"By Jove," said Mr. Spenlove, suddenly, after a long silence, "I have
often wondered what might have happened to us if young Siddons hadn't
tumbled down there and smashed himself up. I mean, supposing our minds
hadn't been taken off the great subject of Captain Macedoine's financial
projects. Because, mind you, although I behaved in a very sagacious
manner while discussing the matter with Jack and his wife, I'm not at
all prepared to say that I wouldn't have submitted if Jack had urged it
in his tempestuous way. The psychology of being stung is a very
complicated affair. We pride ourselves on our strong, clear vision and
so forth, but it is very largely bluff. We are all reeds shaken by the
winds of desire. In spite of my sagacity the notion of making a fortune
was alluring. When I came to think of it the idea of a few years of
ruthless exploitation of the toiling inhabitants of a region for which I
had no sympathy, followed by a dignified return to England with a sunny
competence--say ten thousand a year, afforded an attractive field for
the development of one's personality. I suppose it comes to all of us at
times--a vision of ourselves with the power to expand to the utmost. And
at the back of it all lay the exasperating and tantalizing thought that
it _might_ be possible. The very preposterousness of the suggestion was
in its favour, in a way. The very fact that nobody else had ever thought
of making a fortune out of Macedonia led one to wonder if it might not
be done. You get an idea like that in your head, and it lies there and
simmers and seethes, and finally boils over and you have taken the
plunge. That's what might have happened, if I had not gone ashore to
look for young Siddons, and accidentally beheld the great Captain
Macedoine himself and his lieutenant. I don't say that the mere view of
these two worthies discussing their plans was sufficient to convince me
of their rascality. I'm not convinced of that even now. What I did
acquire, even before young Siddons drove the whole matter into the
background, was a sudden sense of proportion. To associate a golden
fortune with those two shabby and cadaverous birds of prey was too much.
And when we got aboard again the whole proposition seemed to have
vanished into thin air.
"Of course everyone was excited. Jack had to take hold and give orders.
He shut his wife and youngster up in their cabin, ordered us all out of
the saloon except the steward, and set to work on young Siddons, who was
lying on the table with a towel under his head. Mr. Bloom, who had been
rushing to and fro making friends with the Second, the Third, and even
the donkey man, in a frenzied attempt to get information about the coal
which was to be sold the next day, now favoured me with a heart-to-heart
talk on the subject of professional etiquette. It was a mistake, in his
opinion as an experienced ship's officer, for the Captain to be a
surgeon as well. It was time we took a firm stand. Owners should be
informed that this primitive and obsolete state of affairs could be no
longer tolerated. Now when he was sailing under the Cuban flag, they
always carried a surgeon. Compelled to by law. Of course one couldn't
let a man die for lack of attention; but if he was in Captain Evans'
shoes, he would send in a report with a formal protest appended. Do
everything courteously and in due form but--be firm! That was the
trouble with sea-going officers--they were not firm with their
employers. He himself, he was frank to say, had often given owners a
piece of his mind, and no doubt he had suffered for it. And why? Simply
because he got no support. Now he knew I wouldn't take any silly offence
if he mentioned a personal matter, but really for Captain Evans to send
an engineer ashore in a boat was in the highest degree unprofessional.
It was a job for an executive officer, obviously. Not that he wished to
criticise--far from it--but _verb. sap_ as they say at Oxford and
Cambridge. A word to the right man, mind you, was worthy any amount of
useless argument with--well, he wouldn't mention any names, but I knew
what he meant, no doubt.
"How long this enchanted imbecile would have continued his monologue I
shouldn't care to say, if Jack had not called me down to help get young
Siddons into his bunk. The collar-bone, broken more than once at
football, would knit nicely, he said, and he had put a couple of neat
stitches in the gash over the eye. Made him shout, Jack admitted as he
washed his hands with carbolic soap, but what was a little pain compared
with being disfigured for life? He reckoned it would heal up and leave
no more than a faint scar. What did I reckon he was doing, eh? Funny for
him to leave the boat. Very unusual. What did I think?
"'Didn't he give you any explanation?' I enquired.
"'Well, I suppose you can call it an explanation,' said Jack, 'in a way.
