sales. Edited by W. J. Knox-Little, M.A. 
 The Psalms of David. Edited by B. W. 
 Randolph, D.D. 
 
 Lyra Apostolic a. By Cardinal Newman 
 and others. Edited by Canon Scott Holland, 
 M.A., and Canon H. C. Beeching, M.A. 
 The Song of Songs. Edited by B. Blaxland, 
 M.A. 
 
 The Thoughts of Pascal. Edited by C. 
 S. Jerram, M.A. 
 
 A Manual of Consolation from the 
 Saints and Fathers. Edited by J. H. 
 Burn, B.D. 
 
 [Continued, 
 
28 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 The Library of Devotion — continued. 
 The Devotions of St. Anselm. Edited by 
 C. C. J. Webb, M.A. 
 
 Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sin- 
 ners. By John Bunyan. Edited by S. C. 
 Freer, M.A. 
 
 Bishop Wilson’s Sacra Privata. Edited 
 by A. E. Burn, B. D. 
 
 Lyra Sacra : A Book of Sacred Verse. 
 Edited by Canon H. C. Beeching, M.A. 
 Second Edition, revised. 
 
 A Day Book from the S aints and Fathers. 
 
 Edited by J. H. Burn, B.D. 
 
 A Little Book of Heavenly Wisdom. A 
 Selection from the English Mystics. Edited 
 by E. C. Gregory. 
 
 Light, Life, and Love. A Selection from the 
 German Mystics. Edited by W.R. Inge, M.A. 
 An Introduction to The Devout Life. 
 By St. Francis de Sales. Translated and 
 Edited by T. Barns, M.A. 
 
 The Little Flowers of the Glorious 
 Messer St. Francis and of his 
 Friars. Done into English by W. Hey- 
 wood. With an Introduction by A. G. 
 Ferrers Howell. 
 
 Manchester al Mondo : a Contemplation 
 of Death and Immortality. By Henry 
 Montagu, Earl of Manchester. With an 
 Introduction by Elizabeth Waterhouse, 
 Editor of ‘A Little Book of Life and 
 Death.’ 
 
 The Spiritual Guide, which Disentangles 
 the Soul and brings it by the Inward Way 
 to the Fruition of Perfect Contemplation, 
 and the Rich Treasure of Internal Peace. 
 Written by Dr. Michael de Molinos, Priest. 
 Translated from the Italian copy, printed at 
 Venice, 1685. Edited with an Introduction 
 by Kathleen Lyttelton. And a Note by 
 Canon Scott Holland. 
 
 Devotions for Every Day of the Week 
 and the Great Festivals. By John 
 Wesley. Edited, with an Introduction by 
 Canon C. Bodington. 
 
 Preces Private. By Lancelot Andrewes, 
 Bishop of Winchester. Selections from the 
 Translation by Canon F. E. Brightman. 
 Edited, with an Introduction, by A. E. 
 Burn, D.D. 
 
 Little Books on Art 
 
 With many Illustrations . Demy 1 6 m 0 . 2 s. 6d. net . 
 
 Each volume consists of about 200 pages, and contains from 30 to 40 Illustrations 
 
 including a Frontispiece in Photogravure. 
 Greek Art. H. B. Walters. Fourth Edition. 
 Bookplates. E.Almack. 
 
 Reynolds. J. Sime. Second Edition. 
 Romney. George Paston. 
 
 Watts. R. E. D. Sketchley. 
 
 Leighton. Alice Corkran. 
 
 Velasquez. Wilfrid Wilberforce and A. R. 
 Gilbert. 
 
 Greuze and Boucher. Eliza F. Pollard. 
 Vandyck. M. G. Smallwood. 
 
 Turner. Frances Tyrrell-Gill. 
 
 Durer. Jessie Allen. 
 
 Holbein. Mrs. G. Fortescue. 
 
 Burne-Jones. Fortun6e de Lisle. Third 
 Edition. 
 
 Hoppner, H. P. K. Skipton. 
 
 Rembrandt. Mrs. E. A. Sharp. 
 
 Corot. Alice Pollard and Ethel Birnstingl. 
 Raphael. A. R. Dryhurst. 
 
 Millet. Netta Peacock. 
 
 Illuminated MSS. J. W. Bradley. 
 
 Christ in Art. Mrs. Henry Jenner. 
 Jewellery. Cyril Davenport. 
 
 Claude. E. Dillon. 
 
 The Arts of Japan. E. Dillon. Second Ed. 
 Enamels. Mrs. Nelson Dawson. 
 Miniatures. C. Davenport. 
 
 Constable. H. W. Tompkins. 
 
 Our Lady in Art. Mrs. H. L. Jenner. 
 
 The Little Galleries 
 
 Demy 1 6 mo. 2s. 6d. net . 
 
 Each volume contains 20 plates in Photogravure, together with a short outline of 
 the life and work of the master to whom the book is devoted. 
 
 A Little Gallery of Reynolds. I A Little Gallery of Millais. 
 
 A Little Gallery of Romney. A Little Gallery of English Poets. 
 
 A Little Gallery of Hoppner. | 
 
 The Little Guides 
 
 With many Illustrations by E. H. New and other artists, and from photographs. 
 
 Small Pott 8tjo, cloth , 2s. 6d. net.; leather , 3 ^. 6d. net. 
 
 The main features of these Guides are (1) a handy and charming form ; (2) illus- 
 trationsfrom photographs and by well-known artists ; (3) good plans and maps ; (4) an 
 
General Literature 
 
 29 
 
 adequate but compact presentation of everything that is interesting in the natural 
 features, history, archaeology, and architecture of the town or district treated. 
 
 Cambridge and its Colleges. By A. 
 
 Hamilton Thompson. Second Edition. 
 Oxford and its Colleges. By J. Wells, 
 M.A. Eighth Edition. 
 
 St. Paul’s Cathedral. By George Clinch. 
 Westminster Abbey. ByG- E. Troutbeck. 
 Second Edition. 
 
 The English Lakes. By F. G. Brabant, M.A. 
 The Malvern Country. By B. C. A. 
 Windle, D.Sc., F.R.S. 
 
 Shakespeare’s Country. By B. C. A. 
 Windle, D. Sc. , F. R. S. Third Edition. 
 
 North Wales. By A. T. Story. 
 Buckinghamshire. By E. S. Roscoe. 
 Cheshire. By W. M. Gallichan. 
 
 Cornwall. By A. L. Salmon. 
 
 Derbyshire. By J. Charles Cox, LL.D., 
 F.S.A. 
 
 Devon. By S. Baring-Gould. 
 
 Dorset. By Frank R. Heath. Second Ed. 
 Hampshire. By J. C. Cox, LL.D., F.S.A. 
 
 Hertfordshire. By H. W. Tompkins, 
 F.R.H.S. 
 
 The Isle of Wight. By G. Clinch. 
 
 Kent. By G. Clinch. 
 
 Kerry. By C. P. Crane. 
 
 Middlesex. By John B. Firth. 
 
 Norfolk. By W. A. Dutt. 
 Northamptonshire. By Wakeling Dry. 
 Oxfordshire. By F. G. Brabant, M.A. 
 Somerset. By G. W. and J. H. Wade. 
 Suffolk. By W. A. Dutt. 
 
 Surrey. By F. A. H. Lambert. 
 
 Sussex. By F. G. Brabant, M.A. Second 
 Edition. 
 
 The East Riding of Yorkshire. By J. E. 
 Morris. 
 
 The North Riding of Yorkshire. ByJ. E. 
 Morris. 
 
 Brittany. By S. Baring-Gould. 
 Normandy. By C. Scudamore. 
 Rome By C. G. Ellaby. 
 
 Sicily. By F. Hamilton Jackson. 
 
 The Little Library 
 
 With Introductions, Notes, and Photogravure Frontispieces. 
 
 Small Pott Svo. Each Volume, cloth , is. 6d. net ; leather, 2 s. 6d. net. 
 
 Anon. A LITTLE BOOK OF ENGLISH 
 LYRICS. 
 
 Austen (Jane). PRIDE AND PREJU- 
 DICE. Edited by E.V. Lucas. TwoVols. 
 NORTHANGER ABBEY. Edited by E. V. 
 Lucas. 
 
 Bacon (Francis). THE ESSAYS OF LORD 
 BACON. Edited by Edward Wright. 
 Barham (R. H.). THE INGOLDSBY 
 LEGENDS. Edited by J. B. Atlay. 
 Two Volumes. 
 
