vapoursand
the
megrims
,
appealed
directly
to
his
vanity
.
He
had
around
him
continually
in
his
consulting-room
of
a
morning
,
during
his
afternoons
spent
rapidly
driving
from
one
enervating
boudoir
to
another
,
and
at
night
in
society
,
a
voluptuous
feminine
atmosphere
,
an
atmosphere
which
had
become
part
of
his
life
,
and
which
he
could
no
more
dispense
with
now
than
the
fine
burgundy
he
was
wont
to
drink
at
his
dinner
,
the
special
havannah
which
assisted
the
process
of
digestion
afterwards
.
And
there
,
close
beside
him
,
his
arm
almost
touching
hers
at
the
crowded
dinner-table
,
sat
the
woman
who
was
more
to
him
than
any
other
feminine
personality
—
the
woman
who
was
to
make
him
one
of
the
most
envied
men
in
London
.
Alison
was
speaking
now
to
her
neighbour
on
the
right
,
but
Strange
was
struck
,
when
she
turned
round
,
with
the
hard
look
on
her
face
.
There
was
an
expression
in
the
girl
's
eyes
to-night
night
which
he
had
never
seen
there
,
and
which
he
could
not
quite
understand
,
unless
—
‘You
look
tired
,
’
he
said
,
in
his
soft
professional
voice
.
‘What
have
you
been
doing
to-day
?
’
‘I
?
Oh
,
I
have
been
at
the
Whitechapel
Hospital
.
I
have
been
there
several
times
since
that
day
we
went
with
you
,
’
she
added
quietly
.
‘I
wish
to
Heaven
you
would
not
run
any
such
risk
!
We
doctors
are
hardened
,
you
know
,
but
there
is
always
the
fear
of
infection
for
delicate
women.’
‘I
did
not
,
’
said
Alison
,
‘go
near
the
fever
ward
.
I
went
to
see
—
Sister
Charlotte.’
Just
then
Lady
Blaythewaite
,
who
was
on
Strange
's
left
,
turned
her
rather
prominent
eyes
upon
him
,
and
for
a
quarter
of
an
hour
Dr.
Dunlop
Strange
was
not
suffered
to
waver
in
his
dinner-table
devotion
,
though
he
was
tortured
with
doubts
about
Alison
—
about
the
girl
in
the
hospital
.
It
was
absurd
,
it
was
melodramatic
,
that
the
girl
should
have
turned
up
again
...
.
But
with
this
ugly
fact
knocking
at
his
brain
,
he
had
to
lend
an
attentive
ear
to
his
neighbour
's
confidences
about
the
Cambridgeshire
,
and
how
much
‘ready
cash’
she
expected
to
‘land’
by
her
somewhat
elaborate
transactions
.
Vaguely
,
as
in
a
dream
,
the
doctor
heard
about
the
favourite
—
a
certain
‘Miss
Gwendolen
dolen’
—
who
had
just
been
‘scratched
,
’
and
some
foreign
admirer
,
who
,
it
appeared
,
‘put’
Lady
Blaythewaite
on
to
various
‘good
things.’
On
his
other
side
an
animated
discussion
on
the
subject
of
liqueurs
was
in
hand
,
in
which
Miss
Ives
was
politely
pretending
to
take
an
interest
.
The
merits
of
Kirsch
,
of
Benedictine
,
of
Elixir
de
Spa
,
were
contended
for
with
some
spirit
and
success
,
while
Lady
Blaythewaite
,
joining
in
,
declared
herself
entirely
in
favour
of
green
Chartreuse
.
The
subject
was
beginning
to
show
signs
of
wear
when
the
doctor
turned
to
Alison
—
‘And
so
you
went
to
see
Sister
Charlotte
again
?
A
capital
woman
.
Plenty
of
common
sense
—
no
nonsense
about
her
.
The
sort
of
person
you
can
trust.’
‘I
am
glad
of
that
,
’
replied
Alison
quietly
,
‘for
she
gave
me
a
great
deal
of
information
on
a
subject
I
am
intensely
interested
in.’
‘And
what
,
’
said
Strange
,
with
a
somewhat
uneasy
smile
,
‘and
what
,
may
I
ask
,
is
that
?
’
‘I
am
interested
,
doctor
,
in
poor
creatures
like
Number
Twenty-seven
—
’
‘Ah
!
’
sighed
Strange
,
frowning
slightly
,
as
he
reached
out
his
hand
to
the
glass
of
Château
Lafite
which
the
butler
had
just
poured
carefully
out
,
holding
the
bottle
in
its
wicker
cage
like
a
very
treasure
,
lest
one
drop
of
the
dregs
should
reach
the
glass
.
‘Dear
Miss
Alison
,
those
are
terrible
cases
.
They
are
cankerous
evils
,
eating
away
the
very
life
of
our
social
system.’
Alison
looked
at
him
,
and
there
was
a
royal
scorn
in
her
glance
.
What
,
he
was
going
to
brazen
it
out
,
then
;
to
pretend
that
she
was
nothing
to
him
?
‘My
dear
doctor
,
’
she
said
,
very
slowly
and
softly
,
‘you
forget
that
Mr.
Lecky
maintains
that
,
on
the
contrary
,
Number
Twenty-seven
is
the
martyr
of
civilisation.’
‘It
is
a
subject
,
’
murmured
Strange
,
with
a
slight
movement
of
the
shoulders
,
‘which
I
must
admit
I
find
painful
to
discuss
with
young
ladies.’
‘Ah
!
’
said
Alison
,
in
her
quiet
,
serious
voice
,
‘but
then
I
am
not
a
“
young
lady
.
”
I
am
only
a
woman
,
taking
a
great
deal
of
interest
in
others
of
my
own
sex
.
The
girl
,
at
any
rate
,
seems
to
be
what
we
are
now
agreed
to
call
a
‘morally
deficient
person’
—
one
,
in
fact
,
who
has
urgent
claims
on
all
men
's
honour
,
on
all
women
's
pity
.
Properly
trained
and
protected
,
she
might
have
been
well
,
happy
,
and
a
tolerably
useful
member
of
society
.
Think
of
it
!
That
woman
was
younger
than
I
am
.
If
I
had
only
known
her
earlier
,
who
knows
?
I
might
have
been
her
friend
;
I
might
have
saved
her
from
—
’
‘Possibly
,
’
replied
the
doctor
,
coolly
,
‘but
meanwhile
—
’
‘Meanwhile
the
girl
has
succumbed
.
She
died
to-day.’
There
was
a
burst
of
laughter
from
each
side
of
the
table
.
The
Attorney-General
had
just
told
his
newest
story
.
Dr.
Dunlop
Strange
was
carefully
peeling
a
fine
pear
as
she
spoke
.
In
the
pause
that
followed
he
continued
to
separate
the
fruit
from
its
perfumed
skin
,
bending
a
little
,
in
his
short-sighted
way
,
over
his
Sèvres
plate
.
All
his
future
life
,
he
knew
,
was
involved
in
her
next
few
words
.
‘My
dear
Miss
Ives
,
’
he
said
,
with
something
of
his
consulting-room
manner
,
‘pray
,
do
n't
judge
hastily
.
You
have
probably
only
heard
half
her
story
.
Do
you
,
now
,
really
know
anything
about
her
?
’
‘Yes
,
’
said
Alison
,
abruptly
.
And
,
as
she
looked
him
straight
in
the
eyes
,
he
knew
that
she
was
aware
of
the
whole
sordid
story
.
‘I
'm
not
particularly
sentimental
,
as
you
know
,
’
she
added
;
‘but
I
've
made
up
my
mind
that
that
poor
creature
shall
be
decently
buried
in
the
little
country
churchyard
in
Sussex
,
in
the
village
where
she
used
to
live
.
I
should
like
her
to
rest
now
—
for
good
.
Shall
I
make
the
necessary
arrangements
,
or
will
you
,
’
she
added
with
a
shade
of
irony
,
‘prefer
,
perhaps
,
to
do
so
—
?
’
They
were
standing
up
now
,
for
the
ladies
,
gathering
up
their
fans
and
gloves
,
were
about
to
leave
the
room
.