He said he went ashore for a few minutes on a private matter, and he
would appreciate it if I took his word. I'm supposed to keep the matter
private, too, so keep your trap shut, Fred. Fact is,' he went on, 'it's
that gel's at the bottom of it. He's one of those young fellers who take
it hard when they do take it. What they call in novvels hopeless
passion.'
"I was surprised at Jack's penetration. Indeed I was surprised at his
allusion to what he called 'novvels' for he had never, so far as I knew,
read any. Perhaps he had taken a surreptitious squint at some of the
exemplary serials which Mrs. Evans affected.
"'Then you won't take any action?' I said.
"'Why should I? He's had an accident, that's all. If he'd fell down and
broke his neck, it would be different. As it is, he's had a lesson. I
must go up and take a look round.'
"Jack went up on deck to take a look at the mooring ropes, for the
weather is treacherous in spring and autumn hereabouts, and more than
once we had to slip and run out to sea. I stepped into the little
alleyway on the port-side and walked along to young Siddons' room. The
door was on the hook and a bright bar of light lay athwart the floor of
the alleyway. He was lying on his back as we had left him, his
unbandaged eye staring straight up at the deck overhead. As I opened the
door and closed it behind me he turned that eye upon me without moving
his head.
"'All right?' I asked, just for something to say. He made a slight
gesture with his hand, signifying, I imagine, that it was nothing. His
face had that expression of formidable composure which the young assume
to conceal their emotions. I don't know exactly why I bothered myself
with him just then. Perhaps because there is for me a singular
fascination in watching the young. I won't say it is affection, because
our relations are usually of the sketchiest description. Sometimes I
don't know them at all. I fancy it is because one sees oneself in them
surrounded by the magical glamour of an incorruptible destiny. As we
say, they are refreshing, even in their griefs, and there is something
in the theory that we, as we are crossing the parched areas of middle
age, can draw upon their spiritual vitality to our own advantage if not
to theirs.
"'Nothing you want, eh?' I said, looking round. The one bright eye
stared straight up again.
"'Will you do me a favour, Chief?' he asked in a low tone.
"'Of course I will,' I answered. 'What is it?'
"'If you wouldn't mind, when you go ashore, to see Miss Macedoine and
tell her I am sorry she couldn't--you see,' he broke off, suddenly, 'I
said I'd see her this evening. I went up ... she wasn't there. I
couldn't wait ... boat waiting, you know. Then something ... well, I
fell down. Would you mind?'
"'I'll tell her,' I said. 'Is she fond of you?'
"His eye closed and he lay as motionless as though he were dead.
"'I don't suppose it matters now,' he remarked, very quietly. 'I shan't
see her again, very likely. Only I thought--if you told her how it
was ... you understand?'
"'I tell you what I'll do,' I replied. 'I'll ask her to come and see
you. Isn't that the idea?'
"'Yes, that's the idea,' he returned with extraordinary bitterness.
'That's all it's likely to be--an idea. I never did have any luck. It's
always the way, somehow. The things you want ... you can't get. And now,
this ... I say, Chief.'
"'Well?'
"'Excuse me, won't you, talking like this. I'm awfully grateful really.
It means a good deal to me, if she only knows I meant to be there. She
said I could--if I liked.'
"'Isn't she playing with you?' I asked, harshly. He put up his hand.
"'No, she's not that sort. She's different from other girls. She's had a
rotten time ... I can't tell you.... It would have been different if she
was coming home with us. Everything seems against me. No matter ... a
chap has to put up with his luck, I suppose.'
"'You'll pick up,' I suggested, without much brilliance I am afraid. He
made no reply, lying with a sort of stern acquiescence in the enigmatic
blows of fate.
