It was rather a curious circumstance, that on the occasion of
Lorraine’s dinner-party, Alymer Hermon was the first to notice an
indefinable change in Hal. To the others she was only gayer than usual,
more sparkling, better-looking.
From the Zoological Gardens Sir Edwin had taken her home in a taxi, and
after being a delightful companion all the afternoon, had said good-bye
in just the friendly, pally spirit that Hal wished, without exhibiting
any alarming symptoms whatever to disturb her peace of mind. He had
indeed been at his very best; far nicer than ever before; and together
they had thoroughly enjoyed their intercourse, through iron bars, with
the animals they both loved.
Moreover, his knowledge on most subjects did not exclude zoology, and
he was able to tell her numberless little details of the ways and
habits of beasts that Hal rejoiced to hear, because she loved all
four-footed things.
And then there had been the pleasant consciousness of a new winter
costume, that was not only very up to date, but remarkably becoming;
and Hal was true woman enough to enjoy the knowledge that she looked
her best. Neither was it in any degree a mediocre “best”; and even Sir
Edwin was a little surprised to find himself with a companion who
attracted nearly as many admiring glances as various lady friends who
were recognised beauties.
Her slim, graceful figure was singularly perfect, and, as he observed
with fresh pleasure each time they met, she walked with a natural
elegance and grace that were a delight to the eye. And happiness gave a
faint pink flush to her cheeks and a light to her eyes, that somehow
seemed to radiate gaiety; and her intense power of enjoyment
communicated itself to others in a way that was wholly delightful.
So they spent a gay afternoon, which cemented the former
acquaintanceship into a firmer bond of friendship, and because of it he
vowed within himself he would play fair with her, and make no more
advances he was not prepared to follow up in an honourable spirit.
For Hal, it was enough that the past mistake seemed genuinely regretted
and wiped out, and that all his manner to her now held deference and
respect. And she was intensely glad—almost alarmingly glad, if she had
stopped to consider; only that would have cast a shadow on the
sunshine; and she preferred to take the sunshine while it offered, and
leave the future to take care of itself.
And in the meantime there was Lorraine’s dinner-party, instead of a
lonely evening, and once more she dressed herself with care and skill;
and later stood up straight and slim in Lorraine’s pretty drawing-room,
radiating happiness, and surprising even old friends with her good
looks.
Alymer Hermon remarked it first. He was standing beside her on the
hearth, and he looked down from his great height with laughing,
quizzical eyes and said:
“You’re looking astonishingly pretty tonight. Have you been consulting
a beauty specialist?”
Dick Bruce and Quin laughed delightedly.
“Why, of course!” cried Dick, digging his hands deep into his pockets,
and giving himself a little gleeful shake, “I’ve been puzzling my head
to grasp what it was. I’d forgotten all about the beauty specialists.
It must have cost an awful lot, Hal.”
“It did,” she told them; “but you’ve no idea how clever they are. They
can renovate the most hopeless faces. I’m sure you’d all find it worth
while running to the expense.”
“Now, come Hal,” objected Quin laughingly. “We can’t have the ornament
of our flat insulted like that. The rising barrister needs no beauty
specialist, you must admit.”
Hal looked up at the giant with twitching lips.
“I was going to suggest a brain specialist for him. It won’t be much
use getting lots of briefs because he looks nice in his wig and gown if
he hasn’t the brains to win his cases.”
Hermon caught her by the shoulders to shake her, and at that moment
Lord Denton quietly entered the room.
Lorraine had met him in the hall, while hastening across for something
she had forgotten, and told him to go in, so that he entered
unannounced, and saw the group before they knew of his presence.
Especially he seemed to see the two on the hearthrug. Hal, with her
shining eyes, rising coulour, and laughing lips, and Hermon with a sort
of answering glow in his face, boyishly gripping her shoulders as if to
shake her. He stood and looked at them a moment without speaking, then
Hal espied him, and thinking he had that instant entered, exclaimed:
“Help!... Help!... Lord Denton, I am caught in the clutches of
Leviathan.”
He came forward smillingly.
“Leviathan does not look as if he meant to eat you; and even if he did,
I don’t believe my courage would run to closing with
six-foot-five-and-a-half.”
“Awful, isn’t it?” she said, releasing herself and giving him her hand.
“He is like those lanky pieces of corn which are all stalk and no head.
Have you seen him before?”