He
looked
at
her
humbly
,
imploringly
,
but
the
beautiful
candid
eyes
were
quite
hard
.
‘I
—
I
—
perhaps
it
would
be
better
,
on
the
whole
,
if
you
allowed
me
to
see
to
it.’
Nothing
more
was
said
.
He
sat
down
again
when
she
was
gone
,
staring
blankly
at
the
fruit-strewn
plates
and
half-drained
glasses
,
at
the
tall
flower-stands
and
flickering
candles
.
Her
crumpled
napkin
fell
across
his
knee
,
and
,
as
it
fell
,
he
saw
,
with
a
shudder
,
a
vision
of
a
stiff
,
silent
figure
in
the
hospital
mortuary
.
He
could
hear
the
rustle
of
silk
dresses
,
and
the
sound
of
feminine
voices
as
the
ladies
trailed
upstairs
.
And
he
knew
as
he
heard
them
go
that
it
was
all
over
.
Yes
,
it
was
all
over
,
for
she
,
at
any
rate
,
was
not
one
of
those
girls
who
have
infinite
complaisances
for
a
possible
husband
.
A
man
drew
up
his
chair
,
asked
for
a
light
,
and
began
to
talk
of
a
bit
of
scandal
that
was
then
enjoying
high
favour
at
the
clubs
.
Strange
stared
at
him
with
haggard
eyes
,
got
up
,
made
some
excuse
,
and
left
the
house
.
CHAPTER
XIX
ALISON
ARRANGES
A
MATCH
TWO
or
three
days
after
the
dinner
in
Portman
Square
,
as
Mary
was
trying
to
impart
an
air
of
reality
to
her
‘society’
article
in
The
Fan
—
a
task
at
which
she
was
busy
on
three
mornings
of
every
month
—
a
pencil
note
was
brought
from
Alison
,
dated
,
to
her
surprise
,
from
Portman
Square
.
‘Dear
little
girl
,
’
it
said
,
‘I
'm
down
with
an
awful
cold
—
bronchitis
,
I
think
.
The
doctor
says
I
'm
not
to
get
up
.
It
's
such
a
nuisance
my
being
seedy
,
because
to-day
is
Evelina
's
wedding-day
.
She
's
to
be
married
at
2.30
.
Will
you
,
like
a
dear
,
go
and
see
that
she
's
dressed
,
and
bring
her
here
to
me
?
And
my
presents
—
the
tea-service
,
and
the
work-basket
,
and
the
new
cot
for
the
baby
—
see
that
she
has
them
,
wo
n't
you
?
—
Yours
,
ALISON.’
‘Tell
the
man
,
’
said
Mary
to
the
stolid
maid-of-all-work
,
who
was
waiting
,
with
pendant
red
hands
and
slightly
open
mouth
,
at
the
door
,
‘that
I
shall
be
round
in
half
an
hour.’
There
were
still
another
dozen
lines
to
write
.
The
thing
must
be
neatly
turned
,
made
acidulous
and
sparkling
.
It
took
some
fifteen
minutes
of
writing
and
scratching
out
.
Then
mechanically
she
ran
her
eye
once
again
over
the
lines
,
tied
up
the
sheets
of
MSS
.
,
and
directed
it
to
the
editor
before
she
left
the
house
.
Mary
found
the
bride
all
dressed
and
ready
when
she
reached
the
flat
.
Always
a
silent
girl
,
who
accepted
things
as
they
came
,
Evelina
seemed
to-day
paralysed
with
the
excitement
of
her
position
.
In
silence
they
drove
in
a
four-wheel
cab
to
Portman
Square
.
Lady
Jane
,
with
an
uneasy
look
on
her
plump
,
worldly
face
,
was
issuing
from
Alison
's
bedroom
when
they
got
upstairs
.
‘That
's
so
kind
of
you
,
my
dear
Mary
.
Go
in
—
go
in
.
My
poor
Alison
wishes
to
see
you
.
And
this
,
no
doubt
,
is
the
young
person
she
is
so
interested
in
.
My
dear
child
has
such
a
good
heart
.
You
will
stay
,
will
you
not
,
while
darling
Alison
is
poorly
?
I
have
to
go
to
a
meeting
of
the
Primrose
League
—
the
dear
Primrose
League
.
And
,
Mary
,
my
child
,
’
she
added
,
as
she
rustled
down
the
stairs
in
her
ample
garments
,
‘kindly
ask
my
maid
,
as
you
're
near
my
room
,
to
bring
down
my
bottle
of
lavender-salts
—
the
strong
ones
with
the
gold
top.’
Alison
was
sitting
up
in
bed
,
with
her
head
slightly
bent
forward
in
a
fit
of
coughing
,
as
they
stepped
inside
.
It
was
in
a
large
,
gay-looking
bedroom
that
she
lay
—
a
room
furnished
by
Lady
Jane
in
a
style
which
she
considered
suitable
to
an
unmarried
daughter
.
There
were
many
chintz
draperies
,
patterned
with
sprawling
pink
roses
;
the
pillows
were
trimmed
with
deep
lace
,
and
the
ample
silk
eider-down
quilt
was
of
a
piercing
blue
.
Little
pot-bellied
Loves
disported
themselves
on
the
round
looking-glass
,
and
a
number
of
slim
gold-and-white
chairs
were
placed
about
the
room
.
A
bronchitis-kettle
was
steaming
near
the
bed
,
and
bright
sunshine
lay
along
the
counterpane
and
in
patches
on
the
carpet
.
‘Here
she
is
!
’
said
Mary
;
and
Evelina
,
with
loudly-creaking
boots
,
stepped
,
gawky
and
embarrassed
in
her
finery
,
to
the
bedside
,
her
red
cheeks
and
wrists
accentuated
by
the
pallor
of
her
soiled
white-silk
frock
.
A
wreath
of
stiff
kid
orange-blossoms
lay
on
her
wiry
,
dark
hair
,
from
which
hung
backwards
a
veil
of
white
tulle
.
One
of
the
thumbs
of
her
white
silk
gloves
had
already
ripped
up
.
On
her
ample
bosom
heaved
and
fell
a
gold
locket
,
containing
a
curl
of
the
baby
's
hair
.
‘Kiss
me
,
my
dear
,
’
whispered
Alison
;
‘I
hope
you
are
going
to
be
very
,
very
happy
.
I
'm
so
sorry
I
ca
n't
be
at
the
wedding.’
‘Oh
,
Miss
Alison
,
’
cried
the
girl
,
‘I
'm
so
sorry
you
're
—
you
're
not
well
.
Joe
and
me
,
we
'd
both
like
to
put
the
wedding
off
till
you
could
come
—
’
‘Do
n't
wait
for
that
,
Evelina
,
’
said
Alison
,
an
anxious
look
crossing
her
forehead
;
‘you
must
n't
wait
for
that
.
Mary
,
you
'll
go
with
her
to
the
church
,
and
see
that
the
wedding
breakfast
—
’
‘Yes
,
yes
,
dear
,
Do
n't
tire
yourself
thinking
about
it
all
.
How
did
you
catch
this
dreadful
—
cold
?
’
‘Waiting
for
an
omnibus
in
the
Mile
End
Road
.
You
know
—
that
night
of
the
dinner
here
.
I
had
been
to
the
hospital
.
I
must
have
caught
a
chill.’
‘Alison
,
I
'm
coming
back.’
‘Oh
,
yes
.
Good-bye
,
my
dear
Evelina
.
I
wish
I
could
have
been
with
you
to-day
,
’
she
said
,
wistfully
.
‘I
hope
you
'll
like
the
little
house
;
and
mind
you
look
after
Joe
,
and
keep
him
steady
.
Good-bye
,
good
luck
!
’
And
a
few
minutes
later
the
pink
cheeks
,
the
second-hand
wedding-dress
,
and
the
creaking
boots
were
being
conveyed
in
a
four-wheeled
cab
towards
matrimonial
respectability
.
Alison
wanted
to
hear
all
about
it
when
Mary
got
back
.
‘Well
,
and
what
did
she
say
?
’
asked
the
sick
woman
.
