Mrs. Frothingham's sister, who lived near Basingstoke, gave a warm
welcome to little Hugh Rolfe; and Mrs. Frothingham, who had all but
forgotten that the child was not really her grandson, took charge of
him with pride and joy. He stayed a week; he stayed a fortnight;--he
stayed two months.
For when the Carnabys--who landed at Plymouth and rested there for a
couple of days--made known their intention of straightway taking a flat
in town, it seemed to Alma that the very best thing for her health
would be to spend a week or two in London, and see her old friends, and
go to a few concerts. The time was favourable, for June had only just
set in. Harvey, nothing loath, took his wife to a quiet hotel in the
Portman Square region, whither also went their friends from abroad; his
project being to look for furnished rooms, where child and nurse could
join them. But Mrs. Frothingham thought it a pity of pities to take
little Hugh into the town, when all was so pleasantly arranged for him
down in Hampshire; and, as Alma evidently inclined to the same view,
the uninviting thought of 'apartments' was laid aside. They might as
well remain at the hotel, said Harvey. Alma, with a pretty show of
economical hesitation, approved the plan, saying that she would be
quite ready to go home again when Sibyl had established herself in a
flat. This event came to pass in about three weeks; the Carnabys found
a flat which suited them very well at Oxford and Cambridge Mansions,
and thither, with the least possible delay, transferred a portion of
their furniture, which had lain in warehouse. Thereupon, sweetly
reasonable, Mrs. Rolfe made known that it was time to fetch her baby
and return to Carnarvonshire. She felt incalculably better; the change
had been most refreshing; now for renewed enjoyment of her dear home!
But Harvey wore his wisest countenance; no owl could have surpassed it
for sage gravity.
'You are very much better, and don't you think you would be better
still after another week or two? The concerts are in full swing; it
seems a pity--now you are here----'
Alma looked gracefully reluctant. Were not the hotel expenses rather
heavy?
'Pooh! You must remember that at home we live on half our income, or
less. If that's all that troubles you----'
'You are very kind, Harvey!'
'Why, as for that, I'm enjoying myself. And I like to see you in such
capital spirits.'
So, with a happy sigh, Alma gave up the packing of her trunk, and wrote
to Mrs. Frothingham that if baby _really_ was not a trouble, they might
stay for another fortnight. 'Harvey is in such capital spirits, and
does so enjoy himself, that I don't think he ought to go home whilst
all the life of the season is in full swing. Of course, I could leave
him here, but--if you will credit it--he seems really to wish to have
me with him. If I tried to say how thoroughly good and kind he is, I
should make you laugh. It amuses me to see him turned into a sort of
bachelor again. This is no contradiction; I mean that here, among his
men friends, he shows a new side of himself, seems younger (to tell the
truth), and has a kind of gaiety quite different from his good humour
at home. You can't think how he enjoys a dinner at the club, for
instance, quite in a boyish way; and then he comes back with all sorts
of stories and bits of character and I don't know what; we forget the
time, and sit talking till I daren't tell you when. But I am doing the
same thing now, for it is half-past twelve (noon), and I have promised
to lunch with Sibyl at half-past one. Her flat is just finished, and
looks very pretty indeed. A thousand kisses to my little darling! Try
and make him understand that _mum-mum_ has not gone for ever.'
She dressed with care (her wardrobe had undergone a complete renewal),
and drove off in a hansom to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. It was to
be a luncheon of intimacy, for Sibyl had not yet gathered her
acquaintances. When Alma entered, Mrs. Carnaby was sitting just as in
the days before her great migration, perfectly at ease, admirably
self-possessed, her beauty arrayed with all the chastity of effect
which distinguished her among idle and pleasure-loving women. She had
found a new way of doing her hair, a manner so young, so virginal, that
Alma could not but gaze with wonder and admiration.
'You do look sweet today!'
'Do I? I'm glad you think so.--I want your opinion. Would you have the
piano there, or _there_?'
