Poppy St. John laid her hands lightly on Mr. Iglesias' shoulders and
smiled at him. She looked very young, yet very worn; and the corners of
her mouth shook.
"If you were anybody else," she said, "I believe I should give you a
kiss. But I am not going to, so don't be nervous, dear man. I'll be
perfectly correct, I promise you--only I had to come. I have been good,
absolutely tiptop beastly good, I tell you. I have washed the slate. It
is as clean as a vacuum, as the inside of an exhausted receiver. And I
feel as dull as empty space before the creation got started."
Poppy shivered a little, putting one hand over her eyes, and resting
her head with its great black hat and sweeping plumes against Mr.
Iglesias' chest. And Iglesias quietly put his arm round her, supporting
her. The day had been full of experiences. This last, though of a
notably different complexion to the rest, promised to be by no means
the least searching and surprising. Iglesias steadied himself to take
it quite calmly, in his stride; yet his jaw grew rigid and his face
blanched in dread of that which might be coming.
"I have sent Alaric Barking about his business," Poppy continued
hoarsely. "Sent him back to his soldiering, helped to cart him off to
that rotten hole, South Africa. He is a smart officer, and he'll make a
name, if he don't get shot. And he won't get shot--I should feel it in
my bones if he was going to, and I don't feel it. I broke with him more
than a month ago. But I had to see him again to say good-bye, this
morning, before he sailed."
Poppy moved a step or two away, turning her back on Iglesias.
"And it hurt a jolly lot more than I expected. I don't suppose I am in
love"--she looked around inquiringly at him, as though expecting him to
solve the complicated problem of her affections. "It's not likely at
this time of day, is it? But I was fonder of Alaric than I quite knew.
He is a good sort, and we have had some ripping times together. He had
become a sort of habit, you know; and when you have knocked about a
lot, as I have, you get rather sick at the notion of any change."
She stood, looking down, leisurely unbuttoning and pulling off her long
gloves.
"I don't know that I should have made up my mind to sack him in the
end, but that I wanted to please Fallowfeild."
Mr. Iglesias became very tall. His expression was hard, his eyes
alight. This the lady noted. She returned and patted him gently on the
back again.
"There, there, don't sail off on a wrong tack, my beloved fire-eater.
Fallowfeild was quite right. The game was up, really it was; and he
wanted me to walk out, like the gentlemanlike dog, so as to avoid being
kicked out. I always knew the break was bound to come some time; and
it's a long sight pleasanter to break than to be broken with, don't you
think so?--You see, Alaric has formed a virtuous attachment." Poppy's
lips took a cynical twist. "It was time, high time, he should, if he
meant to go in for that line of business at all. The young lady is a
niece of Fallowfeild's--a pretty little girl, really quite pretty--I
saw her that night we were both at the play--all new, and pink and
white, and well-bred, and _ingénue_, and in every respect perfectly
suitable."
Poppy looked mutinously, even mischievously, at Dominic Iglesias.
"Poor, dear old Alaric," she said. "I don't quarrel with him. His elder
brother's no children, and there are pots and pots of money. That he
should want to marry, and that his people should press it on him, is
perfectly natural, and obvious, and proper."
"But," Dominic asked fiercely, "if this young man, Captain Barking,
proposes to marry, why has he not married you--always supposing you
were willing to entertain his suit?"
Poppy flung her long gloves upon the table, unhooked her sable cape and
sent it flying to join them.
"Pou-ah! I'm hot!" she exclaimed. "I think I'll sit down, if you have
no objection. Yes, that chair, thanks--it looks excellently
comfortable. By the way, you've got an uncommonly nice lot of things in
this room. I am going to make a tour of inspection presently. It
pleases me frightfully to see where you live and look at your
possessions." She stared absently at the furniture and pictures.--"But
about my marrying Alaric Barking," she continued. "Well, you see--you
see, dear man, there is an inconvenient little impediment in the shape
of a husband."