‘She
did
n't
say
anything
.
Brides
never
do
,
’
said
Mary
.
‘And
how
did
Joe
behave
?
’
‘As
far
as
I
could
make
out
,
he
was
terrified
at
me
,
and
as
I
saw
that
,
in
all
probability
,
he
would
eat
nothing
as
long
as
I
was
there
,
I
made
an
excuse
,
and
left
the
wedding-feast
,
no
doubt
to
the
intense
relief
of
the
guests.’
‘And
the
baby
—
my
dear
fat
thing
?
’
‘Oh
,
the
baby
,
’
said
Mary
,
‘apparently
belongs
to
the
new
anti-marriage
movement
.
He
does
n't
approve
,
it
would
seem
,
of
any
legalising
of
the
bond
which
unites
his
father
and
mother
.
At
any
rate
,
he
screamed
till
he
was
purple
in
the
face
,
and
had
to
be
removed
from
the
room
by
a
first
cousin
of
his
mamma
's
,
a
young
lady
who
wore
more
ostrich
feathers
than
I
have
ever
seen
on
one
human
head
.
And
as
for
poor
Evelina
,
’
continued
Mary
,
laughing
,
‘I
'm
afraid
,
after
all
the
pains
you
've
taken
,
you
have
n't
developed
in
her
a
sense
of
humour
.
Otherwise
she
would
n't
have
insisted
on
being
married
in
a
second-hand
white
silk
dress.’
‘You
do
n't
understand
,
’
protested
Alison
.
‘I
think
that
it
shows
a
certain
vague
hankering
after
the
ideal
—
a
sort
of
élan
towards
the
unattainable.’
‘Nonsense
!
she
ought
to
have
been
married
in
a
good
stout
waterproof.’
‘Well
,
thank
goodness
,
we
're
not
all
sensible
.
How
dull
it
would
be
if
we
were
!
’
‘I
must
say
the
kid
orange-blossoms
and
the
reach-me-down
wedding-dress
quite
made
my
joy.’
‘You
're
an
unsympathetic
beast
,
’
said
Alison
,
tossing
on
her
rumpled
pillows
.
‘
I
should
n't
have
laughed
.
I
know
these
people
so
much
better
than
you
do.’
Presently
she
fell
into
a
doze
,
and
Mary
sat
at
the
window
,
trying
to
read
,
but
with
her
eyes
and
thoughts
constantly
on
the
bed
,
where
Alison
was
tossing
about
in
a
curiously
restless
manner
.
‘Little
Mary
!
’
came
a
voice
from
the
bed
presently
.
‘Yes
,
dear
?
’
‘Promise
me
that
you
will
never
,
never
do
anything
to
hurt
another
woman
,
’
said
the
sick
girl
,
running
her
finger
along
the
pattern
on
the
counterpane
.
‘I
do
n't
suppose
for
an
instant
you
ever
would
.
But
there
come
times
in
our
lives
when
we
can
do
a
great
deal
of
good
,
or
an
incalculable
amount
of
harm
.
If
women
only
used
their
power
in
the
right
way
!
If
we
were
only
united
we
could
lead
the
world
.
But
we
're
not
—
we
're
not
,
’
she
said
,
closing
her
eyes
with
a
tired
gesture
.
‘Ah
!
’
said
Mary
slowly
,
‘but
we
shall
be
by
and
by
.
All
we
modern
women
are
going
to
help
each
other
,
not
to
hinder
.
And
there
's
a
great
deal
to
do
—
’
‘Yes
,
and
we
've
all
so
little
time
,
’
said
Alison
,
regretfully
.
‘Do
you
remember
the
hospital
,
and
that
poor
girl
,
Number
Twenty-seven
?
’
‘Yes
,
of
course
.
What
makes
you
think
of
her
?
’
faltered
Mary
.
‘She
's
dead
,
you
know
.
It
ca
n't
be
nice
to
die
in
a
hospital
,
can
it
?
The
ugly
,
long
ward
,
those
ghastly
,
twitching
faces
on
the
pillows
,
the
students
staring
at
you
,
then
the
mortuary
,
and
a
pauper
's
funeral.’
‘Do
n't
talk
about
it
,
Alison.’
‘And
yet
that
girl
,
’
muttered
the
sick
woman
,
‘was
Dunlop
Strange
's
mistress
.
He
made
her
what
she
was.’
‘Oh
,
Alison
,
are
you
sure
?
’
Alison
nodded
.
‘I
thought
at
first
it
might
be
a
got-up
story
—
one
hears
of
such
things
,
you
know
.
But
it
was
true
,
quite
true
.
She
had
his
photographs
,
his
letters
,
little
things
that
belonged
to
him
.
Mary
,
that
wretched
creature
was
a
respectable
girl
—
a
shop
assistant
—
when
she
first
saw
him
.
No
,
it
is
n't
a
pretty
world
!
’
‘And
Dr.
Strange
?
Does
he
know
?
’
‘I
told
him
that
night
at
the
dinner
.
I
was
furious
.
He
tried
to
brave
it
out
,
to
pretend
he
knew
nothing
about
her
.
I
hope
,
’
she
added
,
while
the
anxious
look
deepened
on
her
forehead
,
‘that
I
shall
never
have
to
see
him
again
.
You
wo
n't
,
’
she
said
excitedly
,
‘let
them
bring
him
up
here
,
to
me
?
’
‘No
,
no
,
of
course
not.’
But
the
thing
seemed
to
have
taken
possession
of
her
mind
.
‘When
did
you
see
her
,
Mary
?
’
she
asked
presently
.
‘You
seemed
to
know
her
when
we
stopped
at
that
bed.’
‘I
only
saw
her
once
in
the
Regent
's
Park
,
waiting
about
for
some
one
.
I
remembered
her
face
perfectly
—
it
made
an
impression
on
me
.
It
—
it
was
that
day
at
the
end
of
July
when
—
when
I
expected
Vincent
back
—
’
‘That
was
the
day
they
pulled
her
out
of
the
canal
—
the
slimy
green
canal
.
She
got
fourteen
days
for
that
.
The
magistrate
said
it
was
a
painful
case
,
and
that
he
would
let
her
off
easily.’
‘They
might
have
let
her
drown
.
It
would
have
been
better
,
’
replied
Mary
,
gazing
into
the
firelight
.
‘She
never
said
a
word
about
him
,
’
said
Alison
presently
,
‘she
never
mentioned
his
name
.
Lots
of
girls
would
have
made
a
scandal
,
out
of
revenge
.
There
must
have
been
some
good
in
her
.
It
was
only
quite
at
the
last
that
I
knew
for
certain.’
The
winter
dusk
fell
early
in
the
spacious
bed-room
.
There
was
a
terrible
tension
in
the
air
.
The
very
atmosphere
seemed
charged
with
feminine
emotion
,
as
the
two
girls
,
exaggerating
,
as
over-refined
women
will
,
the
importance
of
ethical
standards
of
conduct
in
the
great
teeming
universe
,
talked
on
and
on
in
the
gathering
gloom
.
It
was
dark
when
Lady
Jane
returned
,
bringing
with
her
large
,
pink
cheeks
,
her
parted
hair
,
her
rustling
silk
clothes
,
an
air
at
once
motherly
and
mundane
into
the
sick
room
.
‘I
shall
insist
,
my
darling
,
on
your
seeing
some
one
else
,
’
she
announced
in
her
rather
loud
but
cheery
voice
.
‘I
can
quite
understand
your
not
wishing
to
see
our
dear
Dunlop
,
for
we
women
,
’
she
added
with
a
sigh
,
‘all
have
our
little
coquetries
.
But
what
objection
can
you
have
to
seeing
Danby
?
I
shall
send
round
at
once
to
Travers
Danby.’
But
the
great
man
,
when
he
finally
arrived
,
preserved
an
impenetrable
mask
in
the
presence
of
Alison
,
of
her
mother
,
and
of
Mary
.
A
prolonged
consultation
with
the
other
doctor
resulted
in
frequent
doses
of
brandy
or
port
wine
being
ordered
,
and
an
admission
,
just
at
the
hall-door
,
that
the
case
was
serious
.