“Once,” offering his hand to Hermon. “Delighted to see you again. I
hear you’ve made a hit already. My cousin tells me his friend is
charmed with your way of grappling with her case.”
“Did you take her by the shoulders?” asked Hal wickedly, rubbing her
own.
“No,” Lord Denton told her. “He was very grave indeed. You must give
him his due, Miss Pritchard. You’ve seen him grave yourself, haven’t
you now?”
“Yes; and he looked like a boiled owl. On the whole, I prefer him
imbecile.”
Alymer turned on her threateningly, but she slipped behind the other
two, saying:
“Have you met these also, Lord Denton. Mr. St. Quintin, of Shoreditch,
and my cousin, Dick Bruce, poet, novelist, and mother’s help.”
Denton shook hands with them genially, and then Lorraine came back, and
they all followed her to the dining-room.
The repast was a very gay one. Every one was in the best of spirits,
and, which is more important still, all were in attune, and there was
no dissentient note. Hal was perhaps the gayest, and Lord Denton found
himself watching her almost if he were seeing her for the first time.
She seemed to him to have developed amazingly in the few months since
he last met her, but he supposed girls of her age often developed
quickly.
Yet even then it seemed a little strange that the merry, rather crude
young typist, as he had regarded her before, should so easily appear a
sparkling, distinguished guest. He could not help a little mental
comparision with Lorraine, not in any way to the latter’s detriment,
but with a vague thought at the back of his mind concerning her and
Hermon.
Lorraine would always be beautiful: her whole face and form were
modelled on lines that would stand the ravages of many years; and for
him she would ever be one of the dearest of women; but could she match
Hal’s young, vigorous, independence, that was very likely to prove more
attractive than a generously given devotion?
Men, like women, are drawn to an indifference that piques them; and he,
man of the world that he was, foresaw a strong irresistible attraction
about Hal’s spirited independence.
But, on the other hand, Lorraine was intensely sympathetic and
understanding, as well as beautiful; and it seemed strange indeed if
any man she chose to enslave could resist her.
He watched Hermon bend his fair head down to her dark one, with an
affectionate, protective air, that was very becoming to him; and
observed that with Hal it was all sparring, and told himself Lorraine
had nothing to fear.
They toasted Hermon on his brief, and on the laurel wreath Dick
announced he already perceived sprouting on his manly brow. Hal said it
was only a daisy chain, or the halo of a cherubim; and the laurels were
rightly sprouting on Dick’s brow as a novelist.
Hermon returned thanks in a witty, clever little speech, during which
Lorraine seemed scarcely able to take her eyes from his face, and Lord
Denton recognised more fully the extraordinary attraction such a man
must wield, whether by intention or quite unconsciously.
He pictured him towering a head and shoulders above nearly every one
around at the law courts, with his clear-cut, fine face, looking yet
more striking in the severe setting of a wig and gown; and he knew that
Lorraine had made no mistake when she said he only wanted impetus and a
chance to make a name for himself. If he could rap out a dainty little
speech like this at a moment’s notice, wearing just that air of
unpretentious, boyish humour, his path ought undoubtedly to be a path
of roses, petted by women, admired and appreciated by men.
“In conclusion,” he was saying, “may I suggest a toast to Miss
Pritchard? I am sure you will all join me in offering her our warmest
congratulations upon her sudden and unlooked-for promotion, from a
somewhat nondescript young person to a brilliant and beautiful society
belle.”
“Speech! speech!” cried Dick and Quin to her gleefully, noisely
rattling their glasses, and Hal got to her feet.
“Ladies and gentlemen and Baby Alymer Hermon,” she began. “You must
allow me to acknowledge your kind toast by congratulating you all, in
return, upon the sudden and swift development of you powers of vision
and perspicacity: equalled only, I may say, by your extraordinary
dullness in not having observed long ago those traits for which you are
pleased, at this late hour, to offer me your congratulations. Before I
sit down I should like to suggest we all drink the healths of the
celebrated actress who is our hostess, of a bishop in the making—”
signifying Quin; “a great novelist in the brewing, and a gentleman
justly celebrated for the eloquence and ease with which he does nothing
at all”—and she bowed to Lord Denton.
“Capital!” he exclaimed. “I am evidently dining in very distinguished
company tonight”; a little later, turning to Dick, he added: “How soon,
may I ask, will this great novel be procurable by the general public?”