As she finished speaking Poppy folded her hands in her lap. She sat
perfectly still, her lips pressed together, watching Mr. Iglesias over
her shoulder but without turning her head. He had crossed the room and
stood at one of the tall narrow windows, looking out into the bright
windy afternoon.
For here it was in plain English, at last, that underlying secret thing
which he had known yet dreaded to know. It begot in him an immense
regret and inevitable repulsion at admitted wrongdoing. He made no
attempt to juggle with the meaning of her words. Yet, along with them,
came a feeling of gladness that Poppy St. John would remain Poppy St.
John still; and a movement of hope--intimate and very tender--since in
this tragic hour of her history she had come directly to him, asking
comfort and sympathy. Dominic, cut to the quick by the defection of the
heretofore ever-faithful George Lovegrove, hailed with a peculiar
thankfulness this mark of confidence and trust. Sinful, greatly erring,
still the Lady of the Windswept Dust had returned to him; and thereat
he soberly, yet very deeply, rejoiced. In truth, the sharp-edged breath
of persecution he had encountered this morning, while paining him, had
braced him to high endeavour. The Catholic Church, so he argued, must
indeed be a mighty and living power since men fear her so much. And
this power he felt to be behind him, sustaining him, inciting him to
noble undertakings--he strong in virtue of her strength, fearless
through the courage of her saints, able with the energy of their
accumulated merit and their prayers. Again, as on his way home that
morning from hearing Mass, the spirit was dominant, his whole nature
and outlook purified and exalted by the Divine Indwelling. To fail any
human creature calling on him for help would be contemptible, and even
dastardly, in one blessed as he himself was. Thus his relation to Poppy
St. John fell into line. He could afford to love and serve her well,
since he loved and purposed, in all things, to serve Almighty God best.
These meditations occupied but a few moments, yet Poppy's patience ran
short.
"Dominic Iglesias," she cried suddenly, sharply, "I am tired of
waiting."
He crossed the room and stood in front of her, serious but light of
heart.
"See here, it is all right between us?" she asked imperatively.
"Yes, all is perfectly right between us," he answered. "Your coming
gives me the measure of your faith in me. I am grateful and I am very
glad."
"Ah!" Poppy said softly.
She sat forward in her chair, making herself small, patting her hands
together, palm to palm, between her knees, and swaying a little as she
spoke.
"You see," she went on, "to be quite honest, I didn't break with Alaric
simply to enable him to marry and live happy ever after. Nor did I do
it exclusively to please Fallowfeild. It would take a greater fool than
I am to be as altruistic as all that. I always like to have my run for
my money. I--I did it more to get you back."
She paused and raised her head, looking full at him.
"And I have got you back?" she said.
"Yes," he answered, smiling. "I ask nothing better than to come back."
"Do you mean that you are prepared to take everything on trust--after
what I have just told you--without wanting explanations?"
"Friendship has no need of explanations," Iglesias said, with a touch
of grandeur--"that is, as I understand friendship. It accepts what is
given without question, or cavilling as to much or to little, leaving
the giver altogether free. Friendship, as I understand it, should have
honourable reticences, not only of speech but of thought; wise
economies of proffered sympathy. In its desire of service it should
never approach too near or say the word too much; since, if it is to
flourish and obtain the grace of continuance, it must be rooted in
reverence for the individuality of the person dear to it. This is my
belief." His bearing was courtly, his expression very gentle.
"Therefore rest assured that whatever confidence you repose in me is
sacred. Whatever confidence you withhold from me is sacred likewise."
Poppy mused a little, a smile on her lips and an enigmatic look in her
singular eyes.
"You're beautiful, dear man," she murmured. "You're very beautiful.
You're worth chucking the devil over for; but you'll take a jolly lot
of living up to. So see here, you're bound to look me up pretty
constantly just at first, for I tell you life is not going to be
exactly a toy-shop for me for some little time to come. You hear? You
promise?"
"I promise," Iglesias returned.