Mary
went
down
to
the
dining-room
when
the
bell
rang
,
leaving
Alison
's
old
nurse
at
the
bedside
side
.
Lady
Jane
's
one
idea
was
that
Dunlop
Strange
should
be
called
in
.
‘If
she
would
only
see
him
,
’
she
reiterated
for
the
fifth
time
,
shaking
her
head
tragically
when
the
butler
offered
her
a
savoury
,
‘he
is
so
clever
with
chest
complaints
,
so
marvellously
,
marvellously
clever
!
Why
,
he
cured
Kempton
—
Lord
Sandown
's
eldest
son
—
when
he
was
positively
given
up
by
every
doctor
in
London
.
And
they
say
the
poor
young
man
had
led
a
perfectly
shocking
life.’
‘Dear
Lady
Jane
,
’
urged
Mary
,
‘pray
do
n't
insist
on
it
to
her
.
It
would
be
worse
than
useless
—
it
really
would
do
harm.’
She
had
made
up
her
mind
to
say
nothing
about
‘Number
Twenty-seven
,
’
and
her
sordid
little
tragedy
.
Lady
Jane
was
kind
and
charming
,
but
she
had
retained
the
prejudices
of
ladies
who
were
young
in
the
fifties
.
In
all
probability
she
would
only
call
the
dead
girl
some
old-fashioned
hard
names
.
Certainly
she
would
never
comprehend
her
daughter
's
extremely
modern
sympathy
for
this
woman
who
had
drawn
her
last
breath
in
a
hospital
ward
.
It
was
settled
that
Mary
should
remain
all
night
at
the
bedside
.
There
were
a
dozen
things
to
think
of
:
food
,
stimulants
,
medicines
,
blisters
.
She
ran
over
carefully
in
her
mind
all
that
she
would
have
to
do
during
the
night
.
Lady
Jane
said
she
would
lie
down
in
the
next
room
but
with
the
door
open
,
to
listen
.
Towards
ten
o'clock
,
the
sick
girl
sat
up
,
saying
she
could
breathe
easier
in
that
position
.
‘Oh
,
how
I
hate
being
ill
,
’
she
muttered
,
clenching
her
fingers
as
they
lay
on
the
counter-pane
.
‘Mary
,
’
she
continued
,
while
the
irritable
anxious
look
deepened
on
her
face
for
she
had
to
stop
—
‘I
feel
,
’
she
gasped
at
last
,
‘as
if
I
were
choking.’
‘Dear
,
’
said
the
other
girl
,
‘why
do
n't
you
lie
down
?
’
‘I
ca
n't
—
I
ca
n't
breathe
if
I
do
.
Mary
,
do
you
think
I
shall
be
ill
long
?
I
've
always
hated
being
ill.
There
is
the
personal
degradation
—
one
looks
odious
,
one
is
odious.’
‘Dear
,
you
will
be
all
right
again
in
a
day
or
two
,
’
urged
Mary
.
‘Oh
!
I
do
n't
mean
that
,
’
she
muttered
,
falling
back
.
‘It
does
n't
matter
;
nothing
matters
,
nothing
matters
,
’
she
went
on
till
she
fell
into
an
uneasy
dose
.
She
was
lying
tossing
from
one
side
to
the
other
with
her
head
lower
than
her
shoulders
,
when
Dr.
Danby
came
again
at
eleven
.
‘How
long
has
the
patient
been
in
that
position
?
’
whispered
the
great
man
.
Something
in
the
tone
of
his
voice
made
her
heart
stand
still
.
‘She
's
been
lying
like
that
all
the
time
—
when
she
is
n't
sitting
up
coughing
,
’
faltered
the
girl
.
‘Ah
!
We
must
keep
up
the
patient
's
strength
in
every
way
.
It
's
very
serious
now
,
Miss
Erle.’
Mary
heard
the
words
,
but
they
sounded
a
long
way
off
.
CHAPTER
XX
THE
GATE
OF
SILENCE
‘
I
WILL
not
,
while
I
have
health
and
strength
,
’
said
Lady
Jane
severely
at
the
breakfast
table
,
when
the
question
of
a
trained
nurse
was
mooted
,
‘consent
to
have
my
child
nursed
by
a
hireling
.
It
is
a
mother
's
duty
,
’
she
continued
,
with
lofty
decision
,
regarding
Mary
and
her
red
,
tired
eyelids
somewhat
reproachfully
.
And
Lady
Jane
,
to
be
sure
,
was
convinced
that
she
herself
had
tended
the
sick
girl
through
the
night
.
Mary
remembered
,
with
something
like
a
smile
,
that
once
or
twice
during
that
long
vigil
,
her
hostess
,
arrayed
in
a
somewhat
short
night-dress
,
scantily
covered
by
a
pink
dressing-gown
,
had
stepped
ponderously
into
the
room
,
upset
one
or
two
medicine
bottles
,
and
poured
some
beef-tea
into
a
glass
which
contained
lemonade
.
Lady
Jane
had
the
best
intentions
,
but
nature
had
not
cut
her
out
for
a
sick
nurse
.
She
was
short-sighted
and
easily
perturbed
,
and
her
natural
emotions
overcame
her
so
much
that
once
she
retreated
in
tears
,
carrying
away
in
her
distraction
the
bottle
of
medicine
which
was
to
be
administered
every
hour
.
‘No
,
’
reiterated
the
mother
;
‘not
while
I
have
health
and
strength
.
I
shall
go
to
her
myself
immediately.’
The
hours
passed
mournfully
enough
.
There
was
no
improvement
during
the
day
.
Alison
sat
up
in
bed
,
propped
up
with
pillows
,
while
her
strength
lasted
.
Her
face
,
which
had
gradually
turned
livid
,
was
covered
with
a
clammy
perspiration
.
Every
now
and
again
she
pushed
back
the
damp
strands
of
hair
from
her
forehead
.
The
fits
of
choking
became
more
frequent
;
she
had
no
longer
the
strength
to
battle
with
them
.
‘Mary
,
’
she
whispered
once
during
the
morning
,
‘my
feet
look
so
odd
.
They
are
swelling
—
I
wonder
why
?
’
She
pushed
one
foot
from
under
the
bed-clothes
;
it
was
quite
disfigured
already
.
‘Funny
it
looks
,
’
she
muttered
.
‘What
's
his
name
?
the
French
sculptor
—
you
know
—
modelled
my
foot
once
.
It
would
be
horrid’
—
she
stared
vacantly
at
the
little
swollen
foot
,
while
Mary
bent
down
and
rearranged
the
bed-clothes
—
‘to
have
great
fat
feet
like
that
.
Mary
,
do
you
think
they
will
get
slim
again
when
I
am
well
?
’
‘My
darling
,
of
course
,
of
course.’
Again
the
sick
woman
fell
into
an
uneasy
doze
.
The
doctors
'
visit
brought
small
comfort
.
Both
bent
with
anxious
faces
over
the
bed
.
Little
could
be
done
but
to
administer
strong
restoratives
.
The
two
physicians
feared
some
cerebral
complication
.
‘Had
the
patient
,
’
they
asked
Lady
Jane
,
‘recently
had
any
mental
shock
?
’
‘Certainly
not
,
certainly
not
.
My
poor
darling
,
’
replied
the
mother
,
‘was
the
picture
of
health
and
happiness
.
Impossible
that
she
should
have
had
any
trouble
of
which
I
am
not
aware
,
’
she
announced
,
with
all
an
old
woman
's
fatuity
.
The
two
doctors
glanced
at
each
other
and
said
nothing
.
Mary
detained
the
elder
man
downstairs
.
‘Tell
me
the
truth
,
’
she
said
.
‘My
dear
young
lady
,
I
fear
there
is
nothing
—
absolutely
nothing
—
that
can
be
done
.
The
patient
is
sinking
rapidly
.
In
all
probability
she
will
not
live
through
another
day
.
It
would
be
well
if
you
could
break
it
to
her
poor
mother.’
Mary
stood
still
for
a
minute
,
leaning
against
the
passage
wall
,
as
the
two
doctors
closed
the
door
softly
.