"And the next day, when the ore was crashing into the holds and the ship
lay in a red fog of dust, Jack and I went ashore on our business. I
remember Mr. Bloom walking to and fro on the bridge deck with the Second
Mate, nudging him facetiously as they passed the Second, who was rigging
his tackle over the bunker, and nodding toward us as we made our way
among the ore-trucks and down to the beach. The Second had told me that
'the nosey blighter' had been making inquiries about the coal, with sly
innuendoes dusted over his sapient remarks. It was a subject to which
Mr. Bloom's lofty conceptions of 'professional etiquette' would do full
justice. As we climbed the steps which ran up outside Gruenbaum's house,
I was wondering to myself if I should be able to redeem my promise to
young Siddons. There seemed small likelihood of it unless I took Jack
into our confidence. We entered a high stone passage through the farther
end of which we could see Gruenbaum's orchard and Gruenbaum's five
children playing under the trees in the care of a fat Greek woman. We
turned to the left into an immense chamber with a cheap desk and office
chair in one corner. The whitewashed walls were decorated with
oleographs of imaginary Greek steamships, all funnels and bridge, with
towering knife-like prows cleaving the Atlantic at terrific speed. There
were advertisements of Greek and Italian insurance companies, too, and a
battered yellow old map of the Cyclades. And standing at the tall
windows was a figure in a frock coat squinting through a telescope. He
put it down hurriedly as we entered, walked across to the desk, and
resting his hand on it, made us a bow. This was Monsieur Nikitos, the
lieutenant of the mighty enterprise. I must confess that his pose at
that moment was less of the financier than of a world-famous virtuoso at
the piano bowing to a tumult of applause.
"'This is the Chief Engineer,' said Jack. The virtuoso favoured me with
a special bow, and waved his hand to a couple of chairs.
"'Take a seat, Captain. Take a seat, Mister Chief. Mr. Gruenbaum is
engaged at the moment. I take the opportunity of mentioning the little
matter we discussed yesterday, Captain. I have no doubt you will take
shares in our company.'
"Jack looked at me, and I regarded Monsieur Nikitos with fresh interest.
He was a most mysterious creature to look at, now we were close to him.
He was quite young, not more than twenty-five, and the black fuzz on his
face gave him a singularly dirty appearance. As he sat in his swivel
chair with the tails of his dusty frock coat draped over the arms,
tapping his large white teeth with his pen and brushing his black hair
from his blotchy forehead, he suddenly gave me the impression of a poet
trying to think of a rhyme.
"'We have decided,' I said, and he dropped his hands and inclined his
ear, 'to think it over.' He slumped back in his chair, smiled, and shook
his head. Then he straightened up and reaching for a ruler looked
critically at it.
"'We cannot wait. In affairs of finance one must think quickly, then
act--so!' He snapped his thumb and finger. 'If not, the chance is gone.
Now I show you. To-day, Captain Macedoine resigns. Yes! To-morrow, _I_
resign. Like that. To-morrow also, Monsieur Spilliazeza, our invaluable
manager of works, resigns! To-night, the _Osmanli_ calls for the mails.
We go by the _Osmanli_, our vessel, to Saloniki. We arrive. We take
action at once.' He waved his arms. 'Action! Next week it will be too
late. Option taken up, work commenced, contracts awarded, organization
complete. It is all here.' He tapped his forehead. 'I have it complete,
in inauguration, here.' And he regarded us with a gaze of rapt
abstraction in his brilliant black eyes.
"I don't mind telling you that the chief impression this performance
made upon me was that he was a lunatic. Jack was staring solemnly at
him. I imagine he began to have doubts of the wisdom of entrusting this
creature with real money. And then a bell tinkled, one of a pair of high
dark folding doors opened, and I had a glimpse of a great room where an
enormously fat man sat in the curve of a vast horseshoe shaped desk. It
was only a momentary view, you understand, of the diffused light shed by
three tall windows upon a chamber of unusual size. I had an impression
of glancing into a museum, a glimpse of a statue, very white and tall
with an arm broken off short, gleaming glass cases of small things that
shone like opals and aquamarines, and great bunches of coral like
petrified foam. I saw all this as the door stood for a moment, the
fezzed head of a little old gentleman looking out and mumbling the word
'_Kapitan!_' We stood up. Jack made a movement to go in. Monsieur
Nikitos came between us and regarded us as though we were conspirators.
"'Monsieur Gruenbaum will see the Kapitan,' he remarked in a loud voice,
and then in a whisper, 'Of this--not a word,' And he pressed his
knuckles to his lips. And then Jack passed into the room, the door
closed softly, and I was alone with Monsieur Nikitos.
"My feelings at that moment, you know, were mixed. I was astonished.
I was amused. I was indignant. I looked at the frock-coated
figure before me with an expression of profound distaste and
contempt. He gave me a confidential smile and indicated a chair.
