For half an hour there had been perfect silence in the room. The cat
upon the hearthrug slept profoundly; the fire was sunk to a still red
glow; the cold light of the autumn afternoon thickened into dusk.
Lilian seemed to be reading. She sat on a footstool, her arm resting on
the seat of a basket-chair, which supported a large open volume. But
her hand was never raised to turn a page, and it was long since her
eyes had gathered the sense of the lines on which they were fixed. This
attitude had been a favourite one with her in childhood, and nowadays,
in her long hours of solitude, she often fell into the old habit. It
was a way of inviting reverie, which was a way of passing the time.
She stirred at length; glanced at the windows, at the fire, and rose.
A pleasant little sitting-room, furnished in the taste of our time;
with harmonies and contrasts of subdued colour, with pictures
intelligently chosen, with store of graceful knick-knacks. Lilian's
person was in keeping with such a background; her dark gold hair, her
pale, pensive, youthful features, her slight figure in its loose
raiment, could not have been more suitably displayed. In a room of
statelier proportions she would have looked too frail, too young for
significance; out of doors she was seldom seen to advantage; here one
recognized her as the presiding spirit in a home fragrant of womanhood.
The face, at this moment, was a sad one, but its lines expressed no
weak surrender to dolefulness; her lips were courageous, and her eyes
such as brighten readily with joy.
A small table bore a tea-tray with a kettle and spirit-lamp; the
service for two persons only. Lilian, after looking at her watch,
ignited the lamp and then went to the window as if in expectation of
some one's arrival.
The house stood in a row of small new dwellings on the outskirts of
Clapham Common; there was little traffic along the road at any time,
and in this hour of twilight even a passing footstep became a thing to
notice. Some one approached on her side of the way she listened, but
with disappointment; it was not the step for which she waited. None the
less it paused at this house, and she was startled to perceive a
telegraph messenger on the point of knocking. At once she hastened to
the front door.
"Mrs. Quarrier?" inquired the boy, holding out his missive.
Lilian drew back with it into the passage. But there was not light
enough to read by; she had to enter the sitting-room and hold the sheet
of paper close to the kettle-lamp.
"Very sorry that I cannot get home before ten. Unexpected business."
She read it carefully, then turned with a sigh and dismissed the
messenger.
In a quarter of an hour she had made tea, and sat down to take a cup.
The cat, refreshed after slumber, jumped on to her lap and lay there
pawing playfully at the trimming of her sleeves. Lilian at first
rewarded this friendliness only with absent stroking, but when she had
drunk her tea and eaten a slice of bread and butter the melancholy mood
dispersed; pussy's sportiveness was then abundantly indulged, and for
awhile Lilian seemed no less merry than her companion.
The game was interrupted by another knock at the house-door; this time
it was but the delivery of the evening paper. Lilian settled herself in
a chair by the fireside, and addressed herself with a serious
countenance to the study of the freshly-printed columns. Beginning with
the leading-article, she read page after page in the most conscientious
way, often pausing to reflect, and once even to pencil a note on the
margin. The paper finished, she found it necessary for the clear
understanding of a certain subject to consult a book of reference, and
for this purpose she went to a room in the rear--a small study,
comfortably but plainly furnished, smelling of tobacco. It was very
chilly, and she did not spend much time over her researches.
A sound from the lower part of the house checked her returning steps;
some one was rapping at the door down in the area. It happened that she
was to-day without a servant; she must needs descend into the kitchen
herself and answer the summons. When the nether regions were illumined
and the door thrown open, Lilian beheld a familiar figure, that of a
scraggy and wretchedly clad woman with a moaning infant in her arms.
"Oh, it's you, Mrs. Wilson!" she exclaimed. "Please to come in. How
have _you_ been getting on? And how is baby?"
The woman took a seat by the kitchen fire, and began to talk in a
whining, mendicant tone. From the conversation it appeared that this
was by no means the first time she had visited Lilian and sought to
arouse her compassion; the stories she poured forth consisted in a
great measure of excuses for not having profited more substantially by
the help already given her. The eye and the ear of experience would
readily enough have perceived in Mrs. Wilson a very coarse type of
impostor, and even Lilian, though showing a face of distress at what
she heard, seemed to hesitate in her replies and to entertain
troublesome doubts. But the objection she ventured to make to a
flagrant inconsistency in the tale called forth such loud indignation,
such a noisy mixture of insolence and grovelling entreaty, that her
moral courage gave way and Mrs. Wilson whined for another quarter of an
hour in complete security from cross-examination. In the end Lilian
brought out her purse and took from it half-a-sovereign.