"And there's another thing," she continued rather proudly, "a thing men
too often blunder over--with the very best intentions, bless them, only
they do blunder, and that leads to ructions. Please put the question of
money out of your head once and for all. I have a certain amount of my
own, nothing princely well understood, but quite possible to live on.
It was to prevent his playing ducks and drakes with it that I finally
left the jackal of a fellow whom I married. Well, I have that, and I
have made a little more, one way and another."--Poppy permitted herself
a wicked grimace.--"Poor old Alaric used to tell me I was a great
financier wasted, that I should have been invaluable as partner in
their family banking concern--that's more than he'll ever be, poor
chap, unless marriage makes pretty sweeping changes in him. Some of my
sources of income naturally are cut off through the cleaning of the
slate. For I have been tiptop beastly good--indeed I have, as I told
you! No more cards, and oh dear, no more racing. But no doubt
Cappadocia will contribute in the way of puppies. _Noblesse
oblige_--she realises her duty towards posterity, does Cappadocia. So I
shall scrape along quite tidily. And then, as long as I keep my voice
and my figure, at a push there's always my profession.--You hadn't
arrived at the fact that I had a profession? Such is fame, dear man,
such is fame. Why, I started as a child-actress at thirteen; and went
on till the jackal made that impossible, like virtue, and self-respect,
and a decent home, and a few kindred trifles in favour of which every
clean-minded woman has, after all, a strongish prejudice."
Poppy's voice shook. She had much ado to maintain an indifferent and
matter-of-fact manner. Iglesias drew up a chair and sat down beside
her. She put out her hand, taking his and holding it quietly.
"There, that's better," she said. "I feel babyish. I should like a good
square cry. But I won't have one. Don't be afraid. The motto is 'No
snivelling, full steam ahead.'--But as to the stage, I'm not sure that
won't prove the solution of most difficulties in the end. Sometimes it
pulls badly at my heartstrings, and I shouldn't be half sorry for an
excuse for taking to it again. It's a rotten profession for a man, and
not precisely a soul-saving one for a woman. But it gives you your
opportunity; and, at bottom, I suppose that's the main thing one asks
of life--one's opportunity. Too, your art is your art; and if it is
bred in you, you sicken for it. I was awfully glad that night to see
you at the play, though in a way it shocked me. It seemed incongruous.
Tell me, do you really care for the theatre?"
"To a moderate extent I do," Dominic answered. She wanted, so he
divined, to give a lighter tone to the conversation. He tried to meet
her wishes.--"I am not a very ardent playgoer, I am afraid. But at the
present time I happen to be involved indirectly in theatrical
enterprise. I am interested in the production of a play, which I am
assured will prove a remarkable success."
"You're not financing it?" Poppy asked sharply.
"Within certain limits I am," he answered, smiling. "An appeal was made
to me for help which it would have been cruel to refuse."
Poppy's expression had become curiously sombre, not to say stormy. She
got up and began to roam about the room.
"I hope to goodness the limits are clearly defined, and very narrow
ones, then," she exclaimed. "For my part I don't believe in talent
which can't find a market in the ordinary course of business. I grant
you managers sometimes put a play on which is no good; and sometimes
cripple what might be a fine play by doctoring it, in deference to the
rulings of that archetype of all maiden aunts and incarnation of
British hypocrisy, the censor; but they very rarely, in my experience,
reject a play which has money in it. Why should they? Poor brutes, they
are not exactly surfeited with masterpieces. The play which requires
private backing, though a record-breaker in the opinion of its author,
is usually rubbish in that of the public. And the public, take it all
round, is very fairly level-headed and just; you must not judge it by
the stupidities of the censor. He represents only an extreme section of
it, if at this time of day he really represents anybody--a section
which does the screaming sitting sanctimoniously at home, getting its
information at second-hand through the papers, and never darkens the
doors of a play-house at all. Moreover, you must remember that the
public is master. There is no getting behind its verdict."
Poppy's peregrinations had brought her back beside Mr. Iglesias again.