 Barnett (Mrs. P. A.). A LITTLE BOOK 
 OF ENGLISH PROSE. Second Edition. 
 Beckford (William). THE HISTORY 
 OF THE CALIPH VATHEK. Edited 
 by E. Denison Ross. 
 
 Blake (William). SELECTIONS FROM 
 . WILLIAM BLAKE. Edited by M. 
 Perugini. 
 
 Borrow (George). LAVENGRO. Edited 
 by F. PIindes Groome. Two Vohimes. 
 THE ROMANY RYE. Edited by John 
 Sampson. 
 
 Browning (Robert). SELECTIONS 
 FROM THE EARLY POEMS OF 
 ROBERT BROWNING. Edited by W. 
 Hall Griffin, M.A. 
 
 Canning (George). SELECTIONS FROM 
 THE ANTI-JACOBIN: with George 
 Canning’s additional Poems. Edited by 
 Lloyd Sanders. 
 
 Cowley (Abraham). THE ESSAYS OF 
 ABRAHAM COWLEY. Edited by H. C. 
 Minchin. 
 
 Crabbe (George). SELECTIONS FROM 
 GEORGE CRABBE. Edited by A. C. 
 Deane. 
 
 Craik (Mrs.). JOHN HALIFAX, 
 GENTLEMAN. Edited by Annie 
 Matheson. Tiuo Volumes. 
 
 Crashaw (Richard). THE ENGLISH 
 POEMS OF RICHARD CRASHAW. 
 Edited by Edward Hutton. 
 
 Dante (Alighieri). THE INFERNO OF 
 DANTE. Translated by H. F. Cary. 
 Edited by Paget Toynbee, M.A., D.Litt. 
 THE PURGATORIO OF DANTE. Trans- 
 lated by H. F. Cary. Edited by Paget 
 Toynbee, M.A., D.Litt. 
 
 THE PARADISO OF DANTE. Trans- 
 lated by H. F. Cary. Edited by Paget 
 Toynbee, M.A., D.Litt. 
 
 Darley (George). SELECTIONS FROM 
 THE POEMS OF GEORGE DARLEY. 
 Edited by R. A. Streatfeild. 
 
 Deane (A. C.). A LITTLE BOOK OF 
 LIGHT VERSE. 
 
 Dickens (Charles). CHRISTMAS BOOKS. 
 
 Two Vohimes. 
 
 Ferrier (Susan). MARRIAGE. Edited 
 by A. Goodrich - Freer and Lord 
 Iddesleigh. Two Volumes. 
 
 THE INHERITANCE. Two Volumes. 
 Gaskell (Mrs.). CRANFORD. Edited by 
 E. V. Lucas. Second Edition. 
 Hawthorne (Nathaniel). THE SCARLET 
 LETTER. Edited by Percy Dearmer. 
 Henderson (T. F.). A LITTLE BOOK 
 OF SCOTTISH VERSE. 
 
 Keats (John). POEMS. With an Intro- 
 duction by L. Binyon, and Notes by J. 
 Masefield. 
 
 Kinglake (A. W.). EOTHEN. With an 
 Introduction and Notes. Second Edition. 
 
 f Continued . 
 
30 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 The Little Library — continued. 
 
 Lamb (Charles). ELIA, AND THE 
 I. AST ESSAYS OF ELIA. Edited by 
 E. V. Lucas. 
 
 Locker (F.). LONDON LYRICS Edited 
 by A. D. Godley, M.A. A reprint of the 
 First Edition. 
 
 Longfellow (H. W.). SELECTIONS 
 FROM LONGFELLOW. Edited by 
 
 L. M. Faithfull. 
 
 Marvell (Andrew). THE POEMS OF 
 ANDREW MARVELL. Edited by E. 
 Wright. 
 
 Milton (John). THE MINOR POEMS 
 OF JOHN MILTON. Edited by H. C. 
 Beeching, M.A., Canon of Westminster. 
 Moir (D. M.). MANSIE WAUCH. Edited 
 by T. F. Henderson. 
 
 Nichols (J. B. B.). A LITTLE BOOK OF 
 ENGLISH SONNETS. 
 
 Rochefoucauld (La). THE MAXIMS OF 
 LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. Translated 
 by Dean Stanhope. Edited by G. H. 
 Powell. 
 
 Smith (Horace and James). REJECTED 
 ADDRESSES. Edited by A. D.~ Godley, 
 
 M. A. 
 
 Sterne (Laurence). A SENTIMENTAL 
 JOURNEY. Edited by H. W. Paul. 
 
 Tennyson (Alfred, Lord). THE EARLY 
 
 POEMS OF ALFRED, LORD TENNY- 
 SON. Edited by J . Churton Collins, M. A. 
 IN MEMORIAM. Edited by Canon 
 H. C. Beeching, M.A. 
 
 THE PRINCESS. Edited by Elizabeth 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 MAUD. Edited by Elizabeth Wordsworth. 
 Thackeray (W. M.). VANITY F A I R. 
 
 Edited by S. Gwynn. 1 'hrce Volumes. 
 PENDENNIS. Edited by S. Gwynn. 
 Three Volumes. 
 
 ESMOND. Edited by S. Gwynn. 
 CHRISTMAS BOOKS. Edited bvS. Gwynn. 
 Vaughan (Henry). THE POEMS OF 
 HENRY VAUGHAN. Edited by Edward 
 Hutton. 
 
 Walton (Izaak). THE COMPLEAT 
 ANGLER. Edited by J. Buchan. 
 Waterhouse (Elizabeth). A LITTLE 
 BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH. Edited 
 
 by. Twelfth Edition. 
 
 Wordsworth (W.). SELECTIONS FROM 
 WORDSWORTH. Edited by Nowell 
 C. Smith. 
 
 Wordsworth (W.) and Coleridge (S. T.). 
 
 LYRICAL BALLADS. Edited by George 
 Sampson. 
 
 The Little Quarto Shakespeare 
 
 Edited by W. J. CRAIG. With Introductions and Notes 
 Pott 1 6 mo. In 40 Volumes. Leather, price is, net each volume. 
 Mahogany Revolving Book Case. 103. net. 
 
 Miniature Library 
 
 Reprints in miniature of a few interesting books which have qualities of 
 humanity, devotion, or literary genius. 
 
 Euphranor : A Dialogue on Youth. By 
 Edward FitzGerald. From the edition pub- 
 lished by W. Pickering in 1851. Demy 
 32 mo. Leather , 2 s. net. 
 
 Polonius : or Wise Saws and Modern In- 
 stances. By Edward FitzGerald. From 
 the edition published by W. Pickering in 
 1852. Demy 2,21110. Leather , 2 s. net. 
 
 The RubAiyat of Omar KhayyAm. By 
 Edward FitzGerald. From the 1st edition 
 of 1859, Fourth Edition. Leather , is. net. 
 
 The Life of Edward, Lord Herbert of 
 Cherbury. Written by himself. From the 
 edition printed at Strawberry Hill in the 
 year 1764. Demy 2,'zmo. Leather , 2 s. net. 
 
 The Visions of Dom Francisco Quevedo 
 Villegas, Knight of the Order of St. 
 James. Made English by R. L. From the 
 edition printed for H. flerringman, 1668. 
 Leather, is. net. 
 
 Poems. By Dora Greenwell. From the edi- 
 tion of T848. Leather , iuzt 
 
 Oxford Biographies 
 
 Fcap. 8 vo. Each volume, cloth, 
 Dante Alighieri. By Paget Toynbee, M.A., 
 D.Litt. With 12 Illustrations. Third Edition. 
 Girolamo Savonarola. By E. L. S. Hors- 
 burgh, M.A. With 12 Illustrations. Second 
 Edition. 
 
 John Howard. By E. C. S. Gibson, D.D., 
 Bishop of Gloucester. With 12 Illustrations. 
 Alfred Tennyson. By A. C. Benson, M.A. 
 
 With 9 Illustrations. Second Edition. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. By I. A. Taylor. 
 With 12 Illustrations. 
 
 Erasmus. . By E. F. H. Capey. With 12 
 Illustrations. 
 
 The Young Pretender. By C. S. Terry. 
 With 1a Illustrations. 
 
 2 s. 6d. net ; leather, 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 Robert Burns. By T. F. Henderson. 
 With 12 Illustrations. 
 
 Chatham. By A. S. M'Dowall. With 12 
 Illustrations. 
 
 Francis of Assisi. By Anna M. Stod- 
 dart. With 16 Illustrations. 
 
 Canning. By W. Alison Phillips. With 12 
 Illustrations. 
 
 Beaconsfield. By Walter Sichel. With 12 
 Illustrations. 
 
 Johann Wolfgang Goethe. By H. G. 
 
