whomshe
loathed
,
and
whom
it
was
an
outrage
to
live
with
,
simply
because
she
could
n't
do
her
own
hair
.
I
'm
going
to
get
our
cook
at
Ives
Court
to
teach
me
how
to
broil
a
mutton-chop
,
though
,
I
daresay
,
she
's
too
grand
for
that
;
and
I
shall
go
and
watch
the
laundry-maid
at
her
work.’
‘And
your
hands
,
you
lunatic
?
’
Mary
had
exclaimed
.
‘I
think
I
see
you
with
red
knuckles.’
‘Oh
,
’
said
Alison
,
laughing
,
‘I
shall
tell
that
little
manicure
just
out
of
Bond
Street
to
come
twice
a
week
.
There
's
that
new
stuff
,
“
Eau
des
Orchidées
”
;
it
's
wonderful
.
Do
n't
imagine
I
'm
going
to
give
up
the
only
old-fashioned
quality
we
modern
women
have
got
—
our
vanity
.
It
's
the
only
thing
that
makes
us
still
bearable.’
This
was
the
young
woman
who
was
shown
into
the
study
by
Elizabeth
one
morning
a
few
days
after
the
funeral
at
Highgate
.
Mary
was
bending
over
a
desk
,
busy
with
her
father
's
proofs
,
when
she
came
in
.
The
elder
girl
's
beautiful
brown
eyes
were
suspiciously
shiny
;
it
had
evidently
cost
her
an
effort
to
come
into
the
study
which
she
knew
so
well
.
The
two
girls
wrung
each
other
's
hands
silently
.
But
after
the
first
kiss
,
in
which
she
said
everything
that
she
dared
not
put
in
words
,
Alison
,
with
her
ready
tact
,
began
talking
business
at
once
.
The
younger
girl
announced
her
plans
frankly
.
There
was
just
enough
money
for
her
to
live
meagrely
,
quietly
on
for
the
next
few
years
,
while
she
tried
her
luck
at
art
.
Mary
had
always
meant
to
paint
some
day
,
when
her
time
should
be
at
her
own
disposal
.
To
paint
was
a
long-cherished
ambition
,
mused
over
on
drowsy
afternoons
in
the
reading-room
of
the
British
Museum
,
nursed
during
the
days
when
she
had
remained
bending
over
a
desk
in
her
father
's
study
,
patiently
inscribing
what
the
professor
dictated
as
he
walked
up
and
down
the
little
room
.
As
for
Jimmie
,
he
was
to
remain
at
Winchester
,
and
,
if
he
could
succeed
in
winning
a
scholarship
,
was
to
go
to
Oxford
,
as
the
father
had
wished
.
By
living
carefully
this
could
be
managed
.
‘No
woman
ever
made
a
great
artist
yet
,
’
said
Alison
,
after
a
pause
,
‘but
,
if
you
do
n't
mind
being
third-rate
,
of
course
go
in
and
try
.
I
suppose
it
'll
mean
South
Kensington
,
the
Royal
Academy
,
and
then
—
portraits
of
babies
in
pastel
or
cottage
gardens
for
the
rest
of
your
life.’
‘Oh
,
don't.’
‘Never
mind
,
my
dear
girl
.
You
must
work
at
something
.
Try
the
British
Art
School
.
Has
Vincent
Hemming
been
?
’
she
added
,
rather
inconsequently
.
‘Oh
,
yes
,
he
has
called
.
Two
or
three
times
,
Elizabeth
says
,
but
I
have
n't
seen
any
one
,
’
said
Mary
,
remembering
,
with
a
little
shudder
,
the
inquisitive
voices
at
the
door
.
‘I
do
n't
see
why
,
’
said
Alison
,
thoughtfully
,
‘you
should
n't
take
a
flat
in
the
same
building
with
me
.
Of
course
,
there
are
little
drawbacks
.
The
ladies
use
a
limited
,
if
somewhat
virulent
vocabulary
,
and
now
and
again
one
has
to
step
over
an
elderly
gentleman
who
lives
just
below
,
and
who
comes
home
tired
,
and
sometimes
goes
to
sleep
on
the
stairs
.
But
one
gets
accustomed
to
that.’
‘I
think
on
the
whole
,
’
said
Mary
,
smiling
,
‘I
'll
take
some
rooms
near
.
There
are
some
furnished
rooms
in
Bulstrode
Street
,
kept
by
an
old
servant
of
ours
.
I
've
got
to
think
of
Jimmie
and
his
holidays
,
you
see.’
‘Where
is
the
boy
,
by
the
by
?
’
‘Oh
,
poor
Jimmie
,
I
let
him
go
—
the
day
—
the
day
after
.
He
was
very
good
;
he
said
that
nothing
would
induce
him
to
leave
me
,
and
sat
,
poor
boy
,
for
at
least
an
hour
with
his
arms
round
my
neck
,
crying
.
Then
another
note
came
from
Smith
minor
—
the
boy
who
keeps
so
many
lop-eared
rabbits
,
you
remember
—
asking
him
to
go
and
spend
a
week
with
them
in
the
country.’
‘And
then
?
’
said
Alison
quickly
.
‘Ah
!
I
can
see
Jimmie
saying
he
should
n't
dream
of
going
,
and
then
wandering
round
the
room
,
asking
if
you
were
not
perhaps
going
out
of
town
yourself
.
And
about
seven
o'clock
an
epistle
was
indited
to
say
that
he
would
be
very
pleased
to
go
,
and
the
next
morning
Jimmie
went
off
in
a
four-wheel
cab
,
looking
quite
cheerful.’
Mary
smiled
in
spite
of
herself
.
‘Poor
boy
,
’
she
said
softly
,
in
an
extenuating
voice
,
‘he
ca
n't
bear
anything
sad
!
’
‘So
much
,
’
said
Alison
after
a
pause
,
‘for
brothers.’
‘We
've
got
,
’
answered
the
other
,
‘fortunately
or
unfortunately
,
to
depend
upon
ourselves
in
all
the
crises
of
life
.
I
've
got
lots
to
do
;
lawyers
to
see
,
these
proofs
to
correct
,
and
to
make
arrangements
for
my
own
future.’
‘Only
that
?
She
refuses
herself
nothing
,
’
said
Alison
.
‘I
am
modestly
contented
with
arranging
for
Evelina
's
future
.
Evelina
is
my
last
girl
.
As
for
my
own
,
I
leave
it
to
Providence.’
‘You
can
afford
to
,
’
replied
Mary
,
‘but
we
have
it
on
the
authority
of
a
proverb
that
Heaven
is
not
above
taking
assistance
from
mortals
in
this
respect.’
‘My
dear
,
you
should
never
say
cynical
things
;
you
'll
find
you
will
so
often
be
obliged
to
do
them
!
But
I
want
to
tell
you
about
Evelina
,
’
she
went
on
nervously
,
afraid
every
minute
that
one
or
other
of
them
might
break
down
.
‘Evelina
is
my
new
girl
,
’
she
continued
,
settling
down
on
the
fender-stool
.
‘Her
name
is
actually
Evelina
—
is
n't
it
preposterous
?
I
should
like
to
call
her
Polly
,
only
I
do
n't
believe
in
changing
poor
people
's
names
to
suit
your
own
fancy
,
as
if
they
were
cats
or
canaries
.
Well
,
Evelina
's
baby
—
’
‘Oh
,
there
is
a
baby
?
’
‘Why
,
of
course
.
A
poor
waxen
little
thing
that
screams
all
day
long
.
I
've
put
it
out
to
nurse
in
a
crêche
that
a
friend
of
mine
has
started
in
Kentish
Town
.
And
now
I
'm
trying
to
cultivate
a
sense
of
humour
in
Evelina.’
‘It
will
be
difficult
,
wo
n't
it
?
’
said
Mary
,
trying
hard
to
take
an
interest
.
‘Never
mind
.
It
's
what
women
ought
to
cultivate
above
all
other
things
,
especially
the
poorer
classes
.
With
a
keen
sense
of
the
ridiculous
,
they
would
never
fall
in
love
at
all
;
and
as
to
improvident
marriages
,
they
simply
would
n't
exist
.