I sat down, looking at the closed folding doors. And as I sat
there I became aware that Monsieur Nikitos was indulging in
a whispered monologue. I caught the words--man of wide views--great
wealth--vast experience--unlimited prospects--unique grasp of
detail--necessary in affairs--man of affairs ... and then, in
a lower tone--daughter--beauty--happiness--future--efforts
redoubled--found fortunes--ideals--cannot express feelings--humble
aspirations--many years--ambition--travel....
"I suppose I must have made some sound to indicate my coherent interest
in this unlooked-for rigmarole, for he sprang up, and placed himself
between me and the folding doors. He bent his head to my ear. He desired
to know if I considered my Kapitan reliable. Would he invest? That was
the thing. Would he invest? Had he character? Why did he ask? Because he
had a design. The Swedish Kapitan who had invested was a single man, a
man of no education, I was to understand--no culture. But my Kapitan was
a married man. Of course he would settle in Saloniki, that fairest
jewel in the Turkish crown. He himself knew a house in a good
street--just the thing. He was anxious about this because he himself
would shortly become a married man. He sat down abruptly and waved the
ruler. As in a dream I sat there listening to his words. I have a notion
now that he gave me his whole life history. I recall reference to--early
years--great ambitions--great work--frustrated--years of exile--unique
qualifications--international journalism--special correspondent--highly
commended--friend of liberty--confidential agent, and so on. He had an
immense command of rapidly enunciated phrases which were run together
and interspersed with melodramatic pauses and gestures. And I said
nothing--nothing at all. He ran on, apparently quite satisfied that I
had a deep and passionate interest in his vapourings. As a matter of
fact, I paid very little attention. I was wondering whether it would be
worth my while to obtain an interview with the girl, if what he had
hinted were true, that her assistance in her father's designs was to
many this eloquent lieutenant and satisfy his 'humble aspirations.' And
while I wondered I heard harsh words uttered within the folding
doors--_confidence in my dispositions_--said a voice of grating
power and guttural sound. Monsieur Nikitos looked at me for an
instant and waved his ruler. He muttered. He alluded to tyrannical
obstinacy--unimaginative autocracy--intolerable domination--and other
polysyllabic enormities. The harsh voice went on in an unintelligible
rumble, rising again to 'post of a secretarial nature--a man of
undeserved misfortune--my disgust--effrontery to submit--resignation.' I
listened, and Monsieur Nikitos, who was gazing at me, gradually assumed
an expression of extreme alarm. He rose and went on tip-toe into the
outer hall. He reappeared suddenly with a broad-brimmed felt hat on his
head. He muttered some excuses--appointment--return immediately--urgent
necessity--apologies--in a moment--and tip-toed away again, leaving me
alone.
"I was beginning to think Jack had forgotten all about me when he came
out and closed the door behind him. We walked out into the passage
together, but he made no remark until I asked him if it was all right
about the coal. He said yes, it was all right, but what did I think?
That chap Macedoine was a wrong-un, according to Gruenbaum. Trying to get
control. Gruenbaum had sacked him. After fetching his daughter out for
him, too. It was true, what Nikitos had told us. They were going all
right but because they had to. Gruenbaum was in a devil of a rage over
it. Had cabled to Paris to send out some more men. Good job he'd had
the notion of asking Gruenbaum about it, eh? Might have lost our money.
Now he came to think of it, that Greek didn't look very reliable. Was I
coming back on board?
"We paused on the beach, where a few fishing boats were drawn up and the
nets lay in the sun drying.
"'I don't think I will,' I said. 'I guess I'll take a walk up the cliff
over there. When will you pull off to the buoys?'
"'Not a minute after five,' he returned. 'It's none so safe here at
night. Steam ready all the time remember, Fred. Gruenbaum was just giving
me a friendly warning.'