 Atkins. With 16 Illustrations. 
 
 FRAN901S Fenelon. By Viscount St Cyres. 
 With 12 Illustrations. 
 
General Literature 
 
 3i 
 
 School Examination Series 
 
 French Examination Papers. By A. 
 
 M. Stedman, M.A. Fifteenth Edition. 
 Key. Sixth Edition. 6s. net. 
 
 Latin Examination Papers. By A. M. M. 
 Stedman, M.A. Fourteenth Edition. 
 
 Key. Sixth Edition. 6j. net. 
 
 Greek Examination Papers. By A. M. M. 
 Stedman, M.A. Ninth Edition. 
 
 Key. Fourth Edition. 6s. net. 
 German Examination Papers. By R. J. 
 Morich* Seventh Edition . 
 
 Key. Third Edition. 6s. net. 
 
 Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 History and Geography Examination 
 Papers. By C. H. Spence, M.A. Third 
 Edition. 
 
 Physics Examination Papers. By R. E. 
 Steel, M.A., F.C.S. 
 
 General Knowledge Examination 
 Papers. By A. M. M. Stedman, M.A. 
 Sixth Edition. 
 
 Key. Fourth Edition. 7s. net. 
 
 Examination Papers in English History. 
 By J. Tait Plowden-Wardlaw, B.A. 
 
 Edited by A. M. M. STEDMAN, M.A. 
 
 M. 
 
 School Histories 
 
 Illustrated. Crown Svo. ij. 6d. 
 
 A School History of Warwickshire. By 
 B. C. A. Windle, D.Sc., F.R.S. 
 
 A School History of Somerset. By 
 Walter Raymond. Second Edition. 
 
 A School History of Lancashire. By 
 W. E. Rhodes. 
 
 A School History of Surrey. By H. E. 
 Malden, M.A. 
 
 A School History of Middlesex. By V. 
 Plarr and F. W. Walton. 
 
 Methuen’s Simplified French Texts 
 
 Edited by T. R. N. CROFTS, M.A. 
 One Shilling each. 
 
 L’Histoire d’une Tulipe. Adapted byT. R. 
 
 N. Crofts, M.A. Second Edition. 
 Abdallah. Adapted by J. A. Wilson. 
 
 Le Docteur Math£us. Adapted by W. P. 
 Fuller. 
 
 La Bouillie au Miel. Adapted by P. B. 
 Ingham. 
 
 Jean Valjean. Adapted by F. W. M. Draper. 
 
 La Chanson de Roland. Adapted by H. 
 
 Rieu, M.A. Second Edition. 
 
 Memoires de Cadichon. Adapted by J. F. 
 ^ Rhoades. 
 
 L’Equipage de la Belle-Nivernaise, 
 ) Adapted by T. R. N. Crofts. Second Ed. 
 L’Histoire de Pierre et Camille. 
 Adapted by J. B. Patterson. 
 
 Methuen’s Standard Library 
 
 Cloth , is. net; double volumes , is. 6d.net. Paper , 6d. net; double volume , is. net. 
 
 The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. 
 
 Translated by R. Graves. 
 
 Sense and Sensibility. Jane Austen. 
 Essays and Counsels and The New 
 Atlantis. Francis Bacon, Lord 
 Verulam. 
 
 Religio Medici and Urn Burial. Sir 
 Thomas Browne. The text collated by 
 A. R. Waller. 
 
 The Pilgrim’s Progress. John Bunyan. 
 Reflections on the French Revolution. 
 Edmund Burke. 
 
 The Poems and Songs of Robert Burns. 
 Double Volume. 
 
 The Analogy of Religion, Natural and 
 Revealed. Joseph Butler. 
 Miscellaneous Poems. T. Chatterton. 
 Tom Jones. Henry Fielding. Treble Vol. 
 Cranford. Mrs. Gaskell. 
 
 The History of the Decline and Fall of 
 the Roman Empire. E. Gibbon. 
 Text and Notes revised by J. B. Bury. 
 Seven double volumes. 
 
 The Case is Altered. Every Man in 
 His Humour. Every Man Out of His 
 Humour. Ben Jonson. 
 
 The Poemsa ndPlays of Oliver Goldsmith. 
 Cynthia’s Revels. Poetaster. Ben 
 Jonson. 
 
 The Poems of John Keats. Double volume. 
 The Text has been collated by E. de 
 S&incourt. 
 
 On the Imitation of Christ. By Thomas 
 a Kempis. Translation byC. Bigg. 
 
 A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy 
 Life. W. Law. 
 
 Paradise Lost. John Milton. 
 Eikonoklastes and the Tenure of Kings 
 and Magistrates. John Milton. 
 Utopia and Poems. Sir Thomas More. 
 
 The Republic of Plato. Translated by 
 Sydenham and Taylor. Double Volume. 
 Translation revised by W. H. D. Rouse. 
 The Little Flowers of St. Francis. 
 
 Translated by W. Hey wood. 
 
 The Works of William Shakespeare. In 
 10 volumes. 
 
 Principal Poems, 1815-1818. Percy Bysshe 
 Shelley. With an Introduction by C. D. 
 Locock. 
 
 The Life of Nelson. Robert Southey. 
 
 The Natural History and Antiquities of 
 Selborne. Gilbert White. 
 
32 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 Textbooks of Science 
 
 Edited by G. F. GOODCH1LD, M. A., B.Sc., and G. R. MILLS, M.A. 
 Fully Illustrated, 
 
 Practical Mechanics. S. H. Wells. 
 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. 8z >o. 3s. 6 d. 
 Practical Chemistry. Part 1. W. French, 
 M.A. Cr. 8 vo. Fifth Edition. is. 6d. 
 Practical Chemistry. Part 11. W. French 
 and T. H. Boardman. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 Examples in Physics. By C. E. Jackson, 
 
 B.A. Cr. 8 vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Technical Arithmetic and Geometry. 
 By C. T. Millis, M.I.M.E. Cr. 8 vo. 
 
 3.9. 6 d. 
 
 Plant Life, Studies in Garden and School. 
 By Horace F. Jones, F.C.S. With 320 
 Diagrams. Cr. 8 7jo. 3.9. 6d. 
 
 The Complete School Chemistry. By F. 
 M. Oldham, B.A. With 126 Illustrations. 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 4 s. 6d. 
 Elementary Science for Pupil Teachers. 
 Physics Section. By W. T. Clough, 
 
 A. R.C.S. (Lond.), F.C.S. Chemistry 
 Section. By A. E. Dunstan, B.Sc. (Lond.), 
 F.C.S. With 2 Plates and 10 Diagrams. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 
 
 Examples in Elementary Mechanics, 
 Practical, Graphical, and Theoretical. By 
 W. J. Dobbs, M.A. With 51 Diagrams. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 59. 
 
 Outlines of Physical Chemistry. By 
 George Senter, B.Sc. (Lond.), Ph.D. With 
 many Diagrams. Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6 d. 
 
 An Organic Chemistry for Schools and 
 Technical Institutes. By A. E. Dunstan, 
 
 B. Sc. (Lond.), F.C.S. With many 
 
 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 First Year Physics. ByC. E. Jackson, M.A. 
 With 51 diagrams. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 
 Textbooks of Technology 
 
 Edited by G. F. GOODCHILD, M. A., B.Sc., and G. R. MILLS, M.A. 
 
 Fully Illustrated. 
 
 How to Make a Dress. By J. A. E. Wood. 
 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. is. 6d. 
 Carpentry and Joinery. By F. C. Webber. 
 
 Fifth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 Millinery, Theoretical and Practical. 
 
 By Clare Hill. Fourth Edition. Cr.8vo. 2 s. 
 Instruction in Cookery. A. P. Thomson. 
 2 s. 6d. 
 
 An Introduction to the Study of Tex- 
 tile Design. By Aldred F. Barker. Demy 
 8 vo. ys. 6d. 
 
 Builders’ Quantities. By H. C. Grubb. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 4^. 6 d. 
 
 Repousse Metal Work. By A. C. Horth. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Electric Light and Power: An Intro, 
 
 duction to the Study of Electrical Engineer- 
 ing. By E. E. Brooks, B.Sc. (Lond.). 
 and W. H. N- James, A.R.C.S., A.I.E.E. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 4.r„ 6d. 
 