If
you
could
see
the
baby
's
father
!
—
a
pudding-faced
boy
,
who
helps
in
a
tiny
cheesemonger
's
shop
down
there
.
She
“
walked
out
”
with
him
for
two
years
.
He
is
now
nearly
nineteen
.
It
is
all
very
well
to
smile
,
but
it
is
terrible
—
for
the
woman
.
In
the
evening
,
when
she
has
done
her
work
,
she
lights
the
lamp
in
my
little
sitting-room
(
everything
thing
is
quite
simple
,
you
know
;
only
I
've
got
a
few
books
,
and
the
tiny
Corot
from
my
den
at
Ives
Court
,
and
the
Rossetti
drawings
)
,
and
then
I
read
aloud
while
she
knits
.
I
read
comic
things
—
Dickens
,
Mark
Twain
,
and
so
on
;
and
when
the
poor
girl
laughs
,
I
feel
that
I
have
scored
.
She
is
n't
much
more
than
a
child
,
you
know
,
and
she
has
such
a
good
heart
.
I
think
she
likes
to
talk
to
me
:
she
tells
me
her
little
story.’
‘A
story
,
’
repeated
Mary
;
‘she
has
a
story
,
then
?
’
‘Oh
!
a
common
one
enough
down
there
,
’
answered
Alison
.
‘She
drifted
into
the
East-end
from
Essex
,
about
three
years
ago
,
and
became
a
drudge-of-all-work
in
a
family
of
ten
,
in
the
Mile
End
Road
.
Her
master
was
pleased
to
make
love
to
her
when
his
wife
and
the
eight
children
had
gone
for
the
day
to
South-end
;
Evelina
ran
out
of
the
house
,
leaving
her
box
behind
,
and
never
dared
to
go
back
.
Mary
,
these
London
idylls
are
not
pretty
.
She
is
,
however
,
beginning
to
show
a
faint
sense
of
the
ridiculous
.
I
believe
I
shall
make
a
sensible
person
of
Evelina.’
Mary
raised
her
head
,
for
she
had
been
listening
mechanically
,
with
her
eyes
fixed
on
the
ink-spots
on
her
father
's
desk
,
the
desk
on
which
his
hand
had
so
often
rested
.
But
it
was
impossible
not
to
feel
cheered
by
Alison
's
whimsical
yet
energetic
personality
.
She
looked
so
bright
,
so
alert
,
so
capable
,
as
she
stood
there
,
in
her
pretty
black
gown
and
her
rakish
hat
,
a
little
askew
with
the
wind
.
‘By
the
by
,
did
I
tell
you
the
adventure
I
had
on
my
visit
to
the
Blaythewaites
?
My
dear
,
it
was
only
by
the
intervention
of
Providence
that
I
did
n't
have
to
dine
the
first
night
in
my
tailor-gown
.
Of
course
,
I
went
down
third-class
—
’
‘That
's
because
you
are
saving
for
Evelina
's
baby
,
I
suppose
,
’
interrupted
Mary
.
‘And
so
,
’
went
on
Alison
,
taking
no
notice
of
the
interruption
,
‘the
footman
never
thought
of
looking
for
me
there
.
They
all
drove
off
without
me
,
and
my
basket
trunk
,
with
my
favourite
white
gown
in
it
,
got
taken
off
with
some
other
people
to
another
place
about
five
miles
off
.
However
,
it
was
got
back
in
time
,
and
when
I
told
my
little
story
at
dinner
to
Sir
Horace
,
he
was
immensely
amused
,
though
I
'm
sure
Lady
Blaythewaite
thought
I
was
graduating
for
a
lunatic
asylum
.
People
who
do
n't
know
me
well
always
do.’
‘Did
you
tell
Sir
Horace
Blaythewaite
about
the
workman
's
flat
—
and
Evelina
?
’
said
Mary
,
laughing
.
Alison
was
already
at
the
door
,
tying
on
her
hat
firmly
.
‘You
know
I
never
talk
about
that
,
’
she
said
,
flushing
up
.
‘Why
it
would
look
like
a
pose
—
as
if
I
thought
myself
better
than
other
people
.
And
I
could
n't
bear
any
one
to
say
that
I
had
‘taken
up
slumming.’
You
know
how
I
detest
the
whole
attitude
of
the
upper
and
middle
classes
towards
the
poor
.
Lifting
the
lids
of
people
's
saucepans
and
routing
under
their
beds
for
fluff
is
simply
impertinence
.
Why
,
district
visiting
is
nothing
less
than
a
gross
breach
of
manners
—
a
little
worse
than
electioneering
,
if
that
's
possible
.
I
'm
just
going
up
,
’
she
said
,
giving
a
rakish
twist
to
her
velvet
hat-strings
,
‘to
the
crêche
in
Kentish
Town
to
see
Evelina
's
baby
.
I
'm
going
on
the
top
of
one
of
those
charming
trams
.
I
told
Worth
when
I
was
in
Paris
that
I
always
went
on
the
tops
of
omnibuses
,
and
he
designed
me
this
little
frock
on
purpose
.
It
's
pretty
,
is
n't
it
,
but
a
little
too
ingénue
for
me
?
It
smacks
of
the
Comédie
Française
.
I
think
I
see
Reichemberg
in
it
,
’
said
Alison
doubtfully
,
smoothing
down
the
folds
of
her
loose
bodice
.
‘Now
,
you
've
got
to
promise
to
come
and
dine
with
me
and
mother
in
Portman
Square
;
we
shall
have
the
house
to
ourselves
.
Good-bye
.
Eight
o'clock.’
‘Nonsense
!
It
's
very
sweet
of
you
,
but
I
ca
n't
possibly
go
,
’
cried
Mary
down
the
passage
.
In
another
instant
she
was
gone
,
and
the
house
seemed
blank
and
empty
again
.
But
trying
not
to
think
of
her
sorrow
,
Mary
went
steadily
on
with
the
proofs
.
CHAPTER
V
MARY
'S
LOVER
MR.
VINCENT
HEMMING
was
looked
upon
by
the
professor
,
by
Jimmie
,
by
the
servants
,
and
indeed
by
everyone
except
Mary
herself
,
as
her
especial
property
.
He
was
,
in
fact
,
one
of
the
few
intimate
visitors
who
came
when
he
liked
to
the
Harley
Street
house
.
He
had
become
part
of
her
grown-up
life
,
having
first
appeared
about
a
year
after
that
Sunday
night
parting
,
when
the
world
had
seemed
very
empty
indeed
.
His
little
air
of
deference
was
eminently
attractive
to
a
young
girl
,
who
fancied
that
she
had
done
for
ever
with
emotion
.
As
for
Jimmie
,
he
adored
Vincent
,
though
Jimmie
generally
adored
new
acquaintances
—
for
the
space
of
about
six
weeks
.
Hemming
's
father
had
been
a
politician
of
some
note
,
who
had
twice
held
office
,
and
Vincent
had
pre-eminently
the
manners
of
one
burdened
with
state
secrets
.
His
little
reserves
,
a
certain
air
of
caution
,
of
discretion
,
all
belonged
to
those
early
experiences
when
his
father
was
alive
.
To
be
sure
,
he
had
charming
,
rather
old-fashioned
manners
,
affected
the
speech
of
the
mid-century
,
and
was
carried
away
by
few
of
the
modern
crazes
or
fads
.
A
well-shaped
forehead
—
of
the
showily
intellectual
type
—
wavy
hair
,
already
threaded
with
grey
,
a
short
,
pointed
beard
,
and
eyes
of
an
innocent
,
penetrating
brown
,
made
up
a
personality
which
appealed
at
once
to
dowagers
and
young
girls
.
At
table
he
looked
very
well
,
although
his
shoulders
were
inclined
to
slope
slightly
,
but
when
he
stood
up
you
saw
that
he
had
not
the
eminently
British
habit
of
planting
himself
firmly
,
squarely
,
and
self-assertively
on
his
feet
.
For
the
rest
,
he
had
a
small
property
which
brought
him
in
about
three
hundred
a
year
,
and
though
already
grey
,
was
still
spoken
of
by
his
elders
as
a
‘promising
young
man.’