Before Dick could reply, Hal intercepted gaily:
“Well, I think the carrots and turnips have fallen out as to which
takes precedence at a dinner-party: isn’t that so, Dick? And until the
difficult question is settled, progress halts.”
“Something of the kind,” agreed Dick promptly; “and there is also
discord among the vegetable marrows and pumpkins on a similar question;
but when the Baby Brigade has settled the views of the Trade Unions,
and reversed the Osborne Judgment, we shall be able to proceed
smoothly.”
“It sounds a very extraordinary type of novel,” said Lorraine.
“It is. I wanted, if possible, to write something even more imbecile
than has ever yet been written. I have not the patience for great
length; nor the wit for brilliant satire; nor the imagination for the
popular, spicy, impossible, ill-flavoured romance; so I have chosen the
other line, adopted by the great majority, and aim at purposeless,
pointless imbecility.”
“And is Hal the model for your heroine?” asked Hermon.
When Hal’s indignation and epithets had subsided, Quin remarked that he
supposed the book fairly bristled with mothers, and with paragraphs of
good advice to them.
“Well, yes,” Dick admitted. “There are certainly a good many
mothers—far more mothers than wives, in fact.”
“Oh, naughty!” put in Lord Denton.
“Not at all. It has to do with a theory. It is to bring out the common
sense of vegetables compared to humans. Humans condemn millions of
women, specially born for motherhood, to purposeless, joyless
spinsterhood, all on account of a prejudice. No green, brainless,
commonplace vegetable would be guilty of such unutterable folly as
that.”
“Don’t be too sweeping,” quoth Quin. “In the East End women are still
mothers from choice; and given decent, healthy conditions, they would
proudly raise an army to protect their country from her threatening
foes. It is not their fault that 50 per cent of their offspring are
sickly, anaemic little weeds.”
“It sounds as if your book has a serious side in spite of its
imbecility?” suggested Lorraine.
“Imbecility and madness are usually full of seriousness,” Dick told
her—“far more so than commonplace rationalism.”
“And do you want to revolutionise society?”
“Oh dear no; what an alarming idea!”
“Then what do you want?”—they asked him.
“I want to see all the superfluous unemployed spinsters busy, happy
mothers, patriotically contributing to raise a splendid fighting-force,
for one thing, which will certainly be regarded as an utterly imbecile
idea by a magnificently rational world.”
“And have you any theory about it?” asked Lord Denton.
“Nothing but the worn-out, commonplace, absurdly natural theories of
the vegetable and animal kingdoms. My only chance is that, being so
ancient, and so absurdly natural, the modern world may mistake them for
something entirely new, and seize upon them with the fasionable avidity
for novelties.”
“Or they may lock you up,” suggested Quin.
“In any case I’m afraid you’ll be too late,” Hal commented, with a half
grave, half sarcastic air; “for before your theories can make any
headway, England is likely to have given all her life-blood to systems,
and restrictions, and cut-and-dried conventions, utterly regardless of
her need for a strong protecting force to maintain her existence at
all. Taken in the aggregate, she never has bothered much about the
primary necessity for the best possible conditions for the mothers of
the future.”
“What a learned sentence, Hal,” put in Lorraine, looking amused. “Quite
worthy of a militant suffragette.”
“The announced suffragettes are not the only ones who care for
England’s future,” she said. “I suppose I care a good deal because I’m
in the newspaper world, and I know something of what she has to contend
against in the way of petty party spirit and the self-aggrandising of
some of her so-called leaders, who haven’t an ounce of true patriotism,
and only want to shout something outrageous in a very loud voice, just
to attract public attention.”
“I think Bruce is right up to a certain point,” remarked Lord Denton.
“We can hardly contemplate the reinstitution of polygamy, but it
certainly ought to be the business of the State to see that every child
born into the country is given the best possible conditions in which to
become a good citizen and, if necessary, a good soldier.”
“Isn’t there a Poor Law for that express purpose?” asked Lorraine.
“Don’t speak of it,” commented Quin sadly. “Our Poor Law, like so many
excellent institutions, is mostly run on a wrong basis. Huge sums of
money are expended in procuring homes for homeless children, and the
last thing that seems to be considered is the suitability of the home.
Applications are accepted in a perfunctory, business-like way by
guardians and others—and perhaps an inspector takes a casual glance
round; but the moral aspect of the whole matter, as to character and
habits, is mostly left to chance. We, who are on the spot, often have
to rescue children from the homes the State has provided for them.”