This matter was discussed, and then they obeyed the tuneful gong that
summoned them to the dining-room. Alma surveyed everything, and felt a
secret envy. Here was no demonstration of the simple life; things
beautiful and luxurious filled all available space, and indeed
over-filled it, for Sibyl had tried to use as much as possible of the
furniture formerly displayed in Hamilton Terrace, with such alterations
and novelties as were imposed by the fashion of today. She offered her
guest a most dainty little meal; a luncheon such as Alma could not
possibly have devised, in spite of all her reminiscences.
'Civilisation is a great thing,' Sibyl remarked. 'It's good to have
been in savagery, just to appreciate one's privileges.'
'But you liked Honolulu?'
'Honolulu--yes. I was thinking of Queensland. There's no barbarism at
Honolulu, if you keep out of sight of the Americans and Europeans. Yes,
I enjoyed myself there. I think I could go back and live out my life at
Waikiki.'
'It astonished me that you didn't make an effort to go with Hugh to
that great volcano. I have read about it since, and I'm sure I should
have faced anything.'
'Kilauea,' murmured Sibyl, with a dreamy air, as she raised the
wine-glass to her lips. 'I was lazy, no doubt. The climate, you know;
and then I don't care much about bubbling lava. It was much nicer to
watch the gold-fish at Waikiki.--Where is your husband today?'
'Of all things in the world, gone to Lord's! He says he never saw a
cricket match in his life, and it struck him this morning that it
really was a defect in his education. Of course, he was thinking of
Hughie. He wants Hughie to be a cricketer and horseman and everything
that's robust.'
'Just like Hugh,' replied Sibyl, laughing. 'I should feel the same if I
had a boy. I like open-air men--though I shouldn't care always to live
among them.'
'Hugh at Coventry still?' Alma inquired.
Her hostess gave a nod, with a look intimating that she would say more
when the servant left them free to talk. She added----
'Do you know Mrs. Strangeways?'
'I seem to remember a Mr. Strangeways,' replied Alma, 'but I can't
think how or where.'
'Yes, he's a man who goes about a good deal. His wife was the widow of
that artist who promised so well, and got into a scrape, and died
miserably--Edward--no, Egbert Dover. Don't you know that big landscape
that hangs in Mrs. Holt's boudoir?--that was one of his. He hid himself
away, and died in a garret or a workhouse--something cheerful. I met
Mrs. Strangeways at Brisbane; she and her husband were globe-trotting.
She might look in this afternoon. I don't know whether you would care
for her; she's rather--rapid, you know. But she remembers hearing you
play somewhere--spoke of you with great admiration.'
Alma's eyes shone.
'Oh, I should be glad to meet her! Are you going to let me stay with
you all the afternoon, then?'
'If you have nothing better to do. I suppose I shall be losing you
presently. I'm very sorry. I wish you lived in London.'
'On this one account,' replied Alma, 'I wish I did. But I've got so out
of it. Don't you think I carry a rustic atmosphere about with me?'
Sibyl laughed, in the tone her friend wished to hear. Alma would have
been profoundly mortified if Mrs. Carnaby had seemed ever so little to
agree with her.
For all that, they were not quite so well attuned to each other as when
the young married woman, indifferent seemingly to social distinction,
patronised the ambitious girl, and, by the mere bestowal of confidence,
subtly flattered her. In those days Alma did not feel it as patronage,
for Sibyl's social position was perhaps superior to her own, and in
things of the intellect (apart from artistic endowment) she sincerely
looked up to her friend. Together they trod ground above the heads of
ordinary women in their world. But changes had been at work. Alma now
felt herself, to say the least, on equal terms with Mrs. Carnaby.
Economically, she was secure; whereas Sibyl, notwithstanding the show
she made, drew daily nearer to a grave crisis, and might before long
find herself in a very unpleasant situation. Intellectually, Alma saw
herself in a less modest light than before marriage; the daily
companionship of such a man as her husband had been to her as a second
education; she had quite overtaken Sibyl, if not gone a little beyond
her. The deference she still showed was no longer genuine, and this
kind of affectation, hard to support and readily perceived, is very
perilous to friendship. Conscious of thoughts she must not utter, Alma
naturally attributed to her friend the same sort of reticence. She
feared that Sibyl must often have in mind the loss she had suffered
three years ago, and would contrast her own precarious circumstances
with the comfort of Bennet Frothingham's daughter. Moreover, Mrs.