"I started off for a walk up the cliff. The point where the path cut
round the corner stood sharp against the sky and led me on. As I gained
the beginning of the rise I could look back and down into Gruenbaum's
garden where lemon, fig, plum, and almond trees grew thickly above green
grass cut into sectors by paths of white marble flags and with a
fountain sending a thin jet into the air. I could see children playing
about under the trees, but there were no birds. There were no birds on
the island. I realized this perfectly irrelevant fact at that moment,
and I became aware of the singular isolation of this man living under
the gigantic shadow of the mountain. It gave me a sudden and profound
consciousness of his extreme security against the designs oL imaginative
illusionists. The vast bulk of the man became identified in my mind with
the tremendous mass of rock against which I was leaning. The momentary
glimpses into his office, the memory of the bizarre conjunction of
ancient statuary with the furniture of business and money-making, the
harsh voice reverberating through the lofty chambers, gave me a feeling
that I had been assisting at some incredible theatrical performance. I
started off again. I felt I needed a walk. After all, these reflections
were but an idle fancy. Jack and I were not likely to risk our small
savings in any such wild-cat schemes. Jack's words about pulling off to
the buoys had recalled me to a sense of serious responsibility. One
always had that hanging over one while in Ipsilon. Gruenbaum, from his
secure fastness under the mountain, was familiar with the incalculable
treachery of the wind and sea.
"I was soon far above the habitation of men. Above me slanted the masses
of weathered limestone and marble; below, reduced to the size of a
child's toy, I could see the _Manola_. At intervals I could hear a faint
rattle and another cloud of red dust would rise from her deck, like the
smoke of a bombardment. Far below me were a tiny group of men at work in
a quarry. They seemed to be engaged in some fascinating game. They
clustered and broke apart, running here and there, crouching behind
boulders, and remaining suddenly still. There would be a dull thump, a
jet of smoke, and a few pieces of rock, microscopic to me, would tumble
about. And then all the pigmy figures would run out again and begin
industriously to peck at these pieces, like ants, and carry them, with
tiny staggerings, out of sight. I watched them for a moment and then
walked on until I came to the corner where the path curves to the right
and eventually confronts the open sea. I was alone with the inaccessible
summits and the soft murmur of invisible waves breaking upon half-tide
rocks. I was in mid-air with a scene of extraordinary beauty and
placidity spread before me. The sea, deep blue save where it shallowed
into pale green around the farther promontory, was a mirror upon which
the shadows of clouds flickered and passed like the moods of an innocent
soul. In the distance lay the purple masses of other islands, asleep. It
was as though I were gazing upon a beautiful and empty world, awaiting
the inevitable moment when men should claim the right to destroy its
loveliness....
"At intervals along the face of the cliff were tunnels which led
through the marble shell of the mountain into the veins of ore. I walked
along looking for a place to sit down, stepping from tie to tie of the
narrow-gauge track along which the mine trucks were pushed by Gruenbaum's
islanders. I suppose the vein had petered out up there.... I don't know.
One of Gruenbaum's dispositions, perhaps. Anyhow it was deserted. I came
to a huge mass of rock projecting from the face, so that the track
swerved outward to clear it. I walked carefully round and stopped
suddenly.
"She was sitting there, leaning against the entrance to a working, and
looking out across the sea. Without alarm or resentment she turned her
head slightly and looked at me, and then bent her gaze once more upon
the distance. I hesitated for a moment, doubtful of her mood, and she
spoke quietly.
"'What is it?' she asked. I went up and stood by her.
"'I have a message for you,' I remarked, and took out a cigarette. 'But
I had no idea you were up here. In fact, I dare say I should have gone
back on board without giving it to you.'
"'What is it?' she said again, and this time she looked at me.
"'You don't know, I suppose,' I said, 'that Siddons--the Third Mate--has
had an accident?'
"She looked away and paused before answering.
"'I see,' she remarked, though what she saw I did not quite comprehend
at the moment. It seemed a strange comment to make.
"'Oh, come!' I said. 'Don't say you're not interested.'
"'How did it happen?' she enquired, looking at her shoe.
"I told her. She turned her foot about as though examining it, her
slender hands clasped on her lap. She had an air of being occupied with
some problem in which I had no part.
"'And the message?' she said at length. I gave her that, too, briefly,
and without any colouring of my own. She put one leg over the other,
clasping her knee with her hands, and bent forward, looking suddenly at
me from under bent brows.
"'What can I do?' she demanded in a low tone.
"'But don't you see,' I returned. 'He's in love with you.'
"She gave a faint shrug of the shoulders and uttered a sound of
amusement.