 Engineering Workshop Practice. By 
 
 C. C. Allen. Cr 8 vo. 3 s. 6 d. 
 
 Handbooks of Theology 
 
 The XXXIX. Articles of the Church of 
 England. Edited by E. C. S. Gibson, 
 
 D.D. Sixth Edition. Demy 8vo. 12 s.6d. 
 An Introduction to the History of 
 Religion. By F. B. Jevons. M.A., 
 Litt.D. Fourth Edition. Demy8vo. ioy. 6 d. 
 Tpie Doctrine of the Incarnation. By R. 
 L. Ottley, D.D. Fourth Edition revised. 
 Demy 8 vo. 12 s. 6d. 
 
 An Introduction to the History of the 
 Creeds. By A. E. Burn, D.D. Demy 
 8 vo. 10 s. 6d. 
 
 The Philosophy of Religion in England 
 and America. By Alfred Caldecott, D.D. 
 Demy 8 vo. ioy, 6 d. 
 
 A History of Early Christian Doctrine. 
 ByJ. F. Bethune-Baker, M.A. Demy 8vo. 
 10 s. 6d. 
 
 The Westminster Commentaries 
 
 General Editor, WALTER LOCK, D.D., Warden of Keble College, 
 Dean Ireland’s Professor of Exegesis in the University of Oxford. 
 
 The Book of Genesis. Edited with Intro- 
 duction and Notes by S. R. Driver, D.D. 
 Seventh Edition. Demy 8vo. 10 s. 6d. 
 
 The Book of Job. Edited by E. C. S. Gibson, 
 D. D. Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 6s. 
 The Acts of the Apostles. Edited by R. 
 B. Rackham, M.A. Demy 8 vo. Fourth 
 Edition. 10.9. 6 d. 
 
 The First Epistle of Paul the Apostie 
 
 to the Corinthians. Edited by H. L. 
 Goudge, M.A. Second Ed. Demy8vo. 6s. 
 The Epistle of St. James. Edited with In- 
 troduction and Notes by R. J. Knowling, 
 D.D. Demy 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 The Book of Ezekiel. Edited H. A. Red- 
 path, M.A., D.Litt. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. 
 A Commentary on Exodus. By A. H. 
 M‘Neile, B.D. With a Map and 3 Plans. 
 Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. 
 
Fiction 
 
 33 
 
 Part II. — Fiction 
 
 Albanesi (E. Maria). SUSANNAH AND 
 ONE OTHER. Fourth Edition. Cr. 
 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE BLUNDER OF AN INNOCENT. 
 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8z >o. 6s. 
 
 CAPRICIOUS CAROLINE. Second Edi- 
 tion. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 LOVE AND LOUISA. Second Edition. 
 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 PETER, A PARASITE. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE BROWN EYES OF MARY. Third 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6 .?. 
 
 I KNOW A MAIDEN. Third Edition. 
 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. Also Medium 8 ? >o. 6 d. 
 
 Austen (Jane). PRIDE AND PREJU- 
 DICE. Medium Zvo. 6 d. 
 
 Bagot (Richard). A ROMAN MYSTERY. 
 Third Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. Also Medium 
 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 THE PASSPORT. Fourth Edition. Cr. 
 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 TEMPTATION. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 
 6s. 
 
 LOVE’S PROXY. A New Edition. Cr.Zvo. 
 6s. 
 
 DONNA DIANA. Second Edition. Cr. 
 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 CASTING OF NETS. Twelfth Edition. Cr. 
 
 8 vo. 65'. Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 Balfour (Andrew). BY STROKE OF 
 SWORD. Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 Baring=Gould (S.). ARMINELL. Fifth 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 URITH. Fijth Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA. Seventh 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 MARGERY OF QUETHER. Third 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 65. 
 
 THE QUEEN OF LOVE. Fifth Edition. 
 
 Cr. Zvo. 65. Also Medium Zvo. - 6d. 
 JACQUETTA. Third Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 KITTY ALONE. Fifth Edition. Cr.Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 NOEMI. Illustrated. Fourth Edition. Cr. 
 
 Zvo. 65. Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 THE BROOM-SQUIRE. Illustrated. 
 Fifth Edition. Cr. Zvo. 65. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 DARTMOOR IDYLLS. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 GUAVAS THE TINNER. Illustrated. 
 
 Second Edition . Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 BLADYS OF THE STEWPONEY. Illus- 
 trated. Second Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 PABO THE PRIEST. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 WINEFRED. Illustrated. Second Edition. 
 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 ROYAL GEORGIE. Illustrated. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 CHRIS OF ALL SORTS. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 IN DEWISLAND. Second Ed. Cr.Zvo. 6s. 
 THE FROBISHERS. Crown Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 DOMITIA. Illus. Second Ed. Cr. 8vo. 65. 
 MRS. CURGENVEN OF CURGENVEN. 
 Crown Zvo. 6s. 
 
 LITTLE TU’PENNY. A New Edition. 
 Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 FURZE BLOOM. Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 Barnett (Edith A.). A WILDERNESS 
 WINNER. Second Edition. Cr.Zvo. 6s. 
 Barr (James). LAUGHING THROUGH 
 A WILDERNESS. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Barr (Robert). IN THE MIDST OF 
 ALARMS. Third Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 THE COUNTESS TEKLA. Fourth 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6 d. 
 
 THE MUTABLE MANY. Third Edition. 
 
 Cr. Zvo. 65. Also Medium Zvo. 6 d. 
 
 THE TEMPESTUOUS PETTICOAT. 
 
 Illustrated. Third Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 THE STRONG ARM. Second Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 65. 
 
 JENNIE BAXTER JOURNALIST. 
 Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 Begbie (Harold). THE CURIOUS AND 
 DIVERTING ADVENTURES OF SIR 
 JOHN SPARROW; or, The Progress 
 of an Open Mind. With a Frontispiece. 
 Second Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 Belloc(Hilaire), M.P. EMMANUEL BUR- 
 DEN, MERCHANT. With 36 Illustra- 
 tions by G. K. Chesterton. Second Ed. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Benson (E. F.) DODO : A Detail of the 
 Day. Fifteenth Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6 d. 
 
 THE VINTAGE. Medium Zvo. 6 d. 
 Benson (Margaret). SUBJECT TO 
 VANITY. Cr. Zvo. 3 s. 6 d. 
 
 Birmingham (George A.). THE BAD 
 TIMES. Second Edition. Crown Zvo. 
 6s. 
 
 Bowles (G. Stewart). A GUN-ROOM 
 DITTY BOX. Second Ed. Cr.Zvo. xs.6d. 
 Bretherton (Ralph Harold). THE 
 
 MILL. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Bronte (Charlotte). SHIRLEY. Medium 
 Zvo. 6 d. 
 
 Burke (Barbara). BARBARA GOES TO 
 OXFORD. With 16 Illustrations. Third 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 65. 
 
 Burton (J. Bloundelle). ACROSS THE 
 SALT SEAS. Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 Caffyn (Mrs.) (‘Iota’). ANNE MAULE- 
 VERER. Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 Campbell (Mrs. Vere). F E R R I B Y. 
 Second Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
34 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 Capes (Bernard). THE EXTRAOR- 
 DINARY CONFESSIONS OF DIANA 
 PLEASE. Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6j. 
 
 A JAY OF ITALY. Fourth Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 LOAVES AND FISHES. Second Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 A ROGUE’S TRAGEDY. Second Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE GREAT SKENE MYSTERY. 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6j. 
 
 THE LAKE OF WINE. Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 Carey (Wymond). LOVE THE JUDGE. 
 Second Edition. C*. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Castle (Agnes and Egerton). FLOWER 
 O’ THE ORANGE, and Other Tales. 
 With a Frontispiece in Colour by A. H. 
 Buckland. Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Charlton (Randal). M A V E. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE VIRGIN WIDOW. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Chesney (Weatherby). THE TRAGEDY 
 OF THE GREAT EMERALD Cr.Zvo. 6 s. 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF A BUNGALOW. 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Clifford (Mrs. W. K.). THE GETTING 
 WELL OF DOROTHY. Illustrated by 
 Gordon Browne. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 
 o s ' 6 d . 
 
 A FLASH OF SUMMER. Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 MRS. KEITH’S CRIME. Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 Conrad (Joseph). THE SECRET AGENT : 
 A Simple Tale. Fourth Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Corbett (Julian). A BUSINESS IN 
 GREAT WATERS. Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 Corelli (Marie). A ROMANCE OF TWO 
 WORLDS. Twenty-Ninth Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 VENDETTA. Twenty-Sixth Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THELMA. Thirty-N inth Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 ARDATH: THE STORY OF A DEAD 
 SELF. Eighteenth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE SOUL OF LILITH. Fifteenth Edi- 
 tion. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 WORMWOOD. Sixteenth Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 BARABBAS : A DREAM OF THE 
 
 WORLD’S TRAGEDY. Forty-Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE SORROWS OF SATAN. Fifty-Fourth 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE MASTER CHRISTIAN. Twelfth 
 Edition, xyjth Thousand. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 TEMPORAL POWER: A STUDY IN 
 SUPREMACY. iKoth Thousand. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s 
 
 GOD’S GOOD MAN : A SIMPLE LOVE 
 STORY. Thirteenth Edition. 150th Thou- 
 sand. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE MIGHTY ATOM. Twenty -seventh 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 BOY: a Sketch. Tenth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 CAMEOS. Thirteenth Edition. Cr. 8z >0. 6 s. 
 