"Now, if I give you this, Mrs. Wilson, I do hope to have a better
account"----
Her admonitions were cut short, and with difficulty she managed to
obtain hearing for a word or two of what was meant for grave counsel
whilst taking leave of her visitor. Mrs. Wilson, a gleam in her red
eyes, vanished up the area steps, and left Lilian to meditate on the
interview.
The evening passed on, and her solitude was undisturbed. When
dinner-time came, she sat down to the wing of a cold chicken and a
thimbleful of claret much diluted; the repast was laid out with
perfection of neatness, and at its conclusion she cleared the table
like the handiest of parlour-maids. Whatever she did was done
gracefully; she loved order, and when alone was no less scrupulous in
satisfying her idea of the becoming than when her actions were all
observed.
After dinner, she played a little on the piano. Here, as over her book
in the afternoon, the absent fit came upon her. Her fingers had rested
idly on the keyboard for some minutes, when they began to touch solemn
chords, and at length there sounded the first notes of a homely strain,
one of the most familiar of the Church's hymns. It ceased abruptly;
Lilian rose and went to another part of the room.
A few minutes later her ear caught the sound for which she was now
waiting--that of a latch-key at the front door. She stepped quickly out
into the passage, where the lamp-light fell upon a tall and robust man
with dark, comely, bearded visage.
"Poor little girl!" he addressed her, affectionately, as he pulled off
his overcoat. "I couldn't help it, Lily; bound to stay."
"Never mind!" was her laughing reply, as she stood on tip-toe and drew
down his face to hers. "I was disappointed, but it's as well you didn't
come to dinner. Sarah had to go away this morning."
"Oh! How's that? How have _you_ managed then?"
They passed into the front room, and Quarrier repeated his inquiries.
"She had a letter from Birmingham," Lilian explained. "Her brother has
been all but killed in some dreadful accident, and he's in a hospital.
I saw she wished to go--so I gave her some money and sent her off as
soon as possible. Perhaps it was her only chance of seeing him alive,
Denzil."
"Yes, yes of course you did right," he answered, after a moment's
hesitation.
"I knew you wouldn't mind a dinner of my cooking--under the
circumstances."
"But what are we to do? You can't take her place in the kitchen till
she comes back."
"I'll get some one for a few days."
"But, confound it! how about to-morrow morning? It's very awkward"----
"Oh, I shall easily manage."
"What?--go down at eight o'clock and light fires! Hang it, no! All
right; I'll turn out and see to breakfast. But you must get another
girl; a second servant, I mean. Yes, you ought really to have two. Get
a decent cook."
"Do you think it necessary?"
Quarrier was musing, a look of annoyance on his face.
"It couldn't have happened more inconveniently," he said, without
regard to Lilian's objection. "I had better tell you at once, Lily:
I've asked a friend of mine to come and dine with us to-morrow."
She started and looked at him with anxious eyes.
"A friend?"
"Yes; Glazzard--the man who spoke to me at Kew Station the other
day--you remember?"
"Oh yes!"
Lilian seated herself by the piano and stroked the keys with the tips
of her fingers. Standing on the hearth-rug, her companion watched her
closely for a moment; his forehead was wrinkled, and he did not seem
quite at ease.
"Glazzard is a very good fellow," he pursued, looking about the room
and thrusting his hands into his trouser-pockets. "I've known him since
I was a boy--a well-read man, thoughtful, clever. A good musician;
something more than an amateur with the violin, I believe. An artist,
too; he had a bust in the Academy a few years ago, and I've seen some
capital etchings of his."
"A universal genius!" said Lilian, with a forced laugh.
"Well, there's no doubt he has come very near success in a good many
directions. Never _quite_ succeeded; there's the misfortune. I suppose
he lacks perseverance. But he doesn't care; takes everything with a
laugh and a joke."
He reached for the evening newspaper, and glanced absently over the
columns. For a minute or two there was silence.
"What have you told him?" Lilian asked at length, in an undertone.
"Why, simply that I have had reasons for keeping my marriage secret."
He spoke in a blunt, authoritative way, but with his usual kindly smile.
"I thought it better," he added, "after that chance meeting the other
day. He's a fellow one can trust, I assure you. Thoroughly
good-hearted. As you know, I don't readily make friends, and I'm the
last man to give my confidence to any one who doesn't deserve it. But
Glazzard and I have always understood each other pretty well, and--at
all events, he knows me well enough to be satisfied with as much as I
choose to tell him."