"'Then you are indifferent?' I asked, annoyed.
"'What else can I be?' she said. 'Boys always think they are in love. I
don't think much of that sort of love.' And she fell silent again,
looking at the sea.
"'Look here, my dear,' I said abruptly, 'tell me about it. I'm in the
dark. Can't I help you?'
"'No,' she said. 'You can't. Nobody can help me. I'm in a fix.'
"'But how?' I persisted.
"'Do you suppose,' she said, slowly, 'that nobody has been in love with
me before I came on your ship? I thought you'd understand, when I told
you I had never had any luck. I haven't. I had no one to tell me. I
thought people were kinder, you know--men, I mean. And now all I can do
is wait ... wait. Sometimes I wish I was dead, wish I'd never been born!
Before you came up, I was wondering if I couldn't just jump--finish it
all up--no more waiting. And then I found I hadn't the pluck to do that.
I tried to tell Mrs. Evans once, give her a hint somehow, but she
doesn't understand. She's safe. She's got a husband as well as ... no
matter. I was going to tell you, one evening, you remember, but I got
scared. I didn't feel sure about you. Oh, I'm sorry, of course, about
Mr. Siddons. I liked him, you know. He's a gentleman. But even gentlemen
are very much the same as anybody else.'
"'But what will you do?' I asked in astonishment.
"'I must go with my father,' she replied, stonily. 'He wants me to be
with him. He is not happy here. He is misunderstood. He is going into
business with my--with another man. We are going to Saloniki. I dare
say I shall do as he wishes. That's what a daughter should do, isn't
it?' And her eyes flickered toward me again.
"I didn't answer, and there was a long silence. I had no words of
consolation for that solitary soul engaged in the sombre business of
waiting. And I understood the trivial role which young Siddons played in
her tragic experience. To her we were all pasteboard figures actuated by
a heartless and irrelevant destiny. Fate had shut the door upon her with
a crash, and she was alone with her griefs in an alien world. I put my
arm round her shoulders. She looked at me with hard bright eyes, her red
lips firmly set.
"'Can I help you?' I whispered. She shook her head. 'At least,' I went
on, 'you can write to me, if you were in trouble--ever. I would like you
to feel that someone is thinking of you.'
"'It's kind of you,' she said, with a faint smile, 'but _you_ wouldn't
be able to do much. Oh! I know what men are,' she added with a
hysterical little laugh. 'Always thinking of themselves. There's always
that behind everything they do. They don't mean it, but it's there, all
the time. Even you wouldn't do anything to make yourself uncomfortable,
you know.'
"'You don't think a great deal of us,' I remonstrated, taking my arm
away.
"'No, I don't!' she said with sudden hard viciousness of tone. 'I've had
very little reason to, so far.'
"'You are meeting trouble half way, going on like this,' I said,
severely. 'Come now. I insist. Promise me you will write when you get to
Saloniki. Here, I'll give you my address.' And I gave it to her. She
sighed.
"'I'm not afraid of life,' she said, 'when it is fair play. But I
haven't had fair play. I've been up against it every time. If I got a
chance----'
"'What sort of a chance?' I asked, curiously. There was a look of savage
determination on her face, and she clenched her teeth and hands on the
word 'chance.'
"'Oh, I'm not done yet,' she exclaimed to the air. 'I'm in a fix, but if
I ever get out of it alive, look out!'
"'What do you mean?' I asked again.
"'Nothing that you would approve of,' she answered, dropping her voice.
'Nothing any of you would approve of.'
"'That means it's something foolish,' I remarked.
"'Perhaps. We'll see,' she retorted.
"'I would like to have taken a word back to young Siddons,' I hinted.
'Just to show you cared a little.'
"'But I don't!' she burst out. 'I don't! He bothered me to let him come
and see me and I said--I don't know what I said. Tell him anything you
like. I don't care. I'm sick of it all there!'
"'You are making it very hard for me,' I said, gently, and she flung
round suddenly and faced me, her eyes shining, her lips parted in a
rather mirthless smile. She was an extraordinarily beautiful creature
just then. Her face, with its slightly broad, firmly modelled nostrils,
the small ears set close under the cloud of soft dark hair, and the
thick black eyebrows, was informed with a kind of radiance that
heightened the sinister impression of her scorn. She regarded me
steadfastly as though she had had her curiosity suddenly aroused.
