After Hermann had gone, we went in--Helen and I--to see Severn. To
_tell_ him....
That which might have been the hardest thing in the world proved, after
all, to be the easiest. He was reading when we entered, and as soon as
he saw us he began: "I say, he's told you! I wondered if he would. I
suppose he thought you'd break it gently to me...."
"You know!" I gasped.
"_Know_? I should know by your faces, anyhow. But as a matter of fact, I
knew as soon as he'd finished prodding me in the back. Knew by the way
he changed the subject when I questioned him. Knew by everything he said
and looked.... Lawyers get used to reading faces."
He went on: "Don't look so terrible about it! ... After all, what the
Law will lose, Literature will gain.... By the way, my book on Disraeli
comes out next week. Give me a good review, won't you, Hilton? Something
wistful and pathetic--in your own inimitable style. A sob in every line.
Short paragraph about Disraeli. Column and a half about me. You know the
sort of thing?"
I stammered something--Heaven knows what--and he asked me to reach a
half-opened parcel that was on his table. "Advance copies," he said.
"Give me one of them, will you? And my fountain-pen."
I obeyed, and he wrote my name with a great flourish on the fly-leaf.
"There! My gift to you on this memorable occasion. Take it away and read
it.... A gem of irony, sparkling with epigram and polished
satire--that's what all the other critics will say. But you--you
only--must see through it--must see the tragedy behind the mask.... Know
what I mean?"
I didn't know. I don't know now. I don't know whether he was laughing at
me, or whether, at this queer and desperate moment, emotion was seething
in him. There were tears in his eyes, but they may have been tears of
laughter.... I just don't know....
* * * * * * * *
Outside his room, with the sunlight streaming in upon us both, she took
my hand in hers. All the time she hadn't spoken a word. She had sat
beside him, pale and silent, gazing emptily at the shelves of books.
When we left, he had smiled at her, and she had smiled back at him. That
was all.
We walked into the quiet garden, where the shadows were conquering the
last strip of sunlight on the lawn. The maid was clearing away the
tea-cups. In that other garden not far off someone was still playing
crocquet.... It was all, in a strange and curious way, reassuring.
"So now ..." I began, and stopped.
I think she knew what was in my mind, for she whispered: "I--shall
keep--my word...."