"Did it ever occur to you," Owen said one evening, as the men sat
smoking after dinner, after the servant had brought in the whisky
and seltzer, between eleven and twelve, in that happy hour when the
spirit descends and men and women sitting together are taken with a
desire to communicate the incommunicable part of themselves--"did it
ever occur to you," Owen said, blowing the smoke and sipping his
whisky and seltzer from time to time, "that man is the most
ridiculous animal on the face of this earth?"
"You include women?" Ulick asked.
"No, certainly not; women are not nearly so ridiculous, because they
are more instinctive, more like the animals which we call the lower
animals in our absurd self-conceit. As I have often said, women have
never invented a religion; they are untainted with that madness, and
they are not moralists. They accept the religions men invent, and
sometimes they become saints, and they accept our moralities--what
can they do, poor darlings, but accept? But they are not interested
in moralities, or in religions. How can they be? They are the
substance out of which life comes, whereas we are but the spirit, the
crazy spirit--the lunatic crying for the moon. Spirit and substance
being dependent one on the other, concessions have to be made; the
substance in want of the spirit acquiesces, says, 'Very well, I will
be religious and moral too.' Then the spirit and the substance are
married. The substance has been infected--"
"What makes you say all this, Asher?"
"Well, because I have just been thinking that perhaps my misfortunes
can be traced back to myself. Perhaps it was I who infected Evelyn."
"You?"
"Yes, I may have brought about a natural reaction. For years I was
speaking against religion to her, trying to persuade her; whereas if
I had let the matter alone it would have died of inanition, for she
was not really a religious woman."
"I see, I see," Ulick answered thoughtfully.
"Had she met you in the beginning," Owen continued, "she might have
remained herself to the end; for you would have let her alone.
Religion provokes me... I blaspheme; but you are indifferent, you
are not interested. You are splendid, Ulick."
A smile crossed Ulick's lips, and Owen wondered what the cause of the
smile might be, and would have asked, only he was too interested in
his own thoughts; and the words, "I wonder you trouble about
people's beliefs" turned him back upon himself, and he continued:
"I have often wondered. Perhaps something happens to one early in
life, and the mind takes a bias. My animosity to religion may have
worn away some edge off her mind, don't you see? The moral idea that
one lover is all right, whereas any transgression means ruin to a
woman, was never invented by her. It came from me; it is impossible
she could have developed that moral idea from within--she was
infected with it."
"You think so?" Ulick replied thoughtfully, and took another cigar.
"Yes, if she had met you," Owen continued, returning to his idea.
"But if she had met me in the beginning you wouldn't have known her;
and you wouldn't consent to that so that she might be saved from
Monsignor?"
"I'd make many sacrifices to save her from that nightmare of a man;
but the surrender of one's past is unthinkable. The future? Yes. But
there is nothing to be done. We don't know where she is. Her father
said she would be in London at the end of the week; therefore she is
in London now." "If she didn't change her mind." "No, she never
changes her mind about such things; any change of plans always
annoyed her. So she is in London, and we do not know her address.
Isn't it strange? And yet we are more interested in her than in any
other human being."
"It would be easy to get her address; I suppose Innes would tell us.
I shouldn't mind going down to Dulwich if I were not so busy with
this opera company. The number of people I have to see,
five-and-twenty, thirty letters every day to be written--really I
haven't a minute. But you, Asher, don't you think you might run down
to Dulwich and interview the old gentleman? After all, you are the
proper person. I am nobody in her life, only a friend of a few
months, whereas she owes everything to you. It was you who
discovered her--you who taught her, you whom she loved."
"Yes, there is a great deal in what you say, Ulick, a great deal in
what you say. I hadn't thought of it in that light before. I suppose
the lot does fall to me by right to go to the old gentleman and ask
him. Before you came we were getting on very well, and he quite
understood my position."
Several days passed and no step was taken to find Evelyn's address in
London.
"If I were you, Asher, I would go down to-morrow, for I have been
thinking over this matter, and the company of which I am the
secretary of course cannot pay her what she used to get ten years
ago, but I think my directors would be prepared to make her a very
fair offer, and, after all, the great point would be to get her back
to the stage."
"I quite agree, Ulick, I quite agree." "Very well, if you think so go
to Dulwich." "Yes, yes, I'll go." And Owen came back that evening,
not with Evelyn's address, but with the news that she was in London,
living in a flat in Bayswater. "Think of that," Owen said, "a flat
in Bayswater after the house I gave her in Park Lane. Think of that!
Devoted to poor people, arranging school treats, and making
clothes."
"So he wouldn't give you her address?"
"When I asked him, he said, and not unreasonably, 'If she wanted to
see you she would write.' What could I answer? And to leave a letter
with him for her would serve no purpose; my letter would not
interest her; it might remain unanswered. No, no, mine is the past;
there is no future for me in her life. If anybody could do anything
it is you. She likes you."
"But, my good friend, I don't know where she is, and you won't find
out."
"Haven't I been to see her father?"
"Oh, her father! A detective agency would give us her address within
the next twenty-four hours, and the engagement must be filled up
within a few weeks."
"I can't go to a detective agency and pay a man to track her out--no,
not for anything."
"Not even to save her from Monsignor?"