"'You!' she said. 'Hard for you? What is there hard for you anywhere?
_You_ don't take any chances. Humph!' and she turned away again.
"'Just what does that mean?' I enquired. 'If you don't care anything
about young Siddons, you're hardly likely to care much about any of the
rest of us.'
"'No?' she said, tauntingly. 'No?'
"'I offered you my sympathy,' I began, and she turned on me again.
"'This?' she asked, holding up the address I had given her. 'What's the
good of this, if I wanted help?'
"'But what can I do?' I insisted. 'Use me. Tell me what you want me to
do!'
"'Well,' she said in a dry, hard voice and looking away out to sea. 'I
suppose you know what a girl in my position usually wants of a single
man, don't you?'
"'But, my child,' I said, 'this is extraordinary!'
"'Oh, don't '_my child_' me,' she retorted in a passion. 'I thought you
understood.'
"Well, I suppose I had understood in a vague sort of way, but I
certainly had not credited her with any active designs of this sort. And
while I sat beside her reflecting upon the precarious nature of a
bachelor's existence, I found she had glanced round upon me again, her
expression at once critical and derisive. She saw through my sentimental
interest in her affairs. She knew that at the first signal of danger to
my own peace and position I would sheer off, regretfully but swiftly. Of
course she was perfectly right. The mere thought of her father and his
mangy lieutenant was sufficient. She had so much against her. It was
horrible. As I sat there counting up the handicaps which Fate had
imposed upon her I was aware of that critical and derisive smile
regarding me over her shoulder. And I felt ashamed. I had an uneasy
feeling that she was thinking of my severely paternal manner when I put
my arm round her and made her take my address. She thought more of young
Siddons, no doubt, more even of Nikitos, who was willing to marry her
without knowing her secret, than she did of me. That is one of the
penalties of remaining a super in the play. The leading lady regards you
with critical derision or she doesn't regard you at all.
"'Let us suppose,' I suggested after a silence, 'that I do understand.
Then why do you turn down young Siddons?'
"She made a sound and a gesture of impatience.
"'Oh, because of any amount of reasons,' she said, looking out to sea
again. 'A lot I'd see of him if he knew.'
"'Doesn't he? He told me you had had a bad time.' She shrugged her
shoulders.
"'I told him some sort of tale, just to pass the time. I'm not such a
fool. _You_ can tell him if you like,' she laughed shortly. 'I knew a
girl in the office who was engaged. She told him one day, after making
him promise to be her friend, and he nearly killed her, and left her.'
"'Young Siddons wouldn't do that,' I asserted.
"'No, he's a gentleman,' she sneered. 'He'd sail away. A handy
profession, a sailor's!'
"I must confess that I was hypocrite enough to be shocked at this. She
wasn't far wrong, though. We do sail away, most of us, whether we are
gentlemen or not. I suppose we are all of us, at times, the victims of
the perplexing discrepancy between romance and reality. Only I wonder
why it is so many of us recover, and think of our escapades with a
shamefaced grin on our damaged countenances. They say these tremendous
emotional experiences tend to make us nobler. Why is it, when we come to
analyze ourselves and others in middle life, we seem to find nothing
save the dried-up residues of dead passions and the dregs of
relinquished aspirations? Why is it the young can see through our
tattered make-ups and judge us so unfalteringly and with such little
mercy? No doubt we get our revenge, if we live long enough and are
sufficiently rapacious to take it!
"Yes, I was shocked, and she regarded me with defiant derision in her
bright dark eyes. She challenged me. I needn't tell you I did not then
accept. Here was a woman making the supreme appeal, locked up in a
castle kept by a whole regiment of ogres, and challenging me to come to
her rescue. And, as she put it, I sailed away.
"'And besides,' she broke in on me with a short laugh, 'thirty shillings
a week! You can't keep house on that anywhere, as far as I know.'