Carnaby was not in all respects her own self; she had lost something on
her travels; was it a shade of personal delicacy, of mental refinement?
She seemed more inclined to self-assertion, to aim somewhat at worldly
success, to be less careful about the friends she made. Alma felt this
difference, though not clear as to its nature, and insensibly it helped
to draw them apart.
'Yes, Hugh is at Coventry,' said Sibyl, when the servant had withdrawn.
'He'll go backwards and forwards, you know. I don't think he'll have
very much to do practically with the business; but just at first he
likes to see what's going on.'
'I hope it will prosper.'
'Oh, no doubt it will. It was a very good idea.'
Sibyl spoke as though she had never contemplated the possibilities
which were in Alma's mind. Her husband, as Alma knew from Rolfe, was in
anything but a sanguine mood; he saw his position in all its gravity,
and could hardly rest for fear that this latest enterprise should not
succeed. Sibyl, however, enjoyed her lunch with complete tranquillity.
She had the air of being responsible for nothing.
'I'm not at all sorry we went away for a time. Travelling suits Hugh;
it has done him a great deal of good. I believe he would have liked to
stay in Tasmania; but he saw it wouldn't do for me, and the good fellow
could think of nothing else but my comfort. I have a great admiration
for Hugh,' she added, with a smile, not exactly of superiority or
condescension, but of approval distinct from tenderness. 'Of course, I
always had, and it has increased since I've travelled with him. He
shows to far more advantage on a ship than in a drawing-room. On this
last voyage we had some very bad weather, and then he was at his best.
I admired him immensely!'
'I can quite imagine how he would be,' said Alma.
'And how glad I was when I heard you had married his best friend! It
had crossed my mind more than once. Perhaps you don't remember--you
didn't notice it at the time--but I ventured a discreet hint before we
parted. You couldn't have done a more sensible thing, Alma.'
Though quite willing to believe this, Alma, for some reason, did not
care to hear it thus asserted. The manner of the remark, for all its
friendliness, reminded her that marriage had signified her defeat, the
end of high promises, brave aspirations.
'I couldn't tell you how it happened,' she said, with a little
awkwardness. 'And I dare say you would say the same about your own
marriage.'
'Of course So would every woman. One never does know how it happens'
And Sibyl laughed with quiet merriment which had a touch of cynicism.
Alma had not yet spoken of the impulse which carried her away to the
little house in Carnarvonshire, to the life of noble simplicity and
calm retirement, and she had no disposition now to touch on the matter.
Even in her early letters to Sybil not much was said of it, for she
felt that her friend might have a difficulty in sympathising with such
enthusiasm. She would have liked to make Sibyl understand that her
rustication was quite voluntary; but the subject embarrassed her, and
she preferred to keep silence.
'I didn't hear very much about your time in Germany,' Mrs. Carnaby
resumed. 'Nothing much to tell, I suppose.'
'Very little.'
'Any--any adventures?'
'Oh no!'
Alma felt herself grow warm, less at the thought of the adventures
which really had befallen her than from vexation at the feeling of
insignificance. She understood very well what Sibyl meant by her
smiling question, and it would almost have been a relief to tell
certain stories, in proof that she had not utterly fallen out of sight
and mind on her self-banishment from society. There was no reason,
indeed, why she should not make fun of Felix Dymes and his proposal;
but the episode seemed idle in comparison with another, on which she
had never ceased to reflect. Perhaps a certain glory attached to that
second incident; Sibyl might be impressed alike with the character of
the temptation and with her friend's nobility in scorning it. But the
opportunity had gone by.
