"It was the strangest experience of my existence. It seemed suddenly to
change me to another type of man."
He said it to the Duchess as he sat with her in her private room at
Eaton Square. He had told her the whole story of his week at Darreuch
and she had listened with an interest at moments almost breathless.
"Do you feel that you shall remain the new type of man, or was it only a
temporary phase?" she inquired.
"I told her that I felt I was living on a new planet. London is the old
planet and I have returned to it. But not as I left it. Something has
come back with me."
"It must have seemed another planet," the Duchess pondered. "The
stillness of huge unbroken moors--no war--no khaki in sight--utter peace
and remoteness. A girl brought back to life by pure love, drawing a
spirit out of the unknown to her side on earth."
"She is like a spirit herself--but that she remains Robin--in an
extraordinary new blooming."
"Yes, she remains Robin." The Duchess thought it out slowly. "Not once
did she disturb you or herself by remembering that you were her
husband."
"A girl who existed on the old planet would have remembered, and I
should have detested her. To her, marriage means only Donal. The form we
went through she sees only as a supreme sacrifice I made for the sake of
Donal's child. If you could have heard her heart-wrung cry, 'There will
be no one to defend you! Oh! What shall I do!'"
"The stainless little soul of her!" the Duchess exclaimed. "Her world
holds only love and tenderness. Her goodbye to you meant that in her
penitence she wanted to take you into it in the one way she feels most
sacred. She will not die. She will live to give you the child. If it is
a son there will be a Head of the House of Coombe."
"On the new planet one ceases to feel the vital importance of 'houses,'"
Coombe half reflected aloud.
"Even on the old planet," the Duchess spoke as a woman very tired, "one
is beginning to contemplate changes in values."
* * * * *
The slice of a house in Mayfair had never within the memory of man been
so brilliant. The things done in it were called War Work and
necessitated much active gaiety. Persons of both sexes, the majority of
them in becoming uniform, flashed in and out in high spirits. If you
were a personable and feminine creature, it was necessary to look as
much like an attractive boy as possible when you were doing War Work. If
one could achieve something like leggings in addition to a masculine cut
of coat, one could swagger about most alluringly. There were numbers of
things to be done which did not involve frumpish utilitarian costumes,
all caps and aprons. Very short skirts were the most utilitarian of
garments because they were easy to get about in. Smart military little
hats were utilitarian also--and could be worn at any inspiring angle
which would most attract the passing eye. Even before the War, shapely
legs, feet and ankles had begun to play an increasingly interesting part
in the scheme of the Universe--as a result of the brevity of skirts and
the prevalence of cabaret dancing. During the War, as a consequence of
the War Work done in such centres of activity as the slice of a house in
Mayfair, these attractive members were allowed opportunities such as the
world had not before contemplated.
"Skirts must be short when people are doing real work," Feather said.
"And then of course one's shoes and stockings require attention. I'm not
always sure I like leggings however smart they are. Still I often wear
them--as a sort of example."
"Of what?" inquired Coombe who was present
"Oh, well--of what women are willing to do for their country--in time of
war. Wearing unbecoming things--and doing without proper food. These
food restrictions are enough to cause a revolution."
She was specially bitter against the food restrictions. If there was one
thing men back from the Front--particularly officers--were entitled to,
it was unlimited food. The Government ought to attend to it. When a man
came back and you invited him to dinner, a nice patriotic thing it was
to restrict the number of courses and actually deny him savouries and
entrées because they are called luxuries. Who should have luxuries if
not the men who were defending England?
"Of course the Tommies don't need them," she leniently added. "They
never had them and never will. But men who are officers in smart
regiments are starving for them. I consider that my best War Work is
giving as many dinner parties as possible, and paying as little
attention to food restrictions as I can manage by using my wits."
For some time--in certain quarters even from early days--there had been
flowing through many places a current of talk about America. What was
she going to do? Was she going to do anything at all? Would it be
possible for her hugeness, her power, her wealth to remain inert in a
world crisis? Would she be content tacitly to admit the truth of old
accusations of commerciality by securing as her part in the superhuman
conflict the simple and unadorned making of money through the dire
necessities of the world? There was bitterness, there were sneers,
there were vague hopes and scathing injustices born of torment and
racking dread. Some few were patiently just, because they knew something
of the country and its political and social workings and were by chance
of those whose points of view included the powers and significances of
things not readily to be seen upon the surface of events.
"If there were dollars to be made out of it, of course America would
rush in," was Feather's decision. "Americans never do anything unless
they can make dollars. I never saw a dollar myself, but I believe they
are made of green paper. It would be very exciting if they did rush in.
They would bring so much money and they spend it as if it were water. Of
course they haven't any proper army, so they'd have to build one up out
of all sorts of people."
"Which was what we were obliged to do ourselves, by the way," Coombe
threw in as a contribution.
"But they will probably have stockbrokers and Wall Street men for
officers. Then some of them might give one 'tips' about how to make
millions in 'corners.' I don't know what corners are but they make
enormities out of them. Starling!" with a hilarious tinkle of a laugh,
"you know that appallingly gorgeous house of Cherry Cheston's in Palace
Garden--did she ever tell you that it was the result of a 'tip' a queer
Chicago man managed for her? He liked her. He used to call her 'Cherry
Ripe' when they were alone. He was big and red and half
boyish--sentimental and half blustering. Cherry _was_ ripe, you know,
and he liked the ripe style. I should like to have a Chicago stockbroker
of my own. I wish the Americans _would_ come in!"
The Dowager Duchess of Darte and Lord Coombe had been of those who had
begun their talk of this in the early days.
"Personally I believe they will come in," Coombe had always said. And on
different occasions he had added reasons which, combined, formulated
themselves into the following arguments. "We don't really know much of
the Americans though they have been buying and selling and marrying us
for some time. Our insular trick of feeling superior has held us
mentally aloof from half the globe. But presumably the United States was
from the first, in itself, an ideal, pure and simple. It was. It is
asinine to pooh-pooh it. A good deal is said about that sort of thing in
their histories and speeches. They keep it before each other and it has
had the effect of suggesting ideals on all sides. Which has resulted in
laying a sort of foundation of men who believe in the ideals and would
fight for them. They are good fighters and, when the sincere ones begin,
they will plant their flag where the insincere and mere politicians will
be forced to stand by it to save their faces. A few louder brays from
Berlin, a few more threats of hoofs trampling on the Star Spangled
Banner and the fuse will be fired. An American fuse might turn out an
amazing thing--because the ideals do exist and ideals are inflammable."
This had been in the early days spoken of.