Though
a
Conservative
,
he
believed
in
the
higher
education
,
even
the
enfranchisement
of
women
.
It
was
a
subject
on
which
he
was
persuasively
eloquent
.
It
was
quite
pretty
,
ladies
always
thought
,
to
hear
him
talk
of
his
dreams
,
his
sacrifices
,
and
an
occasional
article
which
he
succeeded
in
getting
inserted
on
his
favourite
subject
in
the
Fortnightly
or
the
Contemporary
was
laboriously
written
in
studied
English
,
and
with
a
persuasive
pen
.
He
had
a
great
deal
to
say
on
the
future
of
the
race
,
and
on
the
necessity
of
maintaining
a
high
ethical
standard
,
and
he
always
waxed
exceedingly
wroth
over
the
literary
excesses
of
MM
.
Zola
and
de
Goncourt
,
and
thanked
heaven
,
so
to
speak
,
that
those
eminent
pioneers
of
Realism
did
not
belong
to
the
Anglo-Saxon
family
.
‘We
are
passing
,
’
he
announced
one
day
,
when
he
was
calling
on
Lady
Jane
Ives
,
‘through
one
of
the
reconstructive
periods
of
the
world
's
history
.
Art
,
under
such
conditions
,
is
necessarily
tentative
,
rarely
complete.’
‘Yes
,
’
said
Alison
,
dryly
,
‘and
building
,
you
see
,
always
makes
a
mess
.
The
smoking
lime
,
the
dirty
puddles
,
the
unpleasant
odour
of
baking
bricks
are
inevitable.’
But
Lady
Jane
,
who
had
knocked
about
the
most
depraved
society
in
Europe
for
half
a
century
,
and
who
clung
with
amiable
tenacity
to
her
illusions
,
always
agreed
with
Mr.
Hemming
.
Lady
Jane
,
who
was
a
judge
of
such
things
,
said
that
he
was
one
of
the
few
modern
young
men
whom
she
could
endure
in
her
drawing-room
for
more
than
twenty
minutes
.
A
day
or
two
after
Alison
's
visit
,
Mr.
Vincent
Hemming
appeared
,
looking
charmingly
correct
and
sympathetic
,
in
a
black-and-white
spotted
tie
and
a
band
round
his
hat
.
He
had
gauged
to
a
nicety
his
degree
of
intimacy
with
the
great
man
who
was
gone
.
It
was
a
day
when
outlines
were
clearly
cut
,
and
colours
glaring
;
everything
looked
crisp
,
hard
,
decided
,
inevitable
.
The
rooms
wore
the
unsettled
,
desolate
look
of
a
house
that
is
soon
to
be
empty
.
One
or
two
favourite
pictures
had
already
been
lifted
down
from
off
the
wall
,
leaving
a
patch
of
clean
paper
visible
;
one
bookcase
was
already
a
dark
void
,
the
volumes
were
piled
on
the
floor
ready
to
be
packed
.
Most
of
the
library
was
to
be
sold
,
and
Mary
now
stood
on
a
ladder
,
running
a
regretful
eye
along
the
next
case
of
beloved
volumes
,
when
Vincent
Hemming
came
in
.
‘My
poor
child
,
’
he
said
,
in
his
sympathetic
voice
,
‘why
would
n't
you
let
me
see
you
before
?
’
‘I
've
been
very
busy
,
’
said
Mary
,
getting
down
from
the
ladder
,
and
putting
out
a
dusty
hand
.
‘There
was
so
much
to
do
.
Father
's
lawyer
has
been
here
constantly
,
and
everybody
has
been
very
kind
.
I
had
to
think
of
everything
,
you
see
—
of
Jimmie
,
and
all
that.’
‘What
are
you
going
to
do
?
’
he
asked
,
after
a
little
pause
,
during
which
his
eye
had
travelled
round
the
dismantled
walls
,
and
the
cavernous
shelves
of
the
once
cosy
drawing-room
.
‘Of
course
,
we
ca
n't
stay
in
this
big
house
,
’
she
explained
;
‘I
've
taken
some
lodgings
in
Bulstrode
Street
,
near
the
Central
London
School
of
Art.’
‘By
yourself
,
my
dear
child
?
’
‘I
suppose
so
,
for
the
present
,
’
she
answered
,
knocking
two
volumes
together
in
a
determined
manner
to
get
the
dust
from
the
edges
.
Her
mouth
had
got
those
little
obstinate
tucks
at
the
corners
now
,
which
he
knew
so
well
.
‘Aunt
Julia
—
mother
's
sister
,
you
know
—
has
written
offering
me
a
home
.
She
is
very
High
Church
,
and
lives
at
Bournemouth
in
one
of
those
dreadful
little
gabled
villas.’
‘And
,
of
course
,
you
prefer
an
artistic
life
in
London
,
’
he
was
relieved
,
distinctly
relieved
,
when
Mary
announced
her
intention
of
adopting
art
as
a
profession
.
Painting
,
especially
in
watercolours
,
he
considered
an
eminently
lady-like
occupation
;
it
was
,
indeed
,
associated
in
his
imagination
with
certain
drawings
of
Welsh
mountains
and
torrents
,
executed
by
his
mother
with
the
prim
technique
of
the
forties
,
which
now
adorned
his
chambers
in
the
Temple
.
‘That
's
so
brave
—
and
so
like
you
,
’
said
Vincent
,
as
his
eye
wandered
round
the
room
again
.
The
tone
of
his
voice
was
vague
:
he
was
evidently
considering
something
which
took
up
all
his
attention
.
‘It
is
n't
brave
at
all
,
’
she
said
,
simply
.
‘It
's
an
absolute
physical
necessity
.
I
should
go
mad
if
I
sat
down
to
think
.
It
all
seems
so
cruel
,
so
terrible
,
so
unjust
.
He
was
only
fifty-three
,
and
there
was
so
much
work
for
him
still
to
do
.
He
used
to
say
that
an
ordinary
long
life
could
not
suffice
—
’
‘The
death
of
Professor
Erle
is
a
national
disaster
,
’
replied
Vincent
,
‘and
is
not
to
be
gauged
all
at
once.’
There
was
a
long
silence
,
during
which
all
that
this
loss
meant
to
each
of
these
two
passed
through
their
minds
.
They
had
moved
to
the
window
now
,
through
which
a
light
breeze
fluttered
in
.
The
tall
,
brownish-grey
houses
were
spruced
up
for
the
season
with
clean
blinds
and
boxes
of
daisies
and
spiraea
.
A
couple
of
blonde
girls
in
pink
cotton
made
a
gay
splash
of
colour
against
the
grey-toned
street
as
they
walked
buoyantly
along
.
A
hansom
was
drawing
up
at
the
pale-green
door
yonder
,
and
out
of
it
sprang
a
young
man
in
a
glossy
hat
,
a
gardenia
,
and
patent-leather
boots
.
Just
opposite
some
workmen
were
stretching
a
red-and-white
awning
for
an
evening
party
.
The
outward
aspect
of
affairs
was
unchanged
.
‘I
feel
,
’
said
Mary
,
gazing
at
the
striped
awning
,
which
the
men
had
now
succeeded
in
propping
,
‘as
if
I
had
done
with
that
world
for
always
.
And
now
I
want
to
do
something
,
to
live
.
Oh
,
Mr.
Hemming
,
’
she
added
,
with
one
of
her
comic
little
frowns
,
‘I
do
n't
want
to
be
a
“
young
lady
”
!
Do
you
really
think
that
,
because
I
am
a
woman
,
I
must
sit
by
,
and
fold
my
hands
,
and
wait
?
’
‘You
are
very
modern
in
one
thing
,
dear
child
;
you
have
the
modern
craze
for
work.’
‘It
probably
saves
some
of
us
from
the
mad-house.’
‘Ah
,
but
you
will
marry
one
of
these
days
,
and
then
where
will
your
work
be
?
’
replied
Vincent
,
smiling
a
little
fatuously
.
Mary
turned
from
the
window
abruptly
.
‘Let
us
go
carefully
over
the
books
,
’
she
said
,
with
a
brusqueness
which
she
sometimes
affected
.