She
heard
the
two
carriages
roll
away
—
rolling
away
to
other
sick
rooms
,
to
pronounce
,
perhaps
,
another
sentence
of
death
before
they
reached
home
.
It
was
nothing
to
them
,
she
remembered
;
nothing
,
nothing
,
nothing
.
People
died
every
day
.
Every
day
people
were
born
.
Some
had
to
go
,
these
men
of
science
would
say
,
to
make
way
for
others
.
‘There
seems
to
be
no
change
—
for
the
better
,
’
whispered
Lady
Jane
an
hour
later
,
as
they
both
stood
at
the
bedside
.
‘She
is
still
asleep
,
and
muttering
,
my
poor
darling
.
If
we
could
only
rouse
her
,
now
.
I
shall
insist
on
Danby
seeing
her
again
,
’
she
added
feverishly
,
patting
her
eyes
with
a
lace
handkerchief
.
Mary
looked
at
the
slight
figure
in
the
bed
.
‘Dear
Lady
Jane
,
’
she
said
softly
,
‘I
do
n't
think
we
shall
ever
—
be
able
to
rouse
her
now.’
It
struck
her
as
curiously
odd
that
she
should
be
saying
this
to
the
woman
near
her
—
this
woman
that
she
always
pictured
at
dinner-parties
and
drums
,
tapping
people
with
her
fan
,
carrying
her
bare
shoulders
and
her
little
stories
from
drawing-room
to
drawing-room
in
the
eternal
monotony
of
good
society
.
With
a
thing
so
poignant
,
so
human
,
so
pitiful
as
death
,
it
seemed
impossible
that
this
charming
lady
could
ever
be
associated
.
The
mother
broke
down
completely
,
and
had
to
be
led
away
.
Towards
four
o'clock
someone
knocked
at
the
door
,
bringing
up
letters
for
Mary
.
They
had
been
sent
round
from
the
lodgings
in
Bulstrode
Street
.
There
were
several
letters
:
one
from
Jimmie
,
one
from
her
bootmaker
,
and
one
she
saw
,
with
a
curious
tight
feeling
at
her
heart
,
was
from
Vincent
,
and
bore
a
Northborough
post-mark
.
Going
to
the
window
,
she
bent
forward
in
the
failing
light
and
broke
the
seal
.
Northborough
,
Dec.
3rd
.
‘MY
DEAR
MARY
,
—
You
are
perhaps
aware
that
to-morrow
is
fixed
for
my
marriage
,
and
it
is
no
exaggeration
to
say
that
I
shall
not
feel
happy
when
I
stand
at
the
altar
in
the
morning
unless
I
have
a
word
of
blessing
from
you
,
my
oldest
and
most
valued
friend
,
on
this
most
auspicious
occasion
.
Although
I
trust
that
changed
circumstances
will
not
to
any
great
extent
separate
us
,
yet
I
cannot
help
expressing
the
hope
that
such
uncommon
virtues
,
intellectual
powers
and
remarkable
perseverance
[
the
word
‘virtues’
had
been
added
as
an
after-thought
,
and
was
squeezed
in
between
‘uncommon’
and
‘intellectual’
]
as
are
happily
yours
,
may
be
speedily
and
justly
rewarded.’
—
Ever
your
devoted
friend
,
‘VINCENT
HEMMING.’
Then
she
deliberately
opened
the
other
letters
.
There
was
a
small
cheque
from
a
newspaper
;
a
little
note
—
very
affectionate
—
from
Jimmie
,
requesting
the
loan
of
three
pounds
;
and
lastly
,
a
bootmaker
's
bill
.
Jimmie
wanted
three
pounds
,
to
be
forwarded
immediately
.
It
was
annoying
—
he
was
always
asking
for
money
,
in
little
notes
full
of
the
most
endearing
epithets
.
Well
,
there
was
the
present
cheque
.
It
was
for
three
guineas
—
the
price
of
one
of
her
articles
—
so
she
could
send
him
a
post-office
order
.
As
for
the
bootmaker
,
he
would
have
to
wait
.
There
was
something
absurd
,
incongruous
about
that
bootmaker
's
bill
.
And
yet
after
all
,
one
had
to
pay
one
's
boot
bill
,
even
if
one
's
lover
was
going
to
be
married
in
the
morning
.
She
felt
a
curious
tightening
in
her
chest
,
a
horrible
feeling
in
her
head
,
as
if
the
brain
were
pressing
against
the
skull
.
Something
had
to
be
done
—
to
be
done
at
once
,
she
kept
saying
to
herself
.
Yes
,
Vincent
must
be
congratulated
.
Her
pride
was
up
in
arms
.
It
would
be
undignified
to
look
as
if
she
were
considering
the
matter
.
Women
,
she
bethought
her
with
a
grim
smile
,
should
accept
their
fate
with
a
graceful
acquiescence
.
And
at
once
Mary
made
up
her
mind
that
she
would
not
write
,
although
there
was
just
time
to
catch
the
country
post
.
It
would
be
better
to
telegraph
.
She
would
go
herself
to
the
nearest
office
.
Gathering
up
her
letters
,
she
crept
to
the
bedside
.
Alison
was
asleep
.
Bending
down
she
kissed
the
white
wrist
that
lay
on
the
counterpane
,
and
then
,
telling
the
maid
not
to
move
from
the
sick-room
,
she
threw
on
her
hat
and
cloak
and
left
the
house
in
the
gathering
dusk
.
It
was
not
far
to
the
nearest
post-office
,
in
Baker
Street
,
and
once
inside
she
carefully
wrote
out
a
post-office
order
for
Jimmie
.
Then
she
took
a
telegraph
form
and
wrote
two
or
three
different
phrases
with
the
blunt
pencil
tied
to
a
short
piece
of
string
.
Finally
,
when
she
had
scratched
out
two
or
three
messages
,
she
handed
the
paper
across
to
the
clerk
.
‘I
wish
you
all
possible
happiness
.
—
Mary
,
’
read
out
the
young
man
in
his
everyday
,
unemotional
voice
,
and
then
the
girl
found
herself
outside
,
walking
rapidly
down
Baker
Street
towards
the
Regent
's
Park
.
‘I
must
walk
;
I
must
breathe
the
open
air
,
’
she
said
to
herself
,
‘or
I
shall
never
be
able
to
sit
up
again
all
to-night.’
The
gates
of
the
Regent
's
Park
were
shut
,
but
she
walked
on
,
round
the
outer
circle
,
seeing
nothing
,
for
her
brain
was
busy
with
two
overpowering
thoughts
,
the
awful
struggle
with
death
,
the
protest
against
annihilation
which
was
slowly
being
fought
out
in
that
bedroom
in
Portman
Square
,
and
the
fact
that
henceforward
she
was
to
walk
alone
,
to
fight
the
battle
of
life
unaided
—
a
moral
starveling
,
whose
natural
instincts
were
to
be
pinched
,
repressed
,
and
neatly
trimmed
in
conformity
with
the
rules
of
the
higher
civilisation
.
And
,
in
sooth
,
it
was
in
accordance
with
the
inexorable
laws
of
the
higher
civilisation
that
so
priceless
a
boon
as
a
loyal
love
should
weigh
as
nothing
when
balanced
with
a
thing
which
had
a
nicely
ascertained
value
in
the
money
market
.
Pausing
on
the
North
Gate
bridge
,
she
looked
down
into
the
dark
canal
water
,
on
to
which
the
last
shivering
autumnal
leaves
were
slowly
fluttering
down
.
She
thought
of
the
girl
—
of
Number
Twenty-seven
—
who
had
tried
to
drown
herself
in
those
greenish
,
slimy
waters
.
After
all
,
it
was
but
the
Open
Door
of
the
Greek
philosophers
which
she
had
tried
to
slip
through
with
uncertain
,
unsuccessful
feet
...
.
The
curve
of
the
road
outside
was
all
a
silvery
grey
.
Road
,
sky
,
and
pavement
were
clothed
in
the
same
neutral
tint
,
but
the
street
lamps
made
an
orange
sickle
of
fire
,
heightened
on
the
other
side
by
the
indigo
blueness
of
the
park
,
etched
with
intricate
lines
of
bare
stems
and
branches
.