On rising from table, Sibyl remarked that she wished to make one or two
purchases; would Alma accompany her to the shop? They went forth, and
drove as far as Regent Street. Mrs. Carnaby's requirements were one or
two expensive trifles, which she chose with leisurely gratification of
her taste. It surprised Alma to see this extravagance; one would have
thought the purchaser had never known restricted means, and dreamt of
no such thing; she bought what she happened to desire, as a matter of
course. And this was no ostentation for Alma's benefit. Evidently Sibyl
had indulged herself with the same freedom throughout her travels; for
she had brought back a museum of beautiful and curious things, which
must have cost a good deal. Perhaps for the first time in her life Alma
experienced a sense of indignation at the waste of money. She was
envious withal, which possibly helped to explain the other impulse.
They returned in an hour's time. Sibyl then withdrew for a few minutes,
and reappeared in an exquisite tea-gown, which made her friend's frock,
though new and handsome, look something less than suitable to the
occasion. Alma, glancing about the room, spoke as if in pursuance of a
train of thought.
'People _do_ make a lot of money out of bicycles, I think?'
'I have heard so,' answered her hostess indifferently. 'Will you play
me something? The piano has been tuned; I should like to know if you
think it all right.'
'I have quite given up playing the piano.'
'Indeed? And the violin too?'
'No, no; the violin is my instrument. Whose is that little
water-colour, Sibyl? I tried for just that effect of sun through mist
not long ago.'
'Oh yes, to be sure, you have gone in for water-colours; you told me in
a letter. I must see some of your things. Of course, I shall
becoming----'
The door opened, and a small page, very smartly equipped, to Alma; she
had not as yet seen this functionary; but Mrs. announced Mrs. Herbert
Strangeways. The page was a surprise Strangeways drew her attention. A
lady of perhaps thirty-five, with keen, thin face, and an artificial
bloom on her hollow cheeks; rather overdressed, yet not to the point of
vulgarity; of figure very well proportioned, slim and lissom. Her voice
was a trifle hard, but pleasant; her manner cordial in excess.
'So here you are, _chez vous_. Charming! Charming! The prettiest room I
have seen for a long time. Mrs. Rolfe? Oh, Mrs. Rolfe, the name put me
out for a moment; but I remember you perfectly, perfectly. It was at
the Wigrams'; you played the violin wonderfully!'
Alma did not much care to be reminded of this. Mr. Wigram, one of her
father's co-directors, was lying at this moment in durance vile, and
his wife lived somewhere or other on charity. But Mrs. Strangeways
uttered the name without misgiving, and behaved as though nothing
conceivable could have afforded her more delight than to meet Alma
again. It was her habit to speak in superlatives, and to wear a
countenance of corresponding ecstasy. Any casual remark from either of
the ladies she received with a sort of rapture; her nerves seemed to be
in a perpetual thrill. If she referred to herself, it was always with
depreciation, and not at all the kind of depreciation which invites
compliment, but a tremulous self-belittlement, such as might be natural
in a person who had done something to be ashamed of, and held her place
in society only on sufferance.
'You still play, of course?' she said to Mrs. Rolfe presently. 'I so
hope I may have the pleasure of hearing you again. I wonder whether I
could persuade you to come next Wednesday? We have a little house in
Porchester Terrace. Of course, I don't mean to ask you to play; I
shouldn't venture to. Just a few friends in the evening--if you didn't
think it tiresome? I'll send you a card.'
There entered a tall young man of consumptive features, accompanied by
a stout, florid woman, older than himself; and upon this couple
followed half-a-dozen miscellaneous callers, some of whom Alma knew.
These old acquaintances met her with a curiosity they hardly troubled
to disguise; she herself was reserved, and took no part in the general
chatter. Mrs. Strangeways withdrew into a corner, as if wishing to
escape observation. When Mrs. Rolfe took a chair by her side, she
beamed with gratitude, and their gossip grew quite intimate. Alma could
not understand why Sibyl had stigmatised this woman as 'rapid'--that is
to say, 'fast'; she gabbled, indeed, at a great rate, but revealed no
startling habits of life or thought, and seemed to have rather an
inclination for childish forms of amusement. Before they parted, Alma
gave a promise that she would go to Mrs. Strangeways 'at home' next
Wednesday.