Quarrier had the air of a man who, without any vulgar patronage, and in
a spirit of abundant good-nature, classifies his acquaintance in
various degrees of subordination to himself. He was too healthy, too
vigorous of frame and frank in manner to appear conceited, but it was
evident that his experience of life had encouraged a favourable
estimate of his own standing and resources. The ring of his voice was
sound; no affectation or insincerity marred its notes. For all that, he
seemed just now not entirely comfortable; his pretence of looking over
the paper in the intervals of talk was meant to cover a certain
awkwardness in discussing the subject he had broached.
"You don't object to his coming, Lily?"
"No; whatever you think best, dear."
"I'm quite sure you'll find him pleasant company. But we must get him a
dinner, somehow. I'll go to some hotel to-morrow morning and put the
thing in their hands; they'll send a cook, or do something or other. If
the girl had been here we should have managed well enough; Glazzard is
no snob.--I want to smoke; come into my study, will you? No fire? Get
up some wood, there's a good girl, we'll soon set it going. I'd fetch
it myself, but I shouldn't know where to look for it."
A flame was soon roaring up the chimney in the little back room, and
Quarrier's pipe filled the air with fragrant mist.
"How is it," he exclaimed, settling in the arm-chair, "that there are
so many beggars in this region? Two or three times this last week I've
been assailed along the street. I'll put a stop to that; I told a great
hulking fellow to-night that if he spoke to me again (it was the second
time) I would take the trouble of marching him to the nearest police
station."
"Poor creatures!" sighed Lilian.
"Pooh! Loafing blackguards, with scarcely an exception! Well, I was
going to tell you: Glazzard comes from my own town, Polterham. We were
at the Grammar School there together; but he read AEschylus and Tacitus
whilst I was grubbing over Eutropius and the Greek declensions."
"Is he so much older then? He seemed to me"----
"Six years older--about five-and-thirty. He's going down to Polterham
on Saturday, and I think I shall go with him."
"Go with him? For long?"
"A week, I think. I want to see my brother-in-law. You won't mind being
left alone?"
"No; I shall do my best to keep in good spirits."
"I'll get you a batch of new books. I may as well tell you, Liversedge
has been persuaded to stand as Liberal candidate for Polterham at the
next election. It surprised me rather; I shouldn't have thought he was
the kind of fellow to go in for politics. It always seemed to be as
little in his line as it is in mine."
"And do you wish to advise him against it?"
"Oh no; there's no harm in it. I suppose Beaconsfield and crew have
roused him. I confess I should enjoy helping to kick them into space.
No, I just want to talk it over with him. And I owe them a visit; they
took it rather ill that I couldn't go with them to Ireland."
Lilian sat with bent head. Casting a quick glance at her, Quarrier
talked on in a cheerful strain.
"I'm afraid he isn't likely to get in. The present member is an old
fogey called Welwyn-Baker; a fat-headed Tory; this is his third
Parliament. They think he's going to set up his son next time--a fool,
no doubt, but I have no knowledge of him. I'm afraid Liversedge isn't
the man to stir enthusiasm."
"But is there any one to be made enthusiastic on that side?" asked
Lilian.
"Well, it's a town that has changed a good deal of late years. It used
to be only an agricultural market, but about twenty years ago a man
started a blanket factory, and since then several other industries have
shot up. There's a huge sugar-refinery, and a place where they make
jams. That kind of thing, you know, affects the spirit of a place.
Manufacturers are generally go-ahead people, and mill-hands don't
support high Tory doctrine. It'll be interesting to see how they
muster. If Liversedge knows how to go to work"--he broke into laughter.
"Suppose, when the time comes, I go down and harangue the mob in his
favour?"
Lilian smiled and shook her head.
"I'm afraid you would be calling them 'the mob' to their faces."
"Well, why not? I dare say I should do more that way than by talking
fudge about the glorious and enlightened people. 'Look here, you
blockheads!' I should shout, 'can't you see on which side your
interests lie? Are you going to let England be thrown into war and
taxes just to please a theatrical Jew and the howling riff-raff of
London?' I tell you what, Lily, it seems to me I could make a rattling
good speech if I gave my mind to it. Don't you think so?"
"There's nothing you couldn't do," she answered, with soft fervour,
fixing her eyes upon him.
"And yet I do nothing--isn't that what you would like to add?"
"Oh, but your book is getting on!"
"Yes, yes; so it is. A capital book it'll be, too; a breezy
book--smelling of the sea-foam! But, after all, that's only pen-work. I
have a notion that I was meant for active life, after all. If I had
remained in the Navy, I should have been high up by now. I should have
been hoping for war, I dare say. What possibilities there are in every
man!"
He grew silent, and Lilian, her face shadowed once more, conversed with
her own thoughts.