The
scarlet
of
a
mail-cart
flashed
past
,
and
afterwards
,
in
the
solitude
of
the
grey
road
,
a
shabby
,
belated
mourning
carriage
.
There
was
a
flapping
of
dingy
white
scarves
as
the
dyed
horses
,
with
lowered
heads
,
moved
dejectedly
away
into
the
growing
dusk
,
leaving
a
vision
of
rusty
black
clothes
and
of
vague
,
drab
faces
gazing
from
the
carriage-window
on
to
the
sombre
,
naked
trees
.
Mary
shuddered
.
‘I
must
get
back
,
’
she
thought
,
and
calling
a
hansom
,
she
was
,
in
ten
minutes
,
mounting
the
stairs
again
to
the
sick
room
in
Portman
Square
.
Mary
hardly
dared
look
when
she
reached
the
bedroom
again
.
The
sick
girl
,
propped
up
on
pillows
,
was
battling
for
life
with
her
breath
.
The
distended
jugular
veins
told
of
the
fearful
struggle
;
the
lips
were
livid
,
the
fingers
clenched
.
The
beautiful
brown
eyes
were
turned
on
her
mother
with
the
look
of
a
tortured
animal
;
then
her
head
fell
forward
,
and
they
laid
her
length-wise
on
the
bed
.
Alison
lay
long
in
a
state
of
somnolence
.
In
the
silence
of
the
large
bedroom
,
in
which
the
only
other
sound
was
that
of
the
sprightly
French
clock
on
the
mantelpiece
,
ticking
away
the
hours
,
the
sick
woman
's
delirious
mutterings
seemed
of
fearful
importance
to
the
watchers
round
the
bed
.
What
was
she
saying
—
she
who
was
never
to
speak
any
more
?
Long
after
,
Mary
remembered
the
last
coherent
words
she
had
said
:
‘Will
my
feet
get
slim
again
when
I
am
well
?
’
The
long
night
began
.
Alison
still
lay
prone
,
but
the
breathing
was
now
stertorous
,
with
a
kind
of
rattle
in
the
throat
.
Dr.
Danby
,
summoned
again
by
Lady
Jane
,
implored
her
to
be
calm
,
for
the
end
could
not
be
long
.
But
to
Mary
,
during
the
endless
hours
of
that
December
night
,
the
end
seemed
long
in
coming
.
It
tortured
her
to
see
the
one
human
being
for
whom
she
cared
now
in
the
world
,
dying
that
terrible
death
of
suffocation
.
Towards
midnight
,
the
strain
on
Mary
became
intense
.
Alison
fell
into
a
doze
,
and
then
Mary
crept
,
for
a
few
moments
,
into
the
next
room
and
threw
open
a
window
.
The
injustice
of
life
revolted
her
.
Her
misery
was
too
poignant
for
tears
.
When
she
was
a
little
child
she
used
to
stiffen
herself
with
silent
rage
when
any
one
accused
or
struck
her
unjustly
.
The
girl
felt
something
of
that
hardened
feeling
now
.
And
so
Alison
,
too
,
was
to
go
.
The
last
grim
,
speechless
battle
with
annihilation
was
slowly
being
fought
out
in
that
gay
,
beflowered
bedroom
.
It
was
a
still
winter
night
,
and
a
great
round
moon
looked
over
the
tops
of
the
tall
houses
opposite
,
like
a
white
,
surprised
face
.
The
sounds
of
the
ponderous
,
buzzing
city
entered
in
at
the
window
with
the
whiff
of
fresh
air
;
the
rattle
of
cabs
and
omnibuses
;
voices
of
the
passers-by
.
Carriages
were
driving
round
the
square
;
somebody
,
two
doors
off
,
was
giving
a
dinner-party
.
On
the
steps
was
a
little
cluster
of
footmen
.
Presently
the
hall
door
opened
,
there
was
a
rush
of
light
,
and
the
figures
of
two
ladies
,
in
white
cloaks
and
laces
,
passed
from
under
the
portico
.
The
click
of
the
carriage
door
was
audible
,
the
word
‘Home
!
’
and
the
sound
of
retreating
wheels
.
Presently
a
couple
of
men
left
,
lighting
their
cigars
as
they
went
down
the
steps
,
and
striding
off
on
foot
to
the
sounds
of
amused
laughter
.
But
presently
the
square
was
silent
.
Not
a
branch
stirred
.
Only
the
great
white
moon
rose
higher
in
the
heavens
with
her
cold
,
triumphant
air
.
Mary
sank
on
her
knees
at
the
open
window
,
her
forehead
pressed
against
the
sill
.
‘Why
could
it
not
have
been
I
?
’
she
moaned
.
‘No
one
wants
me
,
no
one
cares
for
me
;
while
Alison
—
.
O
God
!
O
God
!
and
must
I
go
on
living
—
?
’
And
then
she
remembered
that
Death
,
the
great
destroyer
,
had
an
irony
which
is
all
his
own
.
Beautiful
,
noble
,
helpful
lives
were
crushed
,
destroyed
,
annihilated
.
Death
made
no
more
account
of
them
than
a
schoolboy
does
of
a
beetle
,
on
whom
,
in
passing
by
,
he
tramps
wantonly
in
a
ditch
.
A
minute
ago
they
breathed
,
and
hoped
,
and
loved
;
another
minute
in
the
æons
of
time
,
and
the
insect
was
a
mere
blotch
of
slime
,
one
's
passionately
loved
idol
lay
rotting
under
the
sod
.
And
for
a
little
while
,
if
they
were
lucky
,
the
idols
were
remembered
,
but
more
often
their
memories
,
too
,
passed
away
.
The
burden
of
sex
,
the
lust
of
life
,
the
torture
of
the
ideal
,
the
unslaked
thirst
for
immortality
,
had
all
been
theirs
;
but
always
others
came
to
take
their
places
,
to
suffer
the
same
agonies
,
to
be
thrilled
,
for
a
brief
moment
,
with
the
same
fears
and
pleasures
.
And
always
the
long
procession
moved
on
,
and
on
,
and
on
;
some
fell
out
,
but
others
jostled
forward
;
the
ranks
were
filled
up
;
there
was
small
time
for
tears
.
Yes
,
for
ever
the
great
army
of
humanity
moved
on
,
on
its
strange
inexplicable
march
from
a
mother
's
womb
to
six
feet
of
oozing
clay
.
The
long
hours
of
the
night
dragged
slowly
by
.
In
the
sick
room
the
only
sounds
were
the
ticking
of
the
French
clock
and
the
terrible
,
ominous
rattle
from
the
lace-trimmed
pillows
.
It
was
nearing
dawn
.
Restless
and
hysterical
with
grief
,
the
mother
had
run
out
to
write
one
more
vain
summons
to
the
doctor
.
Outside
,
there
were
women
's
voices
,
sobbing
on
the
stair-case
.
Mary
sat
by
the
bedside
,
waiting
for
the
dawn
,
waiting
for
the
dread
inexorable
moment
.
And
then
,
just
when
there
came
creeping
in
behind
the
blind
the
wan
,
drabbish
light
of
the
December
daybreak
—
of
the
morning
which
Mary
remembered
with
a
kind
of
stunned
feeling
ing
was
to
be
that
of
Vincent
Hemming
's
marriage
—
a
strange
noise
from
the
pillows
made
her
heart
stand
still
in
her
body
.
And
suddenly
she
was
aware
that
there
was
no
sound
at
all
in
the
sick
room
but
the
pert
click
of
the
little
gilt
clock
on
the
mantelpiece
,
ticking
,
ticking
,
ticking
,
glibly
away
.
CHAPTER
XXI
THE
WORLD
WAGS
ON
FIVE
years
had
passed
.
All
day
long
the
streets
had
been
full
of
carriages
going
and
coming
from
Buckingham
Palace
.