“It is more supervision, then, that you want?” asked Lord Denton.
“It is a different sort of supervision altogether. It ought to be
woman’s work, not man’s—women who are paid and encouraged and helped.”
“But that might be defying some of the precious conventions,” put in
Hal with a touch of scorn—“making women too important, don’t you know;
and encouraging them to be something more than household ornaments. We
can’t have that, even for the sake of the future. It would be too
alarming. No; England will continue in her cast-iron rut of prejudice,
until most of her soul-power is dried up, and only the husk of a great
nation is left, to follow in the way of other husks.”
“Then I will go to the new, young, strong nation, and watch her
splendid rise,” quoth Dick.
“Traitor!” they threw at him, but he was quite imperturbed. “Strength
and vigour are better than old traditions and an enfeebled race; and
somebody, somewhere on the globe, had got to listen to what I am bound
to teach.”
“You dear old Juggins,” said Hal, “when England has passed her zenith,
and gone under to the new, strong race, you will be found sitting
meditating among cabbages and green peas, like Omar Khayyám in his rose
garden. The rest of us will have died in the fighting-line—except Baby,
and they will put him under a glass case, and preserve him as one of
the few fine specimens left of a decadent race—in spite of his
brainlessness.”
“Are we a decadent race?” asked Lorraine thoughtfully.
“Only the House of Lords and a few leading Conservatives,” said Lord
Denton with flippancy. “The workingman who has the courage to refuse to
work, and the Liberal members who have the grit to demand salaries for
upsetting the Constitution, led by a few eminent Ministers who delight
to remove their neighbour’s landmark, and relieve his pocket, are the
splendid fellows of the grand new opening era of prosperity and
greatness.”
“Still,” put in Quin hopefully, “it is very fashionable to go big-game
shooting nowadays, and an African lion may yet chew up a few of them.”
“Poor lion!” quoth Lorraine; “but what a fine finale for the king of
beasts, to chew up the despoilers of kings. Shall we go to the
drawing-room?” And she rose to lead the way.
A Bridge table was arranged in an alcove for Hal and three of the men,
and Lorraine and Hermon sat over the fire for preference. They were far
enough away from the players to be able to speak of them unheard, and
Hermon, in the course of their conversation, mentioned that he saw
something different in Hal tonight to what he had noticed before.
Lorraine thought she was only very lively, but Hermon looked doubtful.
He could not express what he seemed to see, but in some way her
liveliness held a new note. He thought she had more tone and a new kind
of assurance, and he tried to explain it to Lorraine.
“I expect she’s had a jolly afternoon,” was all Lorraine said, with a
smile. “She has been to the Zoo with Sir Edwin Crathie.”
“Has she?” significantly, and Hermon raised his eyebrows. “Are they
still friends, then? I thought she only knew him slightly.”
“That was at the beginning,” and Lorraine glanced at him with the smile
deepening in her eyes. “There always has to be a beginning—doesn’t
there?”
But no answering smile shone in Alymer Hermon’s face, rather a slight
shade of anxiety as he glanced across the room at Hal. “I should not
like a sister of mine to have much to do with Sir Edwin Crathie,” he
said gravely.
“Perhaps not, you dear old Solemn-acre,” giving his arm a gentle pat;
“but a sister of yours would not have learned early to battle with the
world as Hal has.”
“But surely if she is less protected than a sister of mine would have
been, there is the greater cause for caution.”
“There is no comparision. A sister of yours would always have known
protection, and always rely on it, and if it failed her she might find
herself in difficulties and dangers she hardly knew how to cope with.
Hal faced the difficulties and the dangers early, and learnt to be her
own defence and protector. Some women have to, you see. It is necessary
for them to wield weapons and armour out of their own strength, and be
prepared to be buffeted by a heartless world, and not be afraid. If you
had a sister, you would want to keep her in cotton-wool, and never let
any rough, enlightening experience come near her. If I had a daughter,
I should like her to have the enlightening experience early, and learn
to be strong and self-dependent like Hal; then I shouldn’t be afraid of
her future.”
She was silent a few moments, then added thoughtfully: “I think it
would be better for society in general if the girls of the leisured
classes knew more about the world, and were better able to take care of
themselves; meaning, of course, with a pride like Hal’s in going
straight because it’s the game.”