She patted him on the shoulder.
"See here, my beloved no-longer-nameless one," she said. "Be advised.
Learn wisdom. For I tell you I've been through that gate if ever a
woman has. The jackal--I wish to heaven we could keep him out of our
talk, but, for cause unknown, he persistently obtrudes himself--he
invariably does so when I'm hipped and edgy--well, you see, he was an
unappreciated genius in the way of a dramatist, from which fact I
derived first-hand acquaintance with the habits of the species. What I
don't know about those animals is not worth knowing. They're just
simply vermin, I tell you. Their utter unprofitableness is only
equalled by their lunatic vanity. They imagine the whole world, lay and
professional, is in league to balk and defraud them. So don't touch
them, I entreat you, as you value your peace of mind and your pocket.
They'll bleed you white and never give you a penn'orth of thanks--more
likely turn on you and make out, somehow or other, you are responsible
for the failure of their precious productions.--Now let's try to forget
them, and talk of pleasanter subjects. These obtrusions of the jackal
always bring me bad luck. I'm downright scared at them.--Tell me about
your goods, your books and your pictures. And show me something which
belonged to your mother--that is, if it wouldn't pain you to do so. I
should like to hold something she had touched in my hands. It would be
comforting, somehow. And just set that door wider open, there's a dear.
I want to have a look into the other room and see where you sleep."
For the ensuing half hour Poppy was an enchanting companion, wholly
womanly, gentle and delicate; eager, too, with the pretty spontaneous
eagerness of a child, at the recital of stories and exhibition of
treasures beloved by her companion. The lonely cedar tree, lamenting
its exile as the wind swept through the labyrinth of its dry branches,
moved her almost to tears.
"It is tragic," she said; "still, I am glad you have it. It's very much
in the picture, and lifts the sentiment of the place out of the awful
suburban rut. It's a little symbolic of you yourself, too,
Dominic--there's style, and poetry, and breeding about it. Only, thank
the powers, you differ from it mightily in this, that its best days are
over, while you are but in the flower of your age. And your rooms are
delightful--they're like you, too.--The rest of the house? My dear
soul, the manservant ushered me into a drawing-room, when I arrived,
the colours of which were simply frantic. I bolted. If I'd stayed
another five minutes they'd have given me lockjaw.--Now I must go." She
smiled very sweetly upon Mr. Iglesias. "I'm better, ten thousand times
better," she said. "When I came I was rather extensively nauseated by
my own virtuous actions. Now it's all square between them and me. I'm
good right through, I give you my word I am. If only it'll last!"
Poppy's lips quivered, and she looked Iglesias rather desperately in
the face.
"Never fear," he answered, "but that it will last."
"Still you'll come and see me often, very often, till I settle down
into the running? It will be beastly heavy going--must be, I'm
afraid--for a long while yet."
Dominic Iglesias, holding her hand, bent low and kissed it.
"I will serve you perfectly, God helping me, as long as I live," he
said.
Five minutes later Mrs. Porcher, supported by the outraged and
sympathetic Eliza, watched, through the aperture afforded by the rising
hinge of the dining-room door, an unknown lady, escorted by Mr.
Iglesias, sweep in whispering skirts and costly sables across the hall.
Passing out and down the white steps, Poppy, usually so light of foot
and deft of movement, stumbled, and but for Iglesias' prompt assistance
would have fallen headlong. At that same moment de Courcy Smyth,
slovenly in dress, with shuffling footsteps, crossed the road, and then
slunk aside, his arm jerked up queerly almost as though warding off a
blow.
"No, no, I'm not hurt, not in the least hurt," Poppy said breathlessly,
in response to Iglesias' inquiry. "But it's given me a bad fright. I'll
go straight home. Put me into the first hansom you see.--No, I'll go by
myself. I'd far rather. I give you my word I'm not hurt; but I've a lot
of things to think about--I want to be alone. I want to be quiet. Come
soon. I was very happy. Good-bye--good-night."