‘Help
me
to
choose
,
’
she
continued
,
mounting
the
steps
,
and
beginning
to
hand
down
the
volumes
.
‘I
want
that
Lamb
and
the
Heine
,
the
Goethe
and
the
Jean
Paul
Richter
.
Here
,
catch
the
Phædo
,
and
put
it
with
the
Marcus
Aurelius
and
that
little
Epictetus
over
there
on
the
cabinet.’
‘My
poor
child
,
you
will
no
doubt
require
such
consolation
as
the
philosophers
can
afford
,
’
said
Vincent
Hemming
,
in
his
old-fashioned
way
.
‘Here
's
Pippa
Passes
,
and
Musset
's
Proverbes
,
and
my
special
Shelley
,
and
the
Anatomy
of
Melancholy
.
Yes
,
yes
,
all
those.’
Some
colour
had
come
into
the
girl
's
cheeks
as
she
sat
on
the
top
of
the
ladder
and
dropped
the
books
into
his
arms
,
covering
him
,
as
she
did
so
,
with
a
light
cloud
of
dust
;
but
she
looked
pathetically
delicate
in
her
close-fitting
,
sombre
gown
,
which
threw
up
the
pallor
of
her
throat
,
the
mauvish
tinge
of
her
lips
,
the
dark
rings
round
her
eyes
.
Vincent
Hemming
,
whatever
he
had
meant
to
do
when
he
entered
the
dismantled
drawing-room
,
was
fairly
carried
away
by
the
spectacle
of
Mary
's
childish
face
and
busy
,
nervous
little
hands
re-arranging
her
destiny
in
her
own
decided
fashion
.
It
touched
him
,
and
,
at
the
same
time
,
irritated
him
,
producing
the
feeling
that
,
as
a
man
,
he
was
bound
to
interfere
.
One
step
nearer
now
,
and
the
course
of
a
lifetime
would
be
changed
.
‘Mary
,
dear
child
,
’
he
said
suddenly
,
in
an
imploring
tone
,
while
they
were
both
startled
by
the
emotion
in
his
voice
,
‘do
you
think
you
could
—
care
for
me
a
little
?
’
The
girl
turned
to
look
at
him
.
His
penetrating
brown
eyes
were
actually
suffused
with
tears
;
a
nerve
was
ticking
visibly
in
his
forehead
.
It
all
seemed
far-off
,
improbable
,
impossible
.
Vincent
Hemming
,
her
old
friend
,
had
turned
into
this
imploring
,
visibly-suffering
man
.
Mary
burst
into
an
hysterical
little
laugh
.
‘But
you
—
you
do
n't
care
for
me
,
do
you
?
You
're
only
saying
that
because
you
think
I
'm
lonely
—
that
I
want
some
one
to
take
care
of
me
—
are
n't
you
?
’
she
asked
hurriedly
.
‘Why
,
we
've
known
each
other
so
long
,
’
she
added
,
seeing
that
he
was
still
silent
.
He
had
flipped
the
dust
from
his
face
and
coat
with
easy
tact
,
and
stood
,
smiling
up
at
her
,
close
by
her
side
.
‘I
do
n't
know
,
’
continued
the
girl
,
doubtfully
,
slowly
twisting
one
of
the
buttons
of
his
frock
coat
.
She
had
come
down
several
steps
of
the
ladder
,
so
that
her
eyes
were
on
a
level
with
his
.
The
nerve
no
longer
ticked
in
his
forehead
;
the
muscles
of
his
mouth
relaxed
;
there
was
already
something
of
triumph
in
his
look
.
‘Do
n't
smile
,
dear
,
’
she
said
,
very
gravely
.
‘I
ca
n't
bear
you
to
look
at
me
like
that
.
Do
you
—
really
—
want
me
?
’
‘Dear
heart
,
I
have
always
wanted
you
,
’
said
a
changed
,
thick
voice
in
her
ear
,
and
in
the
next
instant
two
arms
encircled
her
,
and
two
lips
were
crushed
against
hers
.
For
the
first
minute
a
consciousness
of
sorrow
overwhelmed
her
.
For
good
,
for
evil
,
the
girl
knew
that
she
was
giving
herself
up
to
this
man
,
whom
a
minute
ago
she
had
looked
upon
with
the
cool
eye
and
discriminating
judgment
of
mere
friendship
.
All
the
tragic
potentialities
of
a
woman
's
life
,
the
uncertainties
and
sorrows
of
her
who
gives
her
happiness
into
another
's
keeping
,
flashed
before
her
...
.
Why
,
why
must
it
be
?
Only
a
minute
ago
,
and
she
had
been
ready
to
face
the
world
alone
,
to
be
herself
,
to
express
herself
,
to
work
out
her
own
destiny
.
And
now
it
was
all
changed
.
Something
held
her
against
her
will
.
This
man
—
a
minute
ago
her
friend
,
and
now
,
in
this
infinitesimal
atom
of
time
,
her
lover
,
who
stood
before
her
with
red
,
flushed
face
,
and
looked
with
longing
eyes
into
hers
:
this
man
had
already
communicated
his
trouble
to
her
.
His
hands
,
which
held
her
two
wrists
as
they
stood
there
gazing
at
each
other
,
felt
like
links
of
iron
.
In
that
one
supreme
moment
,
Mary
Erle
tasted
for
the
first
time
,
in
all
its
intensity
,
the
helplessness
of
woman
,
the
inborn
feeling
of
subjection
to
a
stronger
will
,
inherited
through
generations
of
submissive
feminine
intelligences
.
‘I
ca
n't
,
oh
,
I
ca
n't
,
’
she
said
.
‘Do
n't
ask
me
now
.
You
do
n't
—
you
ca
n't
understand
how
I
feel
.
And
I
do
n't
know
you
like
that
.
I
've
always
thought
of
you
as
a
friend
,
’
she
protested
,
drawing
herself
away
,
with
her
fine
smile
.
‘Besides
,
it
's
dreadful
to
be
—
love-making
—
when
father
—
’
‘I
do
n't
ask
you
to
think
of
it
just
now
,
my
darling
,
’
said
Vincent
.
‘I
—
I
—
the
fact
is
,
I
have
much
to
do
,
and
many
plans
ahead
myself
.
I
—
I
have
n't
the
right
to
tie
you
definitely
,
Mary
.
I
am
thinking
seriously
of
taking
that
trip
to
India
and
Australia
,
of
which
I
told
you.’
‘You
're
—
going
—
away
?
’
she
asked
,
blankly
.
Already
the
inexorable
chain
which
nature
forges
bound
her
to
this
man
.
‘Yes
,
to
collect
materials
for
my
book
on
the
Woman
Question
.
I
might
come
home
by
way
of
Canada
,
and
if
so
,
the
thing
would
take
me
the
best
part
of
a
year
.
Then
,
when
I
come
home
,
I
shall
have
my
book
to
do
;
and
I
hope
,
if
the
present
Government
keeps
in
,
to
get
a
legal
appointment
.
So
you
see
,
little
one
,
you
will
have
ample
time
to
think
about
it
,
as
well
as
to
perfect
your
artistic
studies
,
’
he
added
,
with
a
touch
of
his
old-fashioned
manner
.
He
was
sitting
down
on
the
sofa
now
,
and
looked
already
his
quiet
,
well-bred
,
rather
deferential
self
again
.
An
hour
later
Vincent
got
up
,
reluctantly
,
to
go
.
‘I
have
to
dine
with
a
member
of
the
Government
at
a
quarter
to
eight
,
’
he
explained
,
‘My
new
article
must
be
finished
before
I
start
,
and
I
'm
thinking
of
starting
quite
soon.’
‘Are
you
?
’
said
Mary
,
sorrowfully
,
turning
to
the
window
and
gazing
down
the
street
.
It
was
all
so
different
now
.
She
belonged
to
this
man
who
was
going
away
.
Why
had
he
spoken
?
Could
it
not
be
as
it
was
?
...
A
few
yards
off
a
piano-organ
was
rattling
out
a
cheap
German
valse
.
The
sun
was
off
the
houses
now
,
and
the
street
wore
its
familiar
,
dingy
look
.