'And your husband, if he would care to come. I should be so delighted
to know him. But perhaps he doesn't care about that kind of thing. I
hate to bore anyone--don't you? But then, of course, you're never in
danger of doing it. So very, _very_ glad to have met you! And so
exceedingly kind of you to promise!--so _very_ kind!'
As Sibyl also was going to Porchester Terrace, they arranged to
chaperon each other and to start from Mrs. Rolfe's hotel.
'It's no use making Harvey uncomfortable,' said Alma. 'He would go if I
asked him but sorely against the grain. He always detested 'at
homes'--except when he came to admire _me_! And he likes to see me
going about independently.'
'Does he?' said Sibyl, with an inquiring look.
'Yes--seriously. We do our best not to encumber each other. Don't you
think it's the best way?'
'No doubt whatever.'
Mrs. Carnaby smiled, and the smile grew to a laugh; but she would not
explain what she meant by it.
On the Wednesday evening, they reached Mrs. Strangeways' house at ten
o'clock. Carriages and cabs made a queue up to the door, and figures
succeeded each other rapidly on the red cloth laid down across the
pavement. Alma was nervous. More than three years had passed since the
fatal evening when, all unconsciously, she said goodbye to social
splendours; from then till now she had taken part in no festivity. The
fact that her name was no longer Frothingham gave her some
encouragement; but she must expect to be recognised, perhaps to be
stared at. Well, and would it be so very disagreeable? An hour before,
the mirror had persuaded her that she need not shrink from people's
eyes; her dress defied criticism, and she had not to learn how to bear
herself with dignity. Sibyl was unusually lavish of compliments, and in
a matter such as this Sibyl's judgment had weight. As soon as she found
herself on the stairs, amid perfumes and brilliances, she breathed
freely; it was the old familiar atmosphere; her heart leaped with a
sudden joy, as in a paradise regained.
Already the guests were very numerous, and they continued to arrive.
The drawing-rooms filled; a crowd of men smoked in the 'library' and
the billiard-room; women swarmed in passages and staircase. After
welcoming Mrs. Rolfe with the ardour of a bosom friend and the
prostration of a devotee, the hostess turned to the next comer with
scarcely less fervency. And Alma passed on, content for the present to
be lost amid thronging strangers.
'Who are all these people?' she asked of Sibyl, who had moved along by
her side.
'Nobodies, most of them, I should imagine. There's no need to stay very
long, you know. That's Mr. Strangeways, the little man with a red face
talking to that mountain of a woman in green. Mercy, what a dress! He's
coming this way; I'll introduce him to you.'
The host had a jovial carriage and a bluff way of speaking, both
obviously affected. His eyes wandered as he talked, and never met
anyone else's with a steady look. Alma thought him offensively
familiar, but he did not inflict himself upon her for long.
When the hostess began to go hither and thither, she pounced eagerly on
Mrs. Rolfe, and soon made her the centre of a group. Alma began to
taste the old delight of homage, though she perceived that her new
acquaintances were not of the world in which she had formerly shone.
About midnight, when she was a little tired of the crush, and thought
of going, there fell upon her ear a voice which startled and aroused
her like an unexpected grasp. On the instant she saw an open place in
Munich; the next, a lake and mountains.
'I wasn't in town then. I got out of sorts, and ran away to a little
place I have on the Lake of Garda.'
The speaker was immediately behind her. She all but turned her head,
and grew hot in the effort to command herself. Amid the emotions
naturally excited in her she was impressed by a quality in the voice, a
refinement of utterance, which at once distinguished it from that of
the men with whom she had been talking. It belonged to a higher social
grade, if it did not express a superiority of nature. For some moments
she listened, catching now and then a word; then other voices
intervened. At length, turning where she stood, she let her eyes range,
expressionless, over the faces near by. That which she sought was not
discoverable, but at the same moment the hostess came up to her.
Mrs. Rolfe, do you know Mr. Cyrus Redgrave?'