 Cotes (Mrs. Everard). See Sara Jeannette 
 Duncan. 
 
 Cotterell (Constance). THE VIRGIN 
 AND THE SCALES. Illustrated. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Crockett (S. R.), Author of ‘The Raiders,’ 
 etc. LOCHINVAR. Illustrated. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE STAND IRD BEARER. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Croker (B. M.). THE OLD CANTON- 
 MENT. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 JOHANNA. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6.r. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. Fourth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 A NINE DAYS* WONDER. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8z >0. 6 s. 
 
 PEGGY OF THE BARTONS. Seventh 
 Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. Also Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 ANGEL. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6r. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 A STATE SECRET. Third Edition. Cr. 
 
 8 vo. 3-r. 6 d. Also Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 Crosbie (Mary). DISCIPLES. Second Ed. 
 Cr. 8 7)0. 6s. 
 
 Cuthell (Edith E.). ONLY A GUARD. 
 ROOM DOG. Illustrated by W. Parkin 
 son. Crown 8 vo. 3 s. 6 d. 
 
 Dawson (Warrington). THE SCAR. 
 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE SCOURGE Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Deakin (Dorothea). THE YOUNG 
 COLUMBINE. With a Frontispiece by 
 Lewis Baumer. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Deane (Mary). THE OTHER PAWN. 
 Cr. 8 7 jo. 6 s. 
 
 Doyle (A. Conan). ROUND THE RED 
 
 LAMP. Eleventh Editioti. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 Dumas (Alexandre). See page 39. 
 
 Duncan (Sara Jeannette) (Mrs. Everard 
 Cotes). THOSE DELIGHTFUL 
 AMERICANS. Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 A VOYAGE OF C9NSOLATION. Illus- 
 trated. Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6 c i. 
 
 Eliot (George). THE MILL ON THE 
 FLOSS. Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 Erskine (Mr s. Stewart). THE MAGIC 
 PLUMES. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 F enn (G. Manville). SYD BELTON ; or, 
 The Boy who would not go to Sea. Illus- 
 trated by Gordon Browne. Second Ed. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3 s. 6 d. 
 
 Findlater(J. H.). THE GREEN GRAVES 
 OF BALGOWRIE. Fifth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. Also Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 THE LADDER TO THE STARS. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 65. 
 
 Findlater (Mary). A NARROW WAY. 
 
 Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo.. 6 s. 
 
 OVER THE HILLS. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE ROSE OF JOY. Third Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 A BLIND BIRD’S NEST. With 8 Illus- 
 trations. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 Fitzpatrick (K.) THE WEANS AT 
 ROWALLAN. Illustrated. Second Edi- 
 tion. Cr. 8 vo. 6^. 
 
 Francis (M. E.). (Mrs. Francis Blun° 
 dell). STEPPING WESTWARD. 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 MARGERY O’ THE MILL. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Fraser (Mrs. Hugh). THE SLAKING 
 OF THE SWORD. Second Edition. 
 Cr ■« 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
Fiction 
 
 35 
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF THE LORD. 
 
 Third Edition. CrounZvo. 6.9. 
 
 Fry (B. and C.B.). A MOTHER’S SON. 
 
 Fifth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Fuller = Maitland (Ella). BLANCHE 
 ESMEAD. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6$. 
 Gallon (Tom). RICKERBY’S FOLLY. 
 Medium 8vo. 6d. 
 
 Gaskell (Mrs.). CRANFORD. Medium 
 8vo. 6 d. 
 
 MARY BARTON. Medium 8vo. 6 d. 
 NORTH AND SOUTH. Medium 8vo. 6d. 
 Gates (Eleanor). THE PLOW-WOMAN. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Gerard (Dorothea). HOLY MATRI- 
 MONY. Medium 8vo 6d. 
 
 MADE OF MONEY. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 THE IMPROBABLE IDYL. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE BRIDGE OF LIFE. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 TFIE CONQUEST OF LONDON. Medium 
 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 Gissing (George). THE TOWN TRA- 
 VELLER. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 Also Medium 8vo. 6d. 
 
 THE CROWN OF LIFE. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 Also Medium 8vo. 6d. 
 
 Glanville (Ernest). THE INCA’S TREA- 
 SURE. Illustrated. Cr. 8 vo. 3J. 6d. 
 
 Also Medium 8z >0. 6d. 
 
 THE KLOOF BRIDE. Illustrated. Cr. 8 vo. 
 
 3 s. 6d. Also Medium 8vo. 6d. 
 
 Gleig (Charles). BUNTER’S -CRUISE. 
 Illustrated. Cr. 8vOi 3.9. 6d. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 Grimm (The Brothers). GRIMM’S FAIRY 
 TALES. Illustrated. Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 Hamilton (M.). THE FIRST CLAIM. 
 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6.9. 
 
 Harraden (Beatrice). IN VARYING 
 MOODS. Fourteenth Edition. Cr.8vo. 6s. 
 THE SCHOLAR’S DAUGHTER. Fourth 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 HILDA STRAFFORD and THE REMIT- 
 TANCE MAN. Twelfth Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 
 6s. 
 
 Harrod (F.) (Frances Forbes Robertson). 
 THE TAMING OF THE BRUTE. Cr. 
 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Herbertson (Agnes G.). PATIENCE 
 DEAN. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Hichens (Robert). THE PROPHET OF 
 BERKELEY SQUARE. Second Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 TONGUES OF CONSCIENCE. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 FELIX. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 TFIE WOMAN WITH THE FAN. Seventh 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 BYEWAYS. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. Seventeenth 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE BLACK SPANIEL. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 THE CALL OF THE BLOOD. Seventh 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Hope (Anthony). THE GOD IN THE 
 CAR. Eleventh Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A CHANGE OF AIR. Sixth Ed. Cr.8vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 A MAN OF MARK. Fifth Ed. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT AN- 
 TONIO. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 PHROSO. Illustrated by H. R. Millar. 
 Seventh Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 SIMON DALE. Illustrated. Eighth Edition. 
 Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE KING’S MIRROR. Fourth Edition. 
 Cr. 8vo. 6.9. 
 
 QUISANTE. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 THE DOLLY DIALOGUES. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 A SERVANT OF THE PUBLIC. Illus- 
 trated. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 TALES OF TWO PEOPLE. With a Fron- 
 tispiece by A. H. Buckland. Third Ed. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Hope (Graham). THE LADY OF LYTE. 
 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Hornung (E. W.). DEAD MEN TELL 
 NO TALES. Medium 8vo. 6d. 
 Houstnan (Clemence). TFIE LIFE OF 
 SIR AGLO VALE DEGALIS. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 Hueffer (Ford Madox). AN ENGLISH 
 GIRL: A Romance. Second Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Hutten (Baroness von). THE HALO. 
 
 Fifth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Hyne (C. J. Cutcliffe). MR. FIOR- 
 ROCKS, PURSER. Fourth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT, THE BUCCANEER. 
 
 Illustrated. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 Ingraham (J. H.). THE THRONE OF 
 DAVID. Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 Jacobs (W. W.). MANY CARGOES. 
 
 Thirty -first Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3.9. 6d. 
 SEA URCHINS. Fifteenth Edition.. Cr. 
 8 vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 A MASTER OF CRAFT. Illustrated by Will 
 Owen. Eighth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6d. 
 LIGHT FREIGHTS. Illustrated by Will 
 Owen and Others. Seventh Edition. Cr. 
 8 vo. 3.9. 6d. 
 
 THE SKIPPER’S WOOING. Ninth Edi- 
 tion. Cr. 8 vo. 3.9. 6d. 
 
 AT SUNWICH PORT. Illustrated by 
 Will Owen. Ninth Edition. Cr.8vo. 3.9. 6d. 
 DIALSTONE LANE. Illustrated by Will 
 Owen. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3 s.6d. 
 ODD CRAFT. Illustrated by Will Owen. 
 
 Seventh Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 35-. 6d. 
 
 THE LADY OF THE BARGE. Eighth 
 Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 James (Henry). TFIE SOFT SIDE. Second 
 Ediiion. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE AMBASSADORS. Second Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE GOLDEN BOWL. Third Edition. 
 Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Keays (H. A. Mitchell). HE THAT 
 EATETH BREAD WITH ME. Cr.8vo.6s. 
 