The
spring
sunshine
fell
on
the
pink
arms
,
the
thin
bare
shoulders
of
young
girls
on
the
back
seats
of
broughams
and
closed
barouches
,
which
passed
swiftly
by
,
leaving
a
vision
of
a
foam
of
tulle
,
an
excited
young
face
,
a
cascade
of
flowers
,
or
the
large
complacent
bosom
of
a
chaperon
.
Some
of
these
carriages
stopped
,
towards
five
o'clock
,
at
Lady
Jane
Ives
'
in
Portman
Square
.
The
drawing-room
was
already
spread
with
shining
satin
trains
,
and
heavy
with
the
odour
of
slightly
faded
hothouse
flowers
,
before
the
hostess
herself
appeared
,
for
Lady
Jane
was
presenting
a
niece
,
and
had
been
late
in
getting
away
from
the
palace
.
One
or
two
men
,
vaguely
bored
,
strayed
about
with
uncertain
feet
among
the
yards
of
satin
and
brocade
which
covered
the
floor
;
and
the
women
,
in
their
nodding
plumes
and
foolish
trains
,
seemed
conscious
of
their
wrinkled
throats
and
faded
skins
,
as
they
stood
,
with
a
somewhat
forced
smile
,
receiving
the
usual
compliments
.
But
very
soon
Lady
Jane
appeared
,
swimming
into
the
room
with
her
large
smile
,
and
her
ruby
velvet
train
,
and
having
behind
her
a
young
girl
in
white
,
with
puffy
pink
cheeks
and
an
alarmed
air
.
‘My
niece
,
Victoria
,
’
she
announced
to
every
one
,
in
her
rapid
,
genial
manner
.
‘Presented
today
;
my
brother
's
girl
,
you
know
.
Dear
Victoria
is
so
devoted
to
society
;
she
is
going
to
stay
with
me
.
It
will
be
quite
charming.’
And
Mr.
Beaufort
Flower
,
with
a
huge
white
button-hole
which
accentuated
the
dingy
yellow
of
his
skin
,
and
with
several
tell-tale
wrinkles
at
the
corners
of
his
eyes
,
murmured
to
Mr.
Bosanquet-Barry
as
he
gazed
with
half-closed
lids
at
the
new
candidate
for
society
's
favours
;
—
‘I
adore
drawing-room
teas
.
One
sees
so
much
of
people
,
do
n't
you
know
.
And
in
the
daylight
,
too
,
one
gets
such
a
good
idea
of
what
they
are
really
like
,
’
he
tittered
,
turning
to
where
Lady
Blaythewaite
's
creamy
white
shoulders
were
illuminated
by
the
full
glare
from
the
window
,
the
sunlight
sparkling
on
the
diamond
tiara
round
her
forehead
.
‘She
's
got
her
best
“
fender
”
on
,
’
said
Mr.
Bosanquet-Barry
,
with
rising
interest
,
‘by
Jove
!
did
you
ever
see
such
jewels
?
And
what
a
skin
!
She
looks
like
some
superb
animal.’
‘Oh
,
no
,
she
do
n't
,
’
whispered
Beaufy
,
in
his
acidulous
voice
,
‘animals
never
look
depraved
.
And
for
my
part
,
I
do
n't
admire
her
so
much
as
all
that
.
Poor
Lady
Blay
is
so
odiously
,
blatantly
healthy.’
The
room
was
nearly
full
when
Mary
came
up
the
stairs
.
A
stout
lady
in
green
,
whose
extremities
looked
extraordinarily
large
in
their
white
coverings
,
thrust
a
bouquet
of
spiked
flowers
in
her
eye
as
she
reached
the
landing
,
and
then
stared
,
with
all
the
impertinence
of
a
certain
kind
of
British
matron
,
when
the
girl
stepped
back
,
annoyed
.
‘Oh
,
dear
Miss
Erle
,
’
said
a
shrill
voice
at
the
door
,
‘
do
come
in
.
It
's
such
a
nice
party
.
I
wonder
,
’
continued
Mr.
Beaufort
Flower
,
who
entertained
a
good
deal
himself
,
‘why
other
people
's
parties
are
so
much
nicer
than
one
's
own
?
I
suppose
it
is
because
one
always
knows
so
many
more
people
at
other
people
's
houses
?
’
‘Who
is
here
?
’
said
Mary
,
who
never
troubled
herself
to
laugh
at
his
small
witticisms
.
‘All
sorts
of
pretty
people
.
There
's
Lady
Blaythewaite
,
“
looking
magnificent
in
yellow
.
”
’
He
always
made
a
point
of
praising
other
women
when
he
talked
to
ladies
,
in
the
pleasing
hope
that
it
would
annoy
them
.
‘She
never
misses
going
to
Court
once
a
year
;
but
really
,
you
know
,
she
's
got
to
!
There
's
the
Duchess
of
Birkenhead
now
,
’
he
chattered
on
,
‘she
's
only
been
once
since
her
marriage
,
you
know
.
But
then
she
need
n't
,
because
she
's
so
perfectly
,
so
entirely
respectable
!
’
And
he
disappeared
with
a
delighted
little
wriggle
in
the
crowd
,
and
a
few
minutes
later
Mary
saw
him
pouring
his
sub-acid
compliments
into
Lady
Blaythewaite
's
ear
.
There
was
some
attempt
at
animation
in
the
rooms
now
.
There
were
crowds
of
ladies
as
well
as
those
who
had
been
to
Court
,
and
a
hired
pianist
,
making
tinkling
sounds
on
a
somewhat
worn
piano
,
was
endeavouring
to
impart
a
false
air
of
gaiety
to
the
affair
.
The
words
,
‘the
Queen
,
’
‘the
Princess
,
’
‘heliotrope
brocade
,
’
‘exquisite
diamonds
,
’
and
‘fearful
crush
,
’
were
bandied
about
the
room
.
Some
one
related
a
story
that
a
Colonial
lady
of
much
wealth
had
been
turned
away
because
she
had
worn
tan-coloured
gloves
,
and
an
ancient
legend
even
found
listeners
that
a
young
girl
had
fallen
over
her
train
while
backing
from
the
Royal
presence
.
A
woman
with
pronounced
Jewish
features
,
who
wore
a
smart
bonnet
and
a
French
frock
,
explained
at
some
length
to
an
indifferent
group
what
had
happened
when
she
had
been
presented
last
year
.
And
,
as
she
stood
talking
to
Mr.
Bosanquet-Barry
,
who
had
,
as
usual
,
his
air
of
not
wishing
to
be
detained
,
the
lady
whom
Mary
remembered
in
the
old
days
as
a
player
on
the
harp
,
had
placed
a
piece
of
music
on
the
piano
,
and
was
singing
in
an
elderly
,
threadbare
voice
,
and
an
accent
which
left
much
to
be
desired
,
something
which
sounded
like
—
‘Allong
cueillir
lay
roas-er.’
lifting
her
eyebrows
,
standing
on
tip-toe
,
and
slightly
wriggling
her
shoulders
as
the
song
proceeded
.
Mary
looked
round
the
room
.
It
all
seemed
foolish
enough
;
the
women
with
their
naked
,
yellow
shoulders
,
their
torn
veils
and
faded
flowers
,
the
men
slipping
in
and
out
in
their
neat
frock
coats
,
murmuring
scandal
of
the
very
people
whose
hands
they
had
just
pressed
.
She
could
not
bear
the
house
since
Alison
's
death
.
The
rooms
seemed
noisy
and
yet
empty
without
her
.
It
was
the
same
outwardly
,
for
here
were
the
usual
crowd
,
chattering
,
smiling
,
whispering
,
as
they
passed
in
and
out
.
And
only
she
,
Mary
,
seemed
to
remember
.
Lady
Jane
,
to
be
sure
,
had
been
immersed
in
grief
for
some
months
after
the
death
,
but
the
next
season
she
had
reappeared
in
mauve
and
black
,
and
had
resumed
her
round
of
drums
and
dinners
.
All
that
had
happened
five
years
ago
.
This
was
the
second
niece
that
she
had
successfully
launched
in
society
;
the
first
had
made
an
excellent
match
,
and
Lady
Jane
only
hoped
,
in
confidence
to
all
her
intimate
friends
,
that
Victoria
would
not
think
of
marrying
quite
so
soon
,
for
it
was
charming
,
she
said
—
it
made
her
feel
quite
young
again
—
to
have
a
girl
to
take
out
.