'Mr. Redgrave----?'
The confused, hesitating repetition of the name was taken by Mrs
Strangeways for a reply in the negative.
'A charming man, and a great friend of mine--oh, a very old friend. Let
me bring him.'
She rustled away, and Mrs. Rolfe sank back on to the _causeuse_ from
which she had newly risen. Quickly the hostess returned, and, in the
track she made through crowded clusters of people who stood talking,
there followed a gentleman of easy carriage, with handsome features and
thin hair. He was looking for Alma, and as soon as his eyes perceived
her, they fell. Of what Mrs. Strangeways said, Alma heard not a
syllable; she bowed mechanically, clutching her fan as though in peril
of a fall and this the only thing within reach; she knew that Redgrave
bent solemnly, silently; and then, with sudden relief, she saw the
hostess retire.
'I beg your pardon.' The voice was addressing her in a respectful
undertone. 'I had no choice. I did not feel justified in saying I knew
you.'
'You were quite right,' she replied coldly, her fingers now relaxed
upon the fan. 'Mrs. Strangeways is a little impulsive; she gave me no
opportunity of preventing the introduction.'
'Will you let me say, Mrs. Rolfe, that I am glad to have been presented
to you as a stranger? I should be happy indeed if our acquaintance
might begin anew.'
It was polite in terms, but sounded to Alma very like the coolest
impertinence. She bent her head, ever so little. The second seat of the
_causeuse_ being unoccupied, Redgrave hereupon took possession of it.
No sooner had he done so than Alma rose, let a smile of indifference
just fall upon him, and lost herself amid the buzzing assembly.
Ten minutes later, Redgrave and Mrs. Carnaby were lounging in these
same seats, conversing with perfect mutual intelligence. They had not
met for three years, but the interval signified very little in their
lives, and they resumed conversation practically at the point where it
had broken off in Mrs. Frothingham's drawing-room. A tactful question
assured the man of the world that Mrs. Carnaby knew nothing of certain
passages at Munich and Bregenz.
'I'm afraid,' he added, 'Mrs. Rolfe has become a little reserved.
Natural, no doubt.'
'She lives in a wild part of Wales,' Sibyl answered, smiling
tolerantly. 'And her husband detests society.'
'Indeed? Odd choice for her to have made, don't you think?--And so your
Odyssey is over? We shall have some chance of seeing you again.'
'But your own Odyssey is perpetually going on. Are you ever in town
except for a few weeks of the season?'
'Oh, I go about very little now; I'm settling down.--You never met my
sister, I think? She has a house at Wimbledon with a good-sized
garden--sort of little park, in fact,--and I have persuaded her to let
me build myself a bungalow among the trees.'
'Splendid idea!'
'Not bad, I think. One is free there; a member of the family whenever
one likes; domesticated; all that's respectable; and only a few steps
away, the bachelor snuggery, with all that's----. No, no! I was _not_
going to complete the antithesis, though by your smiling you seem to
say so.'
'The suggestion was irresistible,' said Sibyl, with the composure, the
air of security, which always covered her excursions on to slippery
ground.
'When the weather is good, I ask a few of my friends to come and sit
there in the shade. They may or may not be my sister's friends also;
that doesn't matter. I have a separate entrance from the road.--But I
wish you knew Mrs. Fenimore. She lived a year or two at Stuttgart, for
her children to learn German. Her husband's in India. She tried it, but
couldn't stand the climate.'
'And you really live in the bungalow?' inquired Mrs. Carnaby,
disregarding this information about Redgrave's sister.
'Yes, it's my headquarters in England. Let me send you a card, will
you, when I have my next afternoon? It might amuse you, and I assure
you it _is_ perfectly respectable.'
'How could I doubt it, if you invite me?'
Alma drove home by herself in a hansom. She liked this disregard of
conventionalities; all the more because Harvey, who, of course, had sat
up for her, seemed a trifle anxious. Her spirits were exuberant; she
gave a merry, mocking account of the evening, but it included no
mention of Cyrus