Vincent
searched
among
the
disarranged
furniture
and
the
piles
of
books
for
his
hat
.
Mary
followed
him
to
the
door
.
She
wanted
to
say
something
nice
,
but
she
could
think
of
nothing
.
Just
at
parting
,
he
took
her
in
his
arms
again
,
and
brushed
her
downcast
lids
with
his
lips
.
During
that
embrace
,
she
thought
of
nothing
,
except
that
she
was
sure
that
she
had
always
cared
for
him
.
‘Dear
,
’
he
muttered
,
‘I
'm
afraid
that
if
I
go
away
I
shall
leave
the
best
part
of
myself
with
you.’
When
he
had
gone
,
she
stooped
about
again
among
the
rows
of
books
,
sorting
them
mechanically
,
without
thinking
much
what
she
was
doing
.
Little
clouds
of
dust
rose
in
the
twilight
room
.
The
tall
,
grim
houses
shut
out
all
that
remained
of
a
daffodil-tinted
sky
.
Tired
and
unstrung
,
the
girl
threw
herself
on
to
the
sofa
where
she
and
Vincent
Hemming
had
sat
,
and
presently
,
to
her
surprise
,
she
was
conscious
that
two
large
,
salt
tears
were
coursing
their
way
down
her
dusty
cheeks
.
CHAPTER
VI
THE
CENTRAL
LONDON
SCHOOL
OF
ART
THE
Central
London
School
of
Art
,
though
backed
by
all
the
majesty
of
State
support
,
was
,
at
the
first
blush
,
a
somewhat
disillusionising
place
to
the
youthful
aspirant
for
fame
.
To
the
over-nice
,
to
be
sure
,
it
lacked
an
art
‘atmosphere
,
’
except
such
a
material
one
as
is
generated
by
ancient
paint-tubes
,
oily
rags
,
furtively-munched
sandwiches
,
and
the
presence
of
a
preponderance
of
people
to
whom
the
daily
tub
is
possibly
not
of
vital
importance
.
Outwardly
,
the
Art
School
was
only
No.
55
,
in
a
dreary
by-street
near
Portland
Road
;
a
small
thoroughfare
of
sinister
aspect
,
in
which
the
houses
seemed
to
be
frowning
at
each
other
's
dubious
appearance
.
The
white
blinds
—
now
grey
with
age
and
dirt
—
seemed
always
drawn
;
no
one
ever
seemed
to
emerge
from
those
faded
,
bespattered
front
doors
.
It
was
a
dreary
,
mysterious
street
,
of
which
,
when
Mary
thought
of
it
,
she
invariably
saw
the
two
ends
swallowed
up
in
a
blurred
,
yellowish
fog
.
Inside
,
this
temple
of
the
fine
arts
consisted
of
one
long
room
with
a
glass
roof
,
divided
,
towards
one
end
,
by
a
serge
curtain
of
bronze
green
.
The
walls
were
tinted
a
dingy-olive
colour
,
throwing
up
the
plaster
Laocoon
,
the
torso
of
the
Theseus
,
the
Apollo
Belvedere
,
with
its
slightly
supercilious
air
,
the
frowning
Moses
of
Michael
Angelo
,
and
the
simpering
Clytie
,
with
startling
distinctness
.
A
small
écorché
stood
on
a
shelf
,
and
all
around
,
looking
like
the
frozen
remains
of
some
monster
operating-theatre
,
were
eerie-looking
arms
,
legs
,
feet
,
and
hands
cut
off
above
the
wrist
.
Here
,
too
,
were
the
candidates
for
the
Royal
Academy
,
all
laboriously
stippling
their
drawings
of
the
Laocoon
with
twists
of
bread
and
stumps
;
a
process
in
which
they
had
been
engaged
for
some
six
months
past
;
while
in
the
other
division
of
the
room
was
posed
a
child
dressed
like
an
Italian
contadina
,
surrounded
by
easels
on
every
side
.
It
was
the
afternoon
on
which
the
model
sat
.
Painting
from
the
life
was
carried
on
at
the
Central
London
School
of
Art
on
but
two
afternoons
a
week
,
being
looked
upon
as
a
kind
of
frivolous
extra
which
should
not
be
allowed
to
occupy
the
mind
of
the
serious
student
to
the
detriment
of
the
stippled
Laocoon
.
It
was
a
raw
December
day
,
but
inside
the
fumes
of
a
charcoal
stove
made
the
students
'
heads
feel
queer
.
They
were
an
odd-looking
collection
of
people
,
who
were
gathered
there
that
winter
afternoon
in
the
falling
light
.
The
young
women
were
of
the
lower
middle
class
;
daughters
of
retail
shopkeepers
,
who
dressed
in
gowns
of
orange
or
green
serge
,
cut
rather
low
about
the
throat
,
and
beautified
by
strings
of
amber
or
Venetian
glass
beads
,
while
some
,
on
gala
days
,
had
been
known
to
appear
adorned
with
iridescent
beetles
'
wings
,
a
trimming
understood
to
be
dear
to
the
female
artist
the
wide
world
over
.
And
though
perhaps
their
hair
left
,
like
their
speech
,
something
to
be
desired
,
on
the
whole
the
girls
were
less
objectionable
than
the
boy-students
,
whose
linen
was
not
irreproachable
,
and
who
used
to
disappear
in
groups
of
five
or
six
during
the
sitting
,
to
return
to
their
places
presently
,
bringing
with
them
a
suspicious
odour
of
bitter
beer
and
inexpensive
tobacco
.
An
English
art
school
has
none
of
the
boisterous
,
contagious
hilarity
of
a
French
atelier
.
Decent
silence
reigned
,
broken
only
by
the
hoarse
,
repressed
chuckles
of
a
couple
of
boys
as
they
exchanged
a
whispered
witticism
,
or
the
rare
,
high-pitched
,
but
almost
inaudible
titter
of
a
student
with
ringlets
as
she
bent
over
her
easel
.
Mary
Erle
,
with
her
neat
hair
and
her
well
made
black
dress
,
looked
like
a
little
princess
as
she
sat
,
with
a
slight
frown
and
tight-shut
lips
,
among
the
outer
ring
of
easels
.
She
wore
the
same
expression
as
of
old
,
in
the
summerhouse
in
St.
John
's
Wood
,
when
she
sat
alone
notching
and
slicing
at
her
wooden
fleet
.
And
indeed
,
the
girl
was
as
much
alone
now
,
in
this
studio
full
of
human
beings
,
as
in
the
silence
of
the
leafy
garden
.
Vincent
had
gone
on
his
travels
—
had
been
gone
,
indeed
,
for
nearly
six
months
,
and
all
that
she
had
to
remind
her
of
that
unexpected
demonstration
of
affection
in
the
Harley
Street
drawing-room
was
a
crumpled
letter
with
an
Indian
post-mark
which
she
carried
about
in
her
pocket
.
Yes
,
she
was
alone
,
for
had
she
spoken
to
the
boys
,
she
was
sure
they
would
have
tried
to
be
jocose
;
and
she
dreaded
the
confidences
of
the
young
ladies
,
some
of
whom
had
prosperous
flirtations
,
carried
on
in
neighbouring
pastry-cooks
'
shops
,
or
in
the
rooms
of
Burlington
House
with
the
‘advanced’
male
students
.
Indeed
,
the
only
person
she
ever
spoke
to
was
an
old
student
who
had
been
through
the
Academy
schools
,
and
who
came
to
the
Central
London
to
work
from
the
draped
model
,
his
studio
on
Haverstock
Hill
being
just
now
in
the
hands
of
workmen
.
Mr.
Perry
Jackson
was
an
under-sized
,
drab-faced
young
man
of
about
thirty
,
who
gave
the
casual
spectator
the
impression
that
he
was
a
grown-up
London
gutter-boy
.
But
in
truth
he
had
had
no
such
dramatic
beginnings
.
His
parents
,
the
well-to-do
proprietors
of
a
small
upholsterer
's
shop
in
the
Hampstead
Road
,
had
given
him
a
fair
education
,
and
were
now
proud
of
having
turned
their
only
child
into
an
‘artist
and
a
gentleman.’