She
never
,
she
complained
,
had
been
able
to
make
her
poor
darling
Alison
take
a
proper
interest
in
society
;
only
an
eccentric
,
intermittent
one
.
And
people
naturally
dislike
that
.
‘Allons
cueillir
les
ro
—
’
urged
the
lady
at
the
piano
,
but
her
voice
,
not
being
very
strong
,
was
inaudible
at
the
end
of
the
song
,
a
termination
which
was
received
thankfully
,
with
a
decent
little
murmur
of
applause
.
‘Dear
Sir
Dunlop
,
’
cried
Lady
Jane
in
her
deep
,
genial
tones
at
the
door
,
‘how
good
of
you
to
find
time
to
drink
a
dish
of
tea
.
Let
me
introduce
to
you
my
niece
Victoria
.
Presented
to-day
,
and
so
devoted
to
society
.
Go
in
,
go
in
,
you
will
find
all
your
pretty
friends
in
there.’
And
the
face
of
the
fashionable
doctor
,
smooth
,
smug
,
successful
,
was
seen
here
and
there
chatting
in
the
crowd
.
If
the
mouth
was
still
hard
,
the
smile
was
more
insinuating
than
ever
.
A
voluptuous
feminine
atmosphere
surrounded
him
as
he
moved
about
,
as
pretty
women
bent
forward
to
whisper
,
meeting
his
eyes
with
an
intimate
look
,
or
laying
detaining
,
half-caressing
fingers
on
his
arm
.
All
of
these
charming
ladies
had
been
,
were
now
,
or
would
be
,
his
patients
.
His
reputation
had
grown
apace
in
the
last
five
years
;
no
one
could
have
the
megrims
in
Belgravia
or
Mayfair
without
consulting
Sir
Dunlop
Strange
.
Reports
of
his
approaching
marriage
were
constantly
circulated
,
but
at
present
,
it
would
seem
,
there
was
a
barrier
in
the
way
;
for
he
was
understood
to
be
devoted
to
Lady
Blaythewaite
.
And
indeed
,
as
he
neared
the
window
where
she
was
still
standing
,
the
circle
of
black
coats
which
surrounded
her
dissolved
,
and
they
stood
practically
alone
,
looking
out
on
the
square
.
The
lady
slowly
turned
her
handsome
,
prominent
eyes
upon
him
,
and
,
with
a
long
gaze
which
took
in
every
detail
of
her
radiant
health
and
beauty
,
he
slipped
his
nervous
,
sinewy
fingers
round
her
wrist
in
the
shadow
of
the
curtain
.
Mary
was
standing
near
the
door
,
trying
to
get
a
breath
of
air
,
when
the
pale
,
town-bred
face
of
Perry
Jackson
was
seen
ascending
the
stair
,
but
she
instinctively
stepped
aside
,
not
knowing
whether
he
would
care
to
speak
to
her
.
She
heard
Lady
Jane
overwhelm
him
with
pretty
phrases
,
for
she
was
proud
of
the
portrait
he
had
painted
of
her
that
year
,
and
adored
a
new
celebrity
;
but
Perry
Jackson
did
not
come
near
Mary
,
and
it
was
with
a
somewhat
forced
smile
that
he
returned
her
greeting
.
‘I
have
lost
my
kind
little
friend
,
’
she
said
to
herself
with
a
certain
bitterness
.
And
then
,
as
Vincent
Hemming
appeared
in
the
crowd
,
she
said
to
herself
with
the
inconsistency
of
a
woman
,
‘Here
,
at
any
rate
,
is
some
one
who
cares
for
me
still
—
a
little
bit.’
The
face
of
Vincent
Hemming
was
that
of
an
irritated
,
disappointed
man
.
He
was
,
however
,
as
perfectly
dressed
,
as
elaborately
suave
as
of
old
,
as
he
stopped
to
speak
to
several
dowagers
on
his
way
upstairs
.
It
was
always
half
a
pleasure
,
half
a
pain
to
her
to
meet
him
,
and
there
were
times
when
she
felt
that
the
acquiescent
feminine
smile
was
a
little
forced
as
she
talked
to
him
at
some
crowded
party
,
or
called
on
his
wife
at
Queen
's
Gate
.
Hemming
had
made
but
a
brief
appearance
in
the
House
of
Commons
,
for
he
had
been
unseated
almost
immediately
—
his
agents
,
it
would
seem
,
not
having
been
discreet
in
the
matter
of
beer
;
and
he
had
had
no
opportunity
of
entering
the
House
since
.
Meanwhile
,
Mrs.
Vincent
Hemming
had
not
made
herself
popular
in
London
society
,
and
her
husband
had
always
a
somewhat
uneasy
air
when
she
was
in
the
same
room
.
Lady
Jane
Ives
,
for
one
,
openly
snubbed
her
,
and
Vincent
had
arrived
at
that
stage
in
an
unsuccessful
marriage
when
a
husband
is
not
offended
at
being
asked
out
to
dinner
without
his
wife
.
To
any
other
woman
but
Mary
the
thing
would
have
been
a
personal
triumph
.
‘Here
is
that
poor
Mr.
Hemming
that
you
threw
over
,
’
whispered
Lady
Jane
to
Mary
;
‘I
did
not
ask
his
impossible
wife
.
I
do
n't
know
how
a
man
with
such
delightful
cultured
tastes
could
marry
such
a
person
.
If
it
had
only
been
an
American
,
now
!
An
American
or
an
Australian
—
then
nobody
would
have
minded
what
she
said
or
did.’
And
in
a
few
minutes
Mary
found
herself
talking
,
in
a
conventional
voice
,
of
the
rain
and
the
fine
weather
,
of
politics
and
the
park
,
with
the
man
who
had
once
been
so
much
to
her
.
Sometimes
,
indeed
,
as
he
took
her
down
to
supper
,
or
handed
her
a
cup
of
tea
,
with
his
little
formal
manner
,
she
wondered
how
,
in
those
past
years
,
he
had
been
able
to
make
her
suffer
so
.
But
Mary
was
beginning
to
understand
that
women
love
most
of
all
the
men
who
have
done
them
an
irreparable
wrong
.
His
face
looked
grey
and
tired
,
and
it
was
with
a
visible
effort
that
he
found
phrases
suitable
to
be
overheard
by
the
nodding
plumes
,
the
bare
shoulders
,
and
the
limp
nosegays
around
.
‘You
look
tired
;
are
you
ill
?
’
she
said
suddenly
,
in
her
old
sweet
manner
.
For
a
moment
Mary
had
forgotten
.
‘No
;
it
is
nothing
.
I
am
a
little
out
of
sorts
I
think
,
’
he
said
,
avoiding
her
eyes
.
Then
he
added
,
after
a
pause
,
looking
straight
at
the
carpet
,
‘You
do
n't
know
,
you
ca
n't
conceive
,
what
worries
I
have
!
’
She
said
nothing
;
there
was
nothing
she
could
say
.
But
he
looked
miserable
,
and
all
her
tender
,
womanly
little
heart
rushed
out
to
him
.
‘May
n't
I
get
you
a
cup
of
tea
?
’
he
said
suddenly
,
offering
her
his
arm
,
and
turning
with
an
abrupt
movement
towards
the
door
.
Downstairs
,
there
was
the
usual
struggle
for
a
cup
,
a
sugar-basin
,
a
spoon
.
‘Why
may
n't
I
come
and
see
you
sometimes
,
Mary
?
’
he
said
,
in
his
voice
which
meant
so
much
more
than
the
mere
words
.
‘Oh
,
Vincent
!
You
've
put
cream
in
my
tea
,
and
I
ca
n't
bear
it
,
’
said
Mary
,
with
a
comical
little
frown
.
‘I
'm
so
sorry
,
and
you
do
n't
like
sugar
either
.
How
could
I
have
forgotten
it
?
’
said
Hemming
,
wafting
it
away
in
his
grand
manner
.
‘But
Mary
,
’
he
continued
,
when
he