36 
 
 Messrs. Methuen's Catalogue 
 
 Kester (Vaughan). THE FORTUNES OF 
 THE LAN DRAYS. Illustrated. Cr.Zvo. 6s. 
 Lawless (Hon. Emily). WITH ESSEX 
 IN IRELAND. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Le Queux (William). THE HUNCH- 
 BACK OF WESTMINSTER. Third Ed. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6 d. 
 
 THE CROOKED WAY. Second Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE CLOSED BOOK. Third Ed. Cr.Zvo.6s. 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Illustrated. Third Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 BEHIND THE THRONE. Third Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Levett=Yeats (S. K.). ORRAIN. Second 
 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE TRAITOR’S WAY. Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 Linton (E. Lynn). THE TRUE HISTORY 
 OF JOSHUA DAVIDSON. Medium 
 Zvo. 6d. 
 
 London (Jack). WHITE FANG. With a 
 Frontispiece by Charles Rivingston 
 Bull. Sixth Edition . Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 Lyall (Edna). DERRICK VAUGHAN, 
 NOVELIST. 42 nd Thousand. Cr. Zvo. 
 3 s. 6d. Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 Maartens (Maarten). THE NEW RELI- 
 GION : A Modern Novel. Third Edi- 
 tion. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 M‘Carthy (Justin H.). THE LADY OF 
 LOYALTY HOUSE. Illustrated. Third 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE DRYAD. Second Edition. Cr.Zvo. 6s. 
 THE DUKE’S MOTTO. Third Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Macdonald (Ronald). A HUMAN 
 TRINITY. Second Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 Macnau^htan (S.). THE FORTUNE OF 
 CHRISTINA M‘NAB. Fourth Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Malet (Lucas). COLONEL ENDERBY’S 
 WIFE. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A COUNSEL OF PERFECTION. New 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 THE WAGES OF SIN. Sixteenth Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE CARISSIMA. Fifth Ed. Cr.Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6 d. 
 
 THE GATELESS BARRIER. Fifth Edi- 
 tion. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF SIR RICHARD 
 CALM AD Y. Seventh Edition. Cr.Zvo. 6s. 
 Mann (Mrs. M. E.). OLIVIA’S SUMMER. 
 
 Second Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 A LOST ESTATE. A New Ed. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 THE PARISH OF HILBY. A New Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE PARISH NURSE. Fourth Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 GRAN’MA’S JANE. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 MRS. PETER HOWARD. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6 d. 
 
 A WINTER’S TALE. A New Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 ONE ANOTHER’S BURDENS. A New 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 ROSE AT HONEYPOT. Third Ed. Cr. 
 Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THERE WAS ONCE A PRINCE. Illus- 
 trated by M. B. Mann. Cr. Zvo. 3 s. 6 d. 
 WHEN ARNOLD COMES HOME. Illus- 
 trated by M. B. Mann. Cr. Zvo. 3s. 6d. 
 THE EGLAMORE PORTRAITS. Third 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE MEMORIES OF RONALD LOVE. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE SHEEP AND THE GOATS. Third 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 A SHEAF OF CORN. Second Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE CEDAR STAR. MediumZvo. 6d. 
 Marchmont (A. W.). MISER HOAD- 
 LEY’S SECRET. Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 A MOMENT’S ERROR. Medium Zvo. 6 d. 
 Marriott (Charles). GENEVRA. Second 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Marryat (Captain). PETER SIMPLE 
 
 Mediu77i Zvo. 6 d. 
 
 JACOB FAITHFUL. Median Zvo. 6d. 
 Marsh (Richard). THE TWICKENPIAM 
 PEERAGE. Second Editi07i. Cr.Zvo. 6s. 
 Also Mediu7n Zvo. 6d. 
 
 THE MARQUIS OF PUTNEY. Second 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 IN THE SERVICE OF LOVE. Third. 
 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE GIRL AND THE MIRACLE. 
 
 Third Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE COWARD BEHIND THE CUR- 
 TAIN. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 A METAMORPHOSIS. Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 THE GODDESS. Mediu77i Zvo. 6d. 
 
 THE JOSS. MediumZvo. 6d. 
 
 Marshall (Archibald). MANY JUNES. 
 
 Second Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Mason (A. E. W.). CLEMENTINA. 
 Illustrated. Second Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 Mathers (Helen). HONEY. Fourth Ed. 
 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. Also Mediu77i Zvo. 6d. 
 GRIFF OF GRIFFITHSCOURT. Cr. Zvo. 
 
 6s. Also Medium Zvo. 6d. 
 
 THE FERRYMAN Second Edition. Cr. 
 Zvo. 6s. 
 
 TALLY-HO! Fourth Editio7i. Cr.Zvo. 6s. 
 SAM’S SWEETHEART. Mediu7nZvo. 6d. 
 Maxwell (W. B.). VIVIEN. Ninth Edi- 
 tion. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE RAGGED MESSENGER. Third 
 Edition. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 FABULOUS FANCIES. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 THE GUARDED FLAME. Seventh Edi- 
 tion. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 ODD LENGTHS. Second Ed. Cr.Zvo. 6s. 
 THE COUNTESS OF MAYBURY: Be- 
 tween You and I. Being the Intimate 
 Conversations of the Right Hon. the 
 Countess of Maybury. Fourth Edition. 
 Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
Fiction 
 
 37 
 
 Meade (L.T.). DRIFT. Second Edition. 
 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. Also Medium 8 vo. 6d 
 RESURGAM. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 VICTORY. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A GIRL OF THE PEOPLE. Illustrated 
 by R. Barnet. Fourth Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 3 s.6d. 
 HEPSY GIPSY. Illustrated by E. Hopkins. 
 Crown 8 vo. 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 THE HONOURABLE MISS: A Story of 
 an Old-fashioned Town. Illustrated by 
 E. Hopkins. Second Edition. Crown 
 8 vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 Melton (R.)« CAESAR’S WIFE. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Meredith (Ellis). HEART OF MY 
 HEART. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Miller (Esther). LIVING LIES. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Mitford (Bertram). THE SIGN OF THE 
 SPIDER. Illustrated. Sixth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3 s. 6d. Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 IN THE WHIRL OF THE RISING. 
 
 Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE RED DERELICT. Second Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Molesworth (Mrs.). THE RED GRANGE. 
 Illustrated by Gordon Browne. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 Montgomery (K. L.). COLONEL KATE. 
 
 Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Montresor (F. F.). THE ALIEN. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 z > 0 . 6d. 
 
 Morrison (Arthur). TALES OF MEAN 
 STREETS. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 A CHILD OF THE JAGO. Fifth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. Fourth Edi- 
 tion. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 TO LONDON TOWN. Second Ed. Cr. 
 
 . 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 DIVERS VANITIES. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Nesbit (E.). (Mrs. H. Bland). THE RED 
 HOUSE. Illustrated. Foicrth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 Norris (W. E.). HARRY AND URSULA: 
 A Story with two Sides to it. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 HIS GRACE. Medium8vo. 6d. 
 
 GILES INGILBY. Med'nim 8vo. 6d. 
 
 THE CREDIT OF THE COUNTY. 
 Medium 8vo. 6d. 
 
 LORD LEONARD THE LUCKLESS. 
 
 Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 MATTHEW AUSTIN. Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 CLARISSA FURIOSA. Meditim 8 vo. 6d. 
 Oliphant (Mrs.). THE LADY’S WALK. 
 Median 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 SIR ROBERT’S FORTUNE. Medium 
 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 THE PRODIGALS. Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 THE TWO MARYS. Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 Ollivant (Alfred). OWD BOB, THE 
 GREY DOG OF KENMUIR. With a 
 Frontispiece. Eleventh Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 Oppenheim (E. Phillips). MASTER OF 
 MEN. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 Oxenham (John). A WEAVER OF WEBS. 
 With 8 Illustrations by Maurice Greif- 
 fenhagen. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 THE GATE OF THE DESERT. With 
 a Frontispiece in Photogravure by Harold 
 Copping. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 PROFIT AND LOSS. With a Frontispiece 
 in photogravure by Harold Copping. 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE LONG ROAD. With a Frontispiece 
 in Photogravure by Harold Copping. 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Pain (Barry). LINDLEY KAYS. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Parker (Gilbert). PIERRE AND HIS 
 PEOPLE. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 MRS. FALCHION. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 
 6 s. 
 
 THE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE. 
 
 Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. Illus- 
 trated. Tenth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8vo. 6d. 
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC : 
 The Story of a Lost Napoleon. Sixth 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 AN ADVENTURER OF THE NORTH. 
 The Last Adventures of ‘Pretty Pierre.’ 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. Illus- 
 trated. Sixteenth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG: a 
 Romance of Two Kingdoms. Illustrated. 
 Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES. 
 Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 Pemberton (Max). THE FOOTSTEPS 
 OF A THRONE. Illustrated. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 I CROWN THEE KING. With Illustra- 
 tions by Frank Dadd and A. Forrestier. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 Phillpotts (Eden). LYING PROPHETS 
 Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE MIST. Fifth Edi- 
 tion. Cr. 8vo. 6 s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 THE HUMAN BOY. With a Frontispiece 
 Sixth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 SONS OF THE MORNING. Second 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE RIVER. Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 THE AMERICAN PRISONER. Fourth 
 Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE SECRET WOMAN. Fourth Edition . 
 Cr. 8vo. 6 s. 
 
 KNOCK AT A VENTURE. With a Frontis- 
 piece. Third Edition. Cr. 8 ? o. 6 s. 
 
 THE PORTREEVE. Fourth Ed. Cr.8vo. 6s. 
 THE POACHER’S WIFE. Second Edition 
 Cr. 8vo. 6 s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
38 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 THF, STRIKING HOURS. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE FOLK AFIELD. Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 Pickthall (Marmaduke). SAID THE 
 
 FISHERMAN. Seventh Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 BRENDLE. Second Edition, Cr. 8z >o. 6s. 
 THE HOUSE OF ISLAM. Third Edi- 
 tion. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 • 0 ’ (A. T. Quiller Couch). THE WHITE 
 
 WOLF. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 THE MAYOR OF TROY. Fourth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 MERRY -GARDEN AND OTHER 
 STORIES. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 MAJOR VIGOUREUX. Third Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Rawson (Maud Stepney). THE EN- 
 CHANTED GARDEN. Fourth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Rhys (Grace). THE WOOING OF 
 SHEILA. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 Ridge (W. Pett). LOST PROPERTY. 
 Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 ERB. Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 A SON OF THE STATE. Second Edition. 
 
 Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 A BREAKER OF LAWS. A New Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3^. 6d. 
 
 MRS. GALER’S BUSINESS. Illustrated. 
 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE WICKHAMSES. Fourth Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 NAME OF GARLAND. Third Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 GEORGE and THE GENERAL. Medium 
 8vo. 6d. 
 
 Ritchie (Mrs. David G.). MAN AND 
 THE CASSOCK. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Roberts (C. G. D.). THE HEART OF 
 THE ANCIENT WOOD. Cr. 8 vo. 
 3$. 6d. 
 
 Robins (Elizabeth). THE CONVERT. 
 
 Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6j. 
 Rosenkrantz (Baron Palle). T IT E 
 MAGISTRATE’S OWN CASE. Cr. 
 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Russell (W. Clark). MY DANISH 
 SWEETHEART. Illustrated. Fifth 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8vo. 6d. 
 
 HIS ISLAND PRINCESS. Illustrated. 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6^. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 ABANDONED. Second Edition. Cr.8vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 MASTER ROCKAFELLAR’S VOYAGE. 
 Illustrated by Gordon Browne. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 A MARRIAGE AT SEA. Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 Ryan (Marah Ellis). FOR THE SOUL 
 OF RAFAEL. Cr.8vo. 6s. 
 
 Sergeant (Adeline). THE MYSTERY 
 OF THE MOAT. Second Edition. Cr. 
 
 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE PASSION OF PAUL MARIL- 
 LIER. Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE QUEST OF GEOFFREY 
 DARRELL. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE COMING OF THE RANDOLPHS. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF RACHAEL. Cr. 
 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 BARBARA’S MONEY. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 THE MASTER OF BEECHWOOD. 
 
 Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 THE YELLOW DIAMOND. Second Ed. 
 
 Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 THE LOVE THAT OVERCAME. Medium 
 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 Shannon (W. F.). THE MESS DECK. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Shelley (Bertha). ENDERBY. Third Ed. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Sidgwick (Mrs. Alfred). THE KINS- 
 MAN. With 8 Illustrations by C. E. 
 Brock. Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 Smith (Dorothy V. Horace). MISS 
 MONA. Cr. 8 vo. 3s. 6 d. 
 
 Sonnichsen (Albert). DEEP-SEA VAGA- 
 BONDS. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Sunbury (George). THE. HA'PENNY 
 MILLIONAIRE. Cr. 8 vo. 3*. 6d. 
 Surtees (R. S.). HANDLEY CROSS. 
 
 Illustrated. Medium 8vo. 6 d. 
 
 MR. SPONGES SPORTING TOUR. 
 
 Illustrated. Medium 8vo. 6 d. 
 
 ASK MAMMA. Illus. Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 Urquhart (MA, A TRAGEDY IN COM- 
 MONPLACE. Second Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6s.. 
 Vorst (Marie Van). THE SENTIMEN- 
 TAL ADVENTURES OF JIMMY BUL- 
 STRODE. Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 Waineman (Paul). THE BAY OF 
 LILACS: A Romance from Finland. 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE FOREST. Cr. 8 vo. 
 6s. 
 
 Waif or d (Mrs. L. B.). MR, SMITH. 
 
 Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 THE BABY’S GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 Medium 8vo. 6 d. 
 
 COUSINS. Medium Svo. 6d. 
 
 Wallace (General Lew). BEN-IIUR. 
 
 Medium 8 vo. 6d. 
 
 THE FAIR GOD. Medium 8vo. 6d. 
 Watson (H. B. Marriott). CAPTAIN 
 FORTUNE. Third Edition. Cr 8vo. 6s. 
 TWISTED EGLANTINE. With 8 Illus- 
 trations by Frank Craig. Third Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6s. 
 
 THE HIGH TOBY: Being further Chapters 
 in the Life and Fortunes of Dick Ryder, 
 otherwise Galloping Dick, sometime Gentle- 
 man of the Road. With a Frontispiece by 
 Claude Shepperson. Third Edition. 
 Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 A MIDSUMMER DAY’S DREAM. 
 Third Edition . Crown 8 vo. 6s. 
 
Fiction 
 
 39 
 
 THE PRIVATEERS. With 8 Illustrations 
 by Cyrus Cuneo. Second Edition. Cr. 
 
 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 A POPPY SHOW : Being Divers and 
 Diverse Tales. Cr. 8 vo. 6j. 
 
 THE ADVENTURERS. Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 Weekes(A. B.). THE PRISONERS OF 
 WAR. Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 Wells (H. G.). THE SEA LADY. Cr. 
 
 8 vo. 6 s. Also Medium 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 Weyman (Stanley). UNDER THE RED 
 ROBE. With Illustrations by R. C. Wood- 
 ville. Twenty-Second Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 White (Percy). THE SYSTEM. Third 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 A PASSIONATE PILGRIM. Medium 
 8 vo. 6 d. 
 
 Williams (Margery). THE BAR. Cr. 
 
 8 vo. 6j. 
 
 Williamson (Mrs. C. N.). THE AD- 
 VENTURE OF PRINCESS SYLVIA. 
 Second Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE WOMAN WHO DARED Cr. 8 vo. 
 6 s. 
 
 THE SEA COULD TELL. Second Edition. 
 Cr. 8 vo. 6x. 
 
 THE CASTLE OF THE SHADOWS. 
 Third Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. i 
 
 PAPA. Cr. 8 vo. 6$. 
 
 Williamson (C. N. and A. M.). THE 
 
 LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR: The 
 Strange Adventures of a Motor Car. With 
 16 Illustrations. Seventeenth Edition. Cr. 
 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE PRINCESS PASSES: A Romance 
 of a Motor. With 16 Illustrations. Ninth 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 MY FRIEND THE CHAUFFEUR. With 
 16 Illustrations. Tenth Edit. Cr. 8 vo. 6x. 
 
 LADY BETTY ACROSS THE WATER. 
 Tenth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE CAR OF DESTINY AND ITS 
 ERRAND IN SPAIN. With 17 Illus- 
 trations. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 THE BOTOR CHAPERON. With a Fron- 
 tispiece in Colour by A. H. Buckland, i 6 
 other Illustrations, and a Map. Fifth Edi- 
 tion. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 SCARLET RUNNER. With a Frontispiece 
 in Colour by A. H. Buckland, and 8 other 
 Illustrations. Third Ed. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Wyllarde (Dolf). THE PATHWAY OF 
 THE PIONEER (Nous Autres). Fourth 
 Edition. Cr. 8 vo. 6 s. 
 
 Yeldham (C. C.). DURHAM’S FARM, 
 i Cr. 8 vo, 6 s. 
 