To
Mary
,
Mr.
Jackson
was
so
frankly
,
so
completely
himself
,
representing
such
an
unknown
,
unguessed-at
type
,
that
he
ended
by
amusing
her
.
Perry
Jackson
,
to
be
sure
,
was
already
a
rising
man
;
he
had
an
extraordinary
facility
for
drawing
pretty
faces
.
His
black
and
white
work
in
Illustrations
was
much
admired
at
the
railway
stations
,
while
already
he
had
had
one
or
two
flashy
pictures
on
the
line
at
the
Royal
Academy
.
How
well
Mary
remembered
the
day
she
had
begun
her
Laocoon
,
for
the
next
competition
.
It
would
take
,
with
its
infinitely
minute
stippling
,
six
months
to
complete
.
‘I
'd
advise
you
to
look
sharp
and
begin
,
Miss
Erle
,
’
Mr.
Jackson
had
said
,
who
,
though
rather
abashed
by
his
neighbour
's
manners
,
was
inclined
to
be
friendly
.
‘That
serpent
'll
take
you
every
day
of
six
weeks
,
let
alone
the
figure
.
They
're
awfully
down
on
a
fellow
,
I
can
tell
you
,
at
the
Academy
,
if
the
shading
ai
n't
quite
up
to
the
mark
.
Anybody
can
correct
the
drawing
for
you
,
do
n't
you
see
,
but
you
've
got
to
do
that
blessed
stippling
yerself.’
‘Thanks
.
I
think
I
will
begin
at
once.’
‘Right
you
are
.
Take
this
place
,
Miss
Erle
,
there
's
a
better
light
,
’
suggested
Mr.
Jackson
,
who
was
good-nature
itself
.
‘Let
me
fix
your
easel
.
There
.
You
may
use
the
plumb-line
as
much
as
you
like
,
’
continued
the
young
man
,
his
small
,
pale
eyes
twinkling
with
vivacity
;
‘and
I
'll
correct
your
outline
for
you
.
I
ought
to
know
something
about
it
,
’
he
added
with
sudden
candour
.
‘Why
,
I
went
up
for
the
R.A.
Schools
three
times
myself.’
There
were
two
or
three
girls
,
besides
herself
,
who
were
competing
for
the
Academy
,
and
several
men
,
one
of
whom
was
verging
on
fifty
years
of
age
,
and
whose
hair
and
unkempt
beard
were
already
turned
grey
.
A
legend
current
in
the
school
related
that
this
person
had
been
competing
for
the
Royal
Academy
Schools
ever
since
he
was
eighteen
years
old
.
There
was
Miss
Simpkins
,
a
strapping
young
woman
with
a
large
,
vague
face
,
which
somehow
suggested
a
muffin
,
and
who
carried
a
small
edition
of
Modern
Painters
about
in
a
leather
hand-bag
,
together
with
a
pocket-comb
,
a
hand-mirror
,
some
ham
sandwiches
,
and
a
selection
of
different
kinds
of
chalk
,
and
who
had
many
confidences
to
impart
to
a
pale
girl
with
red
ringlets
,
whom
Mary
remembered
as
the
daughter
of
a
confectioner
in
St.
John
's
Wood
,
a
girl
who
affected
peacock-blue
velveteen
,
and
was
understood
to
be
intermittently
in
love
with
Mr.
Jackson
.
On
the
December
day
in
question
the
glass
door
opened
,
and
a
small
,
pale
man
,
wearing
a
frock
coat
and
a
narrow
black
necktie
,
and
having
the
appearance
and
manner
of
an
attorney
's
head
clerk
,
stood
bending
over
the
first
easel
.
Mr.
Sanderson
,
the
headmaster
,
was
a
person
who
rarely
committed
himself
to
a
definite
opinion
,
and
especially
to
an
adverse
one
.
He
wished
,
above
all
things
,
to
be
well
with
the
students
,
so
that
his
usual
criticism
took
the
form
of
:
—
‘Going
on
ve-r-y
nicely
,
Miss
Simpkins
.
Perhaps
,
on
the
whole
,
you
might
look
to
the
movement
of
that
head
.
Yes
,
just
so
.
The
arms
,
now
,
should
you
say
they
were
just
a
little
out
of
drawing
?
And
the
right
leg
,
eh
?
perhaps
,
too
,
it
might
be
as
well
to
reconsider
the
position
of
the
torso
.
Coming
on
nicely
,
Miss
Simpkins.’
And
Miss
Simpkins
,
a
lady
whose
devotion
to
the
doctrines
of
Mr.
Ruskin
was
perhaps
more
remarkable
than
her
artistic
skill
,
settled
her
amber
necklace
and
continued
to
paint
.
At
the
next
easel
was
heard
,
‘Ah
,
a
very
ambitious
view
of
the
model
,
Miss
Erle
.
It
might
be
perhaps
as
well
to
reconsider
the
position
of
the
figure
.
Just
as
well
,
on
the
whole
,
for
the
artist
not
to
hamper
himself
with
unnecessary
difficulties
.
Very
good
,
very
good
.
In
quite
a
promising
condition
,
Miss
Erle.’
At
the
Central
London
,
it
will
be
seen
,
everything
worked
smoothly
.
The
advent
of
the
headmaster
was
the
signal
for
general
amenities
.
Every
daub
,
every
ill-drawn
head
,
and
every
smeared
,
smooth
drapery
received
its
meed
of
praise
.
There
were
no
tears
,
such
as
water
the
upward
path
of
the
student
in
a
Parisian
atelier
;
there
were
no
ambitions
,
no
heart-burnings
,
no
rivalries
.
No
one
at
the
Central
London
had
ever
been
known
to
have
a
theory
to
express
,
or
if
he
had
,
it
remained
locked
in
his
own
breast
.
It
had
already
begun
to
dawn
upon
Mary
that
the
whole
thing
was
a
foolish
pretence
at
work
.
Slipping
from
her
seat
,
she
dropped
back
to
the
easel
on
which
still
stood
her
drawing
of
the
Laocoon
,
a
drawing
which
was
beginning
to
assume
,
as
it
was
destined
to
do
,
the
appearance
of
a
dotted
engraving
.
She
was
standing
,
somewhat
desponding
and
disheartened
,
before
this
thing
which
had
cost
her
so
much
toil
,
and
on
the
success
of
which
so
much
depended
,
when
the
door
burst
open
,
and
there
appeared
a
radiant
vision
of
velvet
and
sables
,
and
of
an
audacious
hat
which
only
Alison
Ives
in
one
of
her
‘worldly’
fits
could
have
invented
.
‘
Nom
d'un
chien
!
’
cried
that
young
lady
,
descending
on
Mary
,
and
forcibly
removing
her
drawing-board
;
‘am
I
to
stand
by
and
see
you
become
a
British
female
artist
?
You
've
got
to
come
to
a
tea
—
a
tea
at
home
in
Portman
Square
.
We
're
driving
straight
back
.
Mother
's
out
there
in
the
carriage
.
Come
on.’
‘I
ca
n't
,
’
said
Mary
:
‘I
told
you
I
could
n't
.
I
'm
not
going
out
;
and
I
ought
to
work
for
another
hour
.
The
thing
goes
in
in
a
day
or
two.’
‘Pooh
!
’
said
Alison
,
as
she
found
the
girl
's
hat
and
cloak
,
and
bundled
her
unceremoniously
into
the
carriage
;
‘the
whole
thing
is
a
farce.’
‘But
I
believe
these
schools
are
excellent
things
for
—
for
the
kind
of
persons
whom
dear
Mary
describes
so
amusingly
,
’
put
in
Lady
Jane
.
‘Nonsense
,
mother
,
’
said
Alison
.
‘You
've
never
been
inside
one
.
The
whole
thing
is
impossible
.
Schools
of
cooking
,
and
not
schools
of
art
,
are
what
we
want
,
’
shouted
Alison
as
they
rattled
over
the
stones
.
‘You
may
leave
your
painter
genius
to
find
his
way
to
the
front
,
whereas
boiled
potatoes
are
a
daily
necessity
.