"Not even that. There are certain things that cannot be done. Let us
say no more."
A fortnight later Owen was reading in the corner by the window about
five o'clock, waiting for Ulick to come home--he generally came in
for a cup of tea--and hearing a latchkey in the door, he put down
his book.
"Is Sir Owen in?"
"Sir Owen is in the study, sir."
And Ulick came in somewhat hurriedly. There was a light in his eyes
which told Owen that something had happened, something that would
interest him, and nothing could interest him unless news of Evelyn.
"Have you seen her?" and Owen took off his spectacles.
"Yes," Ulick answered, "I have seen her."
"You met her?"
"Yes."
"By accident?"
"Yes."
"Tell me about it."
Ulick was too excited to sit down; he walked about the hearthrug in
order to give more emphasis to his story.
"My hansom turned suddenly out of a large thoroughfare into some mean
streets, and the neighbourhood seemed so sordid that I was just
going to tell the driver to avoid such short cuts for the future
when I caught sight of a tall figure in brown holland. To meet
Evelyn in such a neighbourhood seemed very unlikely, but as the cab
drew nearer I could not doubt that it was she. I put up my stick, but
at that moment Evelyn turned into a doorway."
"You knocked?"
Ulick nodded.
"What sort of place was it?"
"All noise and dirt; a lot of boys."
"A school?"
"It seemed more like a factory. Evelyn came forward and said, 'I will
see you in half an hour, if you will wait for me at my flat,' 'But I
don't know the address,' I said. She gave me the address, Ayrdale
Mansions, and I went away in the cab; and after a good deal of
driving we discovered Ayrdale Mansions, a huge block, all red brick
and iron, a sort of model dwelling-houses, rather better."
"Good Lord!"
"I went up a stone staircase."
"No carpet?"
"No. Mérat opened the door to me. I told her I had met Miss Innes in
a slum; she followed me into the drawing-room, saying, 'One of these
days Mademoiselle will bring back some horrid things with her.'"
"Good Lord! Tell me what her rooms were like?"
"The flat is better than you would expect to find in such a building.
It is the staircase that makes the place look like a model
dwelling-house. There is a drawing-room and a dining-room."
"What kind of furniture has she in the drawing-room?"
"An oak settle in the middle of the room and--"
"That doesn't sound very luxurious."
"But there are photographs of pictures on the walls, Italian saints,
the Renaissance, you know, Botticelli and Luini; her writing-table
is near the window, and covered with papers; she evidently writes a
great deal. Mérat tells me she spends her evenings writing there
quite contented."
"That will do about the room; now tell me about herself."
"She came in looking very like herself."
"Glad to see you?"
"I think she was. She didn't seem to have any scruples about seeing
me. Our meeting was pure accident, so she was not responsible."
"Tell me, what did she look like?"
"Well, you know her appearance? She hasn't grown stouter her hair
hasn't turned grey."
"Yet she has changed?"
"Yes, she has changed; but--I don't know exactly how to word it--an
extraordinary goodness seems to have come into her face. It always
seemed to me that a great deal of her charm was in the kindness
which seemed to float about her and to look out of her eyes, and
that look which you know, or which you don't know--"
"I know it very well."
"Well, that look is more apparent than ever. I noticed it especially
as she leaned over the table looking at me."
"I know, those quiet, kindly eyes, steady as marble. A woman's eyes
are more beautiful than a man's because they are steadier. Yes, it
is impossible to look into her eyes and not to love her; her thick
hair drawn back loosely over the ears. There never was anybody so
winsome as she. You know what I mean?"
"How he loves her!" Ulick said to himself; "how he loves her! All his
life is reflected in his love of her."
"Are you going to see her again?" Owen asked suddenly.
"Well, yes."
"Did she raise no difficulties?"
"No."
"You didn't speak to her about your plans to induce her to accept the
engagement?"
"Not yet."
"Shall you?"
"I suppose so, but I cannot somehow imagine that she will ever go
back to the stage. She said, having made money enough for the nuns,
she had finished with the stage for ever, and was glad of it."
"Once an idea gets into our minds we become the slaves of it, and her
mind was always more like a man's than a woman's mind."
This point was discussed, Ulick pretending not to understand Owen's
meaning in order to draw him into confidences.
"She has asked you to go to see her, so I suppose she likes you. I
wish you well. _Anything_ rather than Monsignor should get her. You
have my best wishes."
"What does he mean by saying I have his best wishes? Does he mean
that he would prefer me to be her lover, if that would save her from
religion? Would he use me as the cat uses the monkey to pull the
chestnuts out of the fire, and then take them from me." But he did
not question Owen as to his meaning, and showed no surprise when a
few days afterwards Owen came into the drawing-room, interrupting
him in his work, saying:
"Have you forgotten?"
"Forgotten what?"
"Why, that you have an appointment with Evelyn."
"So I have, so I have!" he said, laying down his pen. "And if I don't
hasten, I shall miss it."
Owen took his hat, saying, "Your hat wants brushing; you mustn't go
to her with an unbrushed hat."
Ulick ran away north, casting one glance back. Owen--would he sit in
his study thinking of his lost happiness or would he try to forget
it in some picture-dealer's shop?