Hermon’s eyes again strayed to Hal’s pretty head, with its glossy brown
hair, and Lorraine continued after a pause:
“If I’m afraid of anything with Hal, it is that she might let herself
get to care for some one who isn’t worth her little finger, or some one
who is out of her reach, or something generally impossible. She
wouldn’t care lightly; and she’d get dreadfully hurt.”
“But surely she couldn’t actually fall in love with a man like Edwin
Crathie?” he remonstrated.
“I wasn’t thinking of Sir Edwin specially. She goes about a great deal,
you know, and meets many people. She has a strong vein of romance too.
I always feel I shall be very glad when she is safely anchored, if only
it is to the right man.”
They were interrupted then by the Bridge players, who had finished
their first rubber, and Lord Denton persuaded Hermon to change places
with him for a time, and came to sit over the fire with Lorraine.
Presently he too mentioned Hal.
“She is the best woman Bridge player I have ever met,” he said. “She
seems to be developing into something rather out of the ordinary.
Hasn’t she grown much better-looking?”
Lorraine smiled, a slow, sweet smile.
“Alymer Hermon has just been praising Hal too,” she said; “I like to
hear you men admire her; it shows you can appreciate sterling worth as
well—well—shall we call it daring impropriety?”
“You are a little severe.”
“Am I? Well, you see, I know a good many men pretty intimately; and I
have gleaned from various confiding moments that it is not the working
woman chiefly, relying only on her own protection, who strays into the
murky byways and muddy corners of life. It is surprisingly often the
direction of the idle, home-guarded, bored young lady. Flip, if it came
to a choice, I believe I would put my money on the worker. It’s such a
splendid, healthy, steadying thing to have a real purpose and a real
occupation; instead of just days and weeks of idle enjoyment. And as
for temptations! Well, they abound pretty fully in both cases; it isn’t
the amount of temptation likely to be encountered that matters, so much
as the quality of the individual armour to meet it with.”
“Still, when it comes to being hungry and cold and having no money?” he
argued.
“It doesn’t make much difference in the long run, except that one hopes
The Man Above will surely find a wider forgiveness for the woman who
was hungry and cold than for the woman who was just bored, but hadn’t
the grit to find an aim and purpose to renew and invigorate a
purposeless life. All the same, I’d like to see Hal safely anchored to
a real good fellow. Flip, if you could persuade her to try, she’d make
you a splendid wife.”
“And what in the world should I do with a splendid wife?” laughing
frankly into her face—“what an appalling possession! Lorry, old girl,
I’ve got a splendid woman pal, and that’s good enough for me. If I ever
want a wife you shall have the privilege of finding me one: but it
won’t be until I am old and gouty, and then she had better be a
hospital nurse, inured to irritability.”
“You are quite hopeless,” shaking her head at him, “but I don’t
particularly want to lose you as a friend, unless it is for Hal; so
we’ll say no more.”
“Sensible woman! And now I must really be off. I like your friends,
Lorry. They’re very fresh. And of course Hermon is tremendous. You
haven’t overdrawn him at all. Only to be careful. Remember the burnt
child. A man like that ought to be made to wear a mask and hideous
garments, for the protection of susceptible females.”
“He would need to speak through a grating trumpet as well.”
“Yes, I suppose he would. Even I can hear the attraction in his voice.
It will be splendid when he begins to feel his feet in the law courts.
We’ll make a celebrity of him, shall we—just for the interest of it.
But it’s to be only a hobby, Lorraine, no entanglements, mind”—and he
laughed his low, pleasant laught.
“Very well, call it a hobby, or what you like—only keep him in mind
now, Flip. I’ve got him into an ambitious spirit that means everything,
if there is enough fuel at the beginning to keep it alight until it is
a glowing pile quite capable of burning gaily alone.”
“Right you are. I like him. You fan the flame, and I’ll rake up the
fuel. I’ll speak to Hodson about him tomorrow. He’s always ready to
lend a hand to a promising junior.”
When they had all gone, Lorraine lingered a few moments by her
fireside.
“A hobby!” she breathed; “yes, why not? Man-making is almost equal to
man-bearing. I have no son to spur up the Olympian heights; but what
might I not do for Alymer, if… if—”
She placed her hands on the mantelshelf, and leaned her forehead down
on them.
“Alymer,” she whispered, a little brokenly, “I wonder if I ought to be
ready to give you all, and ask nothing? Perhaps make you all the
splendid man you might be, just for some one else, and get nothing
myself but a heart-ache?”