 Books for Boys and Girls 
 
 Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 33 *. 6d. 
 
 The Getting Well of Dorothy. By Mrs. 
 W. K. Clifford. Second Edition. 
 
 Only a Guard-Room Dog. By Edith E. 
 Cuthell. 
 
 Master Rockafellar’s Voyage. By W. 
 Clark Russell. Third Edition. 
 
 Syd Belton : Or, the Boy who would not go 
 to Sea. By G. Manville Fenn. Second Ed. 
 
 The Red Grange. By Mrs. Molesworth. 
 
 A Girl of the People. By L. T. Meade. 
 Fourth Edition. 
 
 Hepsy Gipsy. By L. T. Meade. 2s. 6 d. 
 The Honourable: Miss. By L. T. Meade. 
 Second Edition. 
 
 There was once a Prince. By Mrs. M. E. 
 Mann. 
 
 When Arnold comes Home. By Mrs. M. E. 
 Mann. 
 
 The Novels of Alexandre Bmnas 
 
 Medium 8 vo. Price 6 d. Double Volumes , is. 
 
 COMPLETE LIST ON APPLICATION. 
 
 Methuen's Sixpenny Books 
 
 Medium 8vo. 
 
 Albanesi (E. Maria). LOVE AND 
 LOUISA. 
 
 I KNOW A MAIDEN. 
 
 Austen (J.). PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. 
 Bagot (Richard). A ROMAN MYSTERY. 
 CASTING OF NETS. 
 
 Balfour (Andrew). BY STROKE OF 
 SWORD. 
 
 Baring=Gou!d (S.). FURZE BLOOM. 
 CHEAP JACK ZITA. 
 
 KITTY ALONE. 
 
 URITH, 
 
 THE BROOM SQUIRE. 
 
 IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA. 
 
 NOEMI, 
 
 A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES. Illustrated. 
 
 LITTLE TU’PENNY. 
 
 WINEFRED. 
 
 THE FROBISHERS. 
 
 THE QUEEN OF LOVE. 
 
 Barr (Robert). TENNIE BAXTER. 
 
 IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS. 
 
 THE COUNTESS TEKLA. 
 
 THE MUTABLE MANY. 
 
 Benson (E. F.). DODO. 
 
 THE VINTAGE. 
 
 Bronte (Charlotte). SHIRLEY. 
 Brownell (C. L.). THE HEART OF 
 
 JAPAN. 
 
 Burton (J. Bloundelle). ACROSS THE 
 SALT SEAS. 
 
 Caffyn (Mrs.)" ANNE MAULEVERER, 
 
40 
 
 Messrs. Methuen’s Catalogue 
 
 Capes (Bernard). THE LAKE OF 
 WINE. 
 
 Clifford (Mrs. W. K.). A FLASH OF 
 SUMMER. 
 
 MRS. KEITH'S CRIME. 
 
 Corbett (Julian). A BUSINESS IN 
 GREAT WATERS. 
 
 Croker (Mrs. B. M.). ANGEL. 
 
 A STATE SECRET. 
 
 PEGGY OF THE BARTONS. 
 
 JOHANNA. 
 
 Dante (Alighieri). THE DIVINE 
 
 COMEDY (Cary). 
 
 Doyle (A. Conan). ROUND THE RED 
 LAMP. 
 
 Duncan (Sara Jeannette). A VOYAGE 
 OF CONSOLATION. 
 
 THOSE DELIGHTFUL AMERICANS. 
 
 Eliot (George). THE MILL ON THE 
 FLOSS. 
 
 Findlater (Jane H.). THE GREEN 
 GRAVES OF BALGOWRIE. 
 
 Gallon (Tom). RICKERBY’S FOLLY. 
 
 Gaskell (Mrs.). CRANFORD. 
 
 MARY BARTON. 
 
 NORTH AND SOUTH. 
 
 Gerard (Dorothea). HOLY MATRI- 
 MONY. 
 
 THE CONQUEST OF LONDON. 
 
 MADE OF MONEY. 
 
 Gissing(G). THE TOWN TRAVELLER. 
 
 THE CROWN OF LIFE. 
 
 Glanville (Ernest). THE INCA’S 
 TREASURE. 
 
 THE KLOOF BRIDE. 
 
 Gleig (Charles). BUNTER’S CRUISE. 
 
 Grimm (The Brothers). GRIMM’S 
 FAIRY TALES. 
 
 Hope (Anthony). A MAN OF MARK. 
 
 A CHANGE OF AIR. 
 
 THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 PHROSO. 
 
 THE DOLLY DIALOGUES. 
 
 Hornung (E. W.). DEAD MEN TELL 
 NO TALES. 
 
 Marsh (Richard). A METAMORPHOSIS. 
 
 THE TWICKENHAM PEERAGE. 
 
 THE GODDESS. 
 
 THE JOSS. 
 
 Mason (A. E. W.). CLEMENTINA. 
 Mathers (Helen). HONEY. 
 
 GRIFF OF GRIFFITHSCOURT 
 SAM’S SWEETHEART. 
 
 Meade (Mrs. L. T.). DRIFT. 
 
 Mitford (Bertram). THE SIGN OF THE 
 SPIDER 
 
 Montresor (F. F.). THE ALIEN. 
 Morrison (Arthur). THE HOLE IN 
 THE WALL. 
 
 Nesbit (E.) THE RED HOUSE. 
 Norris (W. E.). HIS GRACE. 
 
 GILES INGILBY. 
 
 THE CREDIT OF THE COUNTY. 
 LORD LEONARD THE LUCKLESS. 
 MATTHEW AUSTIN. 
 
 CLARISSA FURIOSA. 
 
 Oliphant (Mrs.). THE LADY’S WALK. 
 SIR ROBERT S FORTUNE. 
 
 THE PRODIGALS. 
 
 THE TWO MARYS. 
 
 Oppenheim (E. P.). MASTER OF MEN. 
 Parker (Gilbert). THE POMP OF THE 
 LAVILETTES. 
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC. 
 THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 
 Pemberton (Max). THE FOOTSTEPS 
 OF A THRONE. 
 
 I CROWN THEE KING. 
 
 Phillpotts (Eden). THE HUMAN BOY, 
 CHILDREN OF THE MIST. 
 
 THE POACHER’S WIFE. 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 ‘ Q ’ (A. T. Quiller Couch). THE 
 WHITE WOLF. 
 
 Ridge (W. Pett). A SON OF THE STATE. 
 LOST PROPERTY. 
 
 GEORGE and THE GENERAL. 
 
 Russell (W. Clark). ABANDONED. 
 
 A MARRIAGE? AT SEA. 
 
 MY DANISH SWEETHEART. 
 
 HIS ISLAND PRINCESS. 
 
 Ingraham (J. H.). THE THRONE OF 
 DAVID. 
 
 Le Queux (W.). THE HUNCHBACK OF 
 WESTMINSTER. 
 
 Levett= Yeats (S. K.). THE TRAITOR’S 
 WAY. 
 
 Linton (E. Lynn). THE TRUE HIS- 
 TORY OF JOSHUA DAVIDSON. 
 
 Lyall (Edna). DERRICK VAUGHAN. 
 Malet (Lucas). THE CARISSIMA. 
 
 A COUNSEL OF PERFECTION. 
 
 Mann (Mrs.). MRS. PETER HOWARD. 
 A LOST ESTATE. 
 
 THE CEDAR STAR. 
 
 ONE ANOTHER’S BURDENS. 
 Marchmont (A. W.). MISER HOAD- 
 LEY’S SECRET. 
 
 A MOMENT’S ERROR. 
 
 Marryat (Captain). PETER SIMPLE. 
 JACOB FAITHFUL. 
 
 Sergeant (Adeline). THE MASTER OF 
 
 BEECHWOOD. 
 
 BARBARA’S MONEY. 
 
 THE YELLOW DIAMOND. 
 
 THE LOVE THAT OVERCAME. 
 Sr.srtees (R. S.). HANDLEY CROSS. 
 MR. SPONGE’S SPORTING TOUR. 
 ASK MAMMA. 
 
 Walford (Mrs. L. B.). MR. SMITH. 
 
 COUSINS. 
 
 THE BABY’S GRANDMOTHER. 
 Wallace (General Lew). BEN-HUR. 
 THE FAIR GOD. 
 
 Watson (H. B. Marriott). THE ADVEN- 
 TURERS. 
 
 Weekes (A. B.). PRISONERS OF WAR. 
 Wells (H. G.). THJE SEA LADY. 
 
 White (Percy). A PASSIONATE 
 PILGRIM,