Go
and
talk
,
’
continued
the
girl
,
with
a
smile
,
‘about
your
stippled
gladiators
and
Laocoons
in
a
serious
French
studio
,
where
they
work
.
Why
,
they
would
laugh
in
your
face.’
‘How
nice
it
must
be
in
Paris
,
’
said
Mary
with
a
sigh
.
A
place
where
they
disapproved
of
the
Laocoon
as
an
exercise
in
art
seemed
to
her
to
open
out
a
vista
of
delightful
possibilities
.
CHAPTER
VII
A
KETTLEDRUM
AT
LADY
JANE
'S
LADY
JANE
IVES
was
always
to
be
found
in
Portman
Square
at
five
,
but
to-day
she
had
sent
out
cards
,
so
that
an
hour
later
the
lofty
,
gaunt
rooms
,
with
their
faded
crimson
carpets
,
their
flowery
chintzes
and
their
many
mirrors
,
were
dotted
with
little
groups
.
Lady
Jane
disliked
new
fashions
in
her
house
,
and
the
general
effect
,
in
an
over-luxurious
age
,
was
somewhat
cheerless
.
The
stiff
,
hard
Guardis
on
the
walls
,
in
which
tin
gondoliers
were
propelling
iron
gondolas
on
a
leaden
lagoon
,
with
a
background
of
grey
zinc
palaces
,
were
but
faintly
visible
by
the
tentative
light
of
the
circle
of
candles
in
the
quivering
lustre
chandelier
.
Between
the
starched
lace
curtains
stood
monster
Chinese
vases
,
swollen
like
vases
seen
in
an
uneasy
dream
.
The
buhl
cabinets
had
chilly
marble
tops
;
the
rosewood
tables
held
vast
photograph
albums
.
Lady
Jane
had
arranged
the
rooms
on
her
marriage
some
forty
years
ago
,
and
it
had
not
occurred
to
her
to
change
them
.
Parliament
had
just
opened
;
so
that
people
were
back
in
town
.
Here
and
there
a
man
's
black
coat
was
visible
.
There
was
a
subdued
murmur
of
talk
.
People
were
slipping
out
quietly
under
cover
of
someone
else
's
arrival
,
dropping
the
perfunctory
smile
which
they
had
exhibited
for
ten
minutes
under
the
lustre
chandelier
,
as
they
made
their
way
quickly
out
into
the
portico
,
where
a
small
army
of
grooms
,
with
faces
as
drab
and
unemotional
as
their
overcoats
,
hung
about
the
steps
.
‘I
've
just
come
from
the
Ambassador
of
all
the
Russias
,
’
drawled
a
pretty
woman
to
Lady
Jane
,
as
she
stood
,
in
the
swaggering
attitude
which
she
affected
on
entering
a
drawing-room
,
just
at
the
door
.
‘My
dear
,
you
should
n't
encourage
those
barbarians
,
’
declared
her
hostess
;
‘it
's
so
shockingly
radical
to
approve
of
foreign
tyrannies.’
Alison
,
assisted
by
Mary
,
was
pouring
out
tea
in
the
gaunt
back
drawing-room
.
It
was
noticeable
that
most
of
the
men
had
collected
round
the
table
.
‘I
wo
n't
have
my
friends
fed
at
a
sort
of
sublimated
coffee-stall
in
the
dining-room
,
’
announced
Lady
Jane
.
‘It
's
a
young
woman
's
mission
to
make
tea
for
her
friends
.
Alison
,
remember
Lady
Blaythewaite
does
n't
like
sugar.’
‘Vous
versez
le
thé
avec
une
grâce
parfaite
,
’
sighed
a
sentimental
attaché
of
vague
Slav
nationality
,
who
was
famous
for
turning
compliments
out
of
the
most
unlikely
materials
.
And
Mary
Erle
,
in
her
black
clothes
,
sat
on
one
side
and
looked
at
the
little
comedy
with
impartial
eyes
.
It
seemed
so
long
since
she
had
been
in
society
;
she
supposed
she
was
out
of
touch
with
the
world
.
Vanity
Fair
,
since
she
had
left
it
for
so
many
months
,
seemed
curiously
foolish
.
Close
to
her
,
the
pretty
woman
,
who
stood
sipping
her
tea
amid
an
admiring
circle
of
black
coats
,
had
already
got
on
one
of
her
favourite
topics
.
‘I
do
n't
mean
to
be
done
out
of
Monte
Carlo
,
this
year
,
’
she
announced
in
a
penetrating
voice
,
and
with
the
air
of
one
who
is
accustomed
to
have
her
least
brilliant
observations
received
with
attention
;
‘so
I
've
told
Sir
Horace
he
can
have
as
many
shooting
parties
as
he
likes
,
but
I
'm
off
on
the
31st.’
The
eyes
of
the
complimentary
Slav
waxed
brilliant
as
he
gazed
admiringly
at
Lady
Blaythewaite
.
‘All
very
well
,
’
objected
a
perfectly-dressed
and
perfectly
self-satisfied
young
man
,
who
gave
the
casual
spectator
the
impression
,
from
the
parting
of
his
beautifully
cared-for
hair
to
the
pointed
toes
of
his
shiny
boots
,
he
was
elabor-
ately
,
exquisitely
new
and
clean
:
‘all
very
well
for
ladies
,
’
he
said
deliberately
,
‘but
how
on
earth
is
a
feller
to
go
away
in
December
if
he
wants
to
get
any
huntin
'
—
what
?
Why
,
the
Duchess
said
the
other
night
when
I
told
her
I
was
n't
goin
'
—
—
’
But
to
make
room
for
two
new
arrivals
,
the
exquisitely
clean
young
man
was
obliged
to
step
into
the
background
,
and
the
rest
of
his
story
was
lost
to
every
one
but
the
pretty
woman
.
After
these
two
had
thrashed
out
the
engrossing
subject
of
Monte
Carlo
,
the
word
‘Plumpton’
was
bandied
about
,
and
afterwards
the
name
of
the
latest
three-act
farce
.
The
exquisitely
clean
young
man
,
it
appeared
,
was
a
great
theatre-goer
;
in
fact
,
he
admitted
that
he
went
so
often
that
it
was
impossible
to
recollect
the
names
of
the
house
,
the
play
,
or
the
actors
.
‘I
do
n't
remember
the
name
of
the
piece
,
do
n't
you
know
,
’
he
confided
,
‘but
we
saw
it
the
night
before
last
at
the
Criterion
—
I
think
it
must
have
been
the
Criterion
,
because
we
dined
in
the
restaurant
first
—
and
the
feller
I
liked
awfully
,
do
n't
you
know
,
was
the
one
who
played
the
feller
who
kicks
out
the
Johnnie
in
the
third
act
.
Awfully
good
,
what
?
’
‘Oh
,
yes
.
Awfully
good
—
was
n't
he
?
We
all
thought
him
a
dear
,
’
said
the
pretty
woman
in
a
bored
tone
.
She
had
had
enough
of
what
she
called
‘intellectual
conversation.’
‘What
have
you
done
with
that
charming
Mr.
Hemming
,
my
dear
?
’
demanded
Lady
Jane
in
a
stage
whisper
,
descending
on
Mary
and
leading
her
out
of
her
corner
by
the
arm
.
And
,
not
waiting
for
an
answer
,
she
went
on
,
‘You
've
sent
him
off
to
India
,
you
naughty
child
,
and
he
may
die
of
the
cholera
or
heat-apoplexy
,
and
then
you
'll
be
sorry
.
Poor
fellow
,
he
looked
so
terribly
cut-up
.
He
came
to
see
me
just
before
he
went
.
His
father
was
an
old
flame
of
mine
.
But
the
men
were
more
enterprising
when
I
was
young
.
They
did
n't
take
“
no
”
for
an
answer.’
‘But
,
dear
Lady
Jane
,
’
whispered
Mary
,
‘I
did
n't
give
“
no
”
for
an
answer.’
All
this
was
said
while
a
lady
with
sloping
shoulders
and
dyed
black
hair
was
performing
a
rather
deliberate
solo
on
the
harp
.