"This shocked me, too, until I reflected that this girl was not making
sentimental overtures, that she was simply explaining her extremely
secular reasons for rejecting a particular candidate. She was in that
mood and predicament. You can call it, with a certain amount of truth, a
girl's cross-roads. It certainly seems to me to be a more momentous
point in a woman's life than the accepted and conventional crisis which
confronts virginity. A man may successfully deceive a woman, as we
phrase it (rather ineptly), and make not the smallest impression upon
her personality or character. But the man who assumes the abandoned
function of protector, no matter what you call him, is invested with
tremendous powers. No power on earth can bring her back from the road on
which he sets her feet. She's got to take her cue from him. I suppose
she knows this, and when the time comes to mark down her victim she
brings to the business all the resources of her feminine intuition and
the remorseless judgment of a panther's spring. The ruthless reference
to poor young Siddons' six pounds a month wages--thirty shillings a
week--illustrates the mood exactly. Mind you, it is absurd to accuse a
girl of being merely callous and mercenary when she talks like that. She
is really merciful to her rejections in the long run. And she is
proceeding on the very rational argument that a man's value to a woman
may be roughly gauged by the value the world sets on him. She is not
merely a greedy little fool. Women upon whom such decisions are forced
achieve extraordinary skill in estimating the characters of men. Young
chaps like Siddons simply don't count--they are thrown to the discard at
once. Innocence and purity of soul are not negotiable assets in this
sort of thing. Even men with merely a great deal of money are not so
successful as one might imagine. They fizzle out if they lack the
character which the woman admires. I have seen them fizzle. A man who
roves as I do, reserving for himself, as I have insisted, the part of a
super in the play, naturally has many opportunities of watching the
lives of these emotional adventurers and the women who constitute the
inspiration of the adventures. The singularity of the present instance
was that, for the first time in my life, I was assisting at the
inauguration of such a career. That is how I interpreted her enigmatic
references to 'something I would not approve of.' And when I had got
that far I could see it was useless to bring in Siddons any more. His
destiny lay ahead. I have no doubt he achieved it with chivalrous
rectitude. We English have a way of weathering the gales of passion.
"I was turning these things over in my mind as we sat up there on the
cliff and half regretting, perhaps, my usual inability to play up to my
romantic situation when she raised her hand and pointed out to sea. The
surface of the ocean lay like shimmering satin in the hush of the
afternoon, but far away a small black blot, with a motionless trail of
smoke astern, moved at the apex of a diverging ripple. She pointed to it
and looked at me with that hard, bright, radiant smile. It certainly was
significant. This was the _Osmanli_, the little tin-kettle steamboat in
which her father had invested his capital, the humble beginning of that
vast enterprise, the Anglo-Hellenic Development Company. The actual
presence of that forlorn little vessel made a profound difference to our
words. It was impossible to deny that Captain Macedoine's dreams might
come true after all. His remarkable countenance might yet feature in our
magazines as one of our great captains of industry, while I, with old
Jack, pursued our obscure ways, the victims of a never-ending regret.
The _Osmanli_ came on, slowly pushing that immense ripple across the
opaline floors. Perhaps the girl perceived the significance of this. Her
hand dropped to her lap but she continued to regard me in a sort of
defiant silence. There! she seemed to say, there lies our future, wide
as the sea, glorious as the afternoon sun on purple isles and the
fathomless blue of heavens! She was extraordinarily lovely. I found
myself trying to picture the sort of man who would appear later to
fashion her destiny--perhaps one of the capitalists who would inevitably
be drawn into the great enterprise. She would develop tremendously. For
a moment I felt an access of regret at my renunciation. Too late, no
doubt. But I have not scrupled since to think of what might have been,
had I not--well, lost my nerve, let us say, and preferred to keep in the
cool, shadowy by-ways of life. That's what her bright, defiant smile
really meant, I believe now. I was no use to her because I didn't dare
to grab her and take the consequences. They say women nowadays are
rebelling against being possessed. The trouble seems to be rather that
so many men shrink from the trouble and the strain and responsibility
that possession entails. Too much civilization, I suppose. We are afraid
of looking foolish, afraid of taking a chance. We sail away. And when we
read in the news of some intrepid soul who does take a chance, who
snatches a breathless woman off her feet and gallops thundering through
all our mean and cowardly conventions and finishes up perhaps with a
bullet in his brain, we shrug and mutter that he was a fool. We remain
safe and die in our beds, but we have to suffer in silence that bright,
critical, derisive smile which means 'Thou art afraid!'"