But
her
hostess
,
whose
eyes
were
turned
towards
the
door
,
did
not
apparently
grasp
the
import
of
Mary
's
words
.
Lady
Jane
was
very
fond
of
Professor
Erle
's
daughter
—
the
professor
had
always
been
one
of
the
familiar
faces
at
her
Sunday
dinners
—
but
she
was
a
somewhat
indifferent
listener
,
and
just
now
she
had
not
only
to
thank
the
fair
harpist
—
but
a
new
arrival
was
claiming
her
attention
.
‘Ah
!
there
is
my
dear
doctor
,
’
exclaimed
Lady
Jane
with
much
vivacity
.
‘How
good
of
you
,
’
she
said
,
with
more
enthusiasm
than
she
had
yet
exhibited
,
‘to
find
time
to
come
and
see
an
old
woman.’
The
man
addressed
was
a
striking
figure
enough
;
he
had
,
moreover
,
that
imposing
air
which
endears
itself
to
the
feminine
imagination
.
Dr.
Dunlop
Strange
was
a
favourite
with
women
in
society
.
His
speciality
was
nervous
disease
.
He
had
done
a
great
deal
of
useful
work
,
had
made
one
important
discovery
which
had
brought
him
prominently
before
the
public
,
and
was
understood
to
be
about
to
receive
a
baronetcy
.
Mary
remembered
his
face
.
She
had
met
him
out
often
in
the
old
days
:
at
soirées
at
learned
societies
,
at
the
dinner-tables
of
the
celebrated
or
the
merely
smart
.
He
was
a
man
of
forty-five
,
a
little
under
the
medium
size
,
with
a
perpetual
upright
pucker
just
between
his
eyes
.
Those
eyes
,
the
girl
noticed
,
spoilt
his
face
;
they
were
small
and
somewhat
shifty
;
but
as
he
usually
wore
a
pince-nez
this
peculiarity
was
not
noticeable
.
He
looked
tired
,
but
not
at
all
bored
.
The
doctor
was
understood
to
be
devoted
to
Alison
,
and
,
for
once
,
Alison
seemed
pleased
.
Though
she
was
good-looking
and
moved
in
a
somewhat
go-ahead
set
,
she
had
never
been
known
to
have
an
ordinary
flirtation
.
She
used
to
say
that
she
supposed
she
should
have
to
marry
some
day
—
the
later
the
better
—
because
it
was
absurd
to
suppose
that
old
maids
had
any
influence
on
people
's
lives
;
and
Power
,
to
put
it
plainly
,
was
what
the
modern
woman
craved
.
She
supposed
,
in
that
respect
,
that
she
was
n't
any
better
than
the
rest
of
her
sex
.
Lady
Jane
was
delighted
;
asked
the
doctor
constantly
to
dinner
,
and
insisted
on
his
assisting
at
one
of
her
Happy
Afternoons
for
Pauper
Lunatics
.
And
Dr.
Strange
went
;
as
indeed
he
would
have
gone
anywhere
just
now
to
meet
Alison
.
‘By
the
by
,
’
she
said
,
giving
him
a
cup
of
tea
,
and
pretending
not
to
notice
that
his
eyes
were
devouring
every
detail
of
her
handsome
personality
,
‘I
want
you
particularly
to
know
Mary
Erle
—
Professor
Erle
's
daughter
.
Of
course
you
've
met
her
,
but
I
want
you
to
know
her
.
She
's
one
of
my
few
friends.’
Alison
seemed
in
high
spirits
since
Dr.
Dunlop
Strange
's
arrival
.
‘Here
's
Mr.
Bosanquet-Barry
,
’
she
whispered
,
as
a
beautiful
young
man
with
Parma
violets
in
his
coat
appeared
in
the
doorway
;
‘one
of
mother
's
young
friends
.
He
's
the
new
editor
of
the
Comet
.’
‘The
editor
,
’
repeated
Mary
incredulously
,
emerging
from
a
conversation
with
Dr.
Strange
,
which
she
had
carried
on
with
difficulty
,
seeing
that
his
eyes
were
fixed
on
Alison
all
the
time
.
‘The
editor
of
the
Comet
?
Why
,
he
looks
a
mere
boy.’
?
’My
dear
,
he
's
seven-and-twenty
.
Besides
,
that
's
the
new
idea
in
journalism
.
You
pluck
your
editor
nice
and
hot
from
Oxford
—
someone
who
has
none
of
the
old
hackneyed
Fleet
Street
ideas.’
‘This
one
,
’
observed
Mary
thoughtfully
,
‘does
n't
look
as
if
he
had
any
ideas
at
all.’
‘Oh
I
but
then
he
's
devoted
to
the
Primrose
League
—
and
mother
.
He
goes
to
her
Happy
Afternoons
.
I
hear
that
all
the
smart
set
are
in
love
with
him
—
if
that
's
any
recommendation
.
Mary
,
you
must
be
introduced
.
You
'll
have
to
know
these
people
if
you
're
going
to
be
an
artist.’
On
closer
inspection
Mr.
Bosanquet-Barry
turned
out
to
have
a
somewhat
spurious
air
of
youth
.
The
effect
of
extreme
juvenility
was
produced
by
his
fair
skin
,
his
dazzlingly
white
teeth
,
and
his
piercingly
blue
eyes
.
He
entertained
Mary
,
as
he
got
her
a
cup
of
tea
,
with
a
spirited
account
of
a
visit
to
a
minor
music-hall
,
which
he
and
a
pale-faced
boy
with
tired
eyelids
and
an
exaggerated
button-hole
had
arranged
the
night
before
for
Lady
Blaythewaite
.
‘It
all
went
all
right
,
’
said
Mr.
Bosanquet-Barry
confidentially
,
‘until
the
last
.
Lady
Blaythewaite
swore
she
'd
never
enjoyed
anything
so
much
in
her
life
.
Ca
n't
say
I
did
,
as
I
had
to
talk
to
the
girl
she
brought
with
her
,
who
was
ugly
as
sin
.
However
,
I
had
to
leave
'
em
a
minute
at
the
door
,
to
see
after
the
carriage
,
and
then
some
beastly
cad
spoke
to
her.’
‘How
very
unpleasant
,
’
said
Mary
,
who
felt
she
was
expected
to
sympathise
with
this
lady
's
adventures
in
a
London
music-hall
.
‘Oh
,
’
chuckled
Mr.
Bosanquet-Barry
,
with
a
laugh
which
was
not
quite
pretty
.
‘I
do
n't
believe
she
minded
—
I
should
n't
wonder
if
she
rather
liked
it
.
At
any
rate
,
she
should
n't
wear
such
outrageous
clothes
.
I
wonder
Sir
Horace
—
—
’
‘Oh
,
Sir
Horace
does
n't
care
,
’
interrupted
the
pale-faced
boy
,
whose
name
,
it
appeared
,
was
Beaufort
Flower
,
though
he
was
usually
briefly
addressed
as
‘Beaufy’
;
‘Sir
Horace
does
n't
care
,
he
do
n't
pay
for
them
,
you
know.’
And
with
a
display
of
all
his
white
teeth
at
once
,
the
editor
of
the
Comet
,
who
with
all
his
boyishness
had
picked
up
the
editor
's
air
of
not
meaning
to
allow
anyone
to
detain
him
,
bowed
abruptly
and
was
now
seen
pressing
the
hands
of
several
ladies
of
quality
as
he
steered
his
way
towards
the
door
.
‘He
is
an
odious
youth
,
’
said
Alison
calmly
.
‘I
'm
not
responsible
,
you
know
,
for
all
mother
's
“
boys
.
”
Sometimes
he
comes
and
stops
for
hours
.
They
talk
scandal
all
the
time
,
and
,
Heaven
preserve
us
!
the
scandal
of
the
fifties
—
about
women
who
are
grandmothers
,
or
in
their
graves
.
Do
n't
you
think
it
a
depraved
taste
,
Dr.
Strange
?
’
continued
the
girl
.
‘Perhaps
,
’
he
answered
with
a
smile
,
‘he
's
going
to
write
a
book
of
reminiscences
.
You
begin
collecting
at
about
twenty
,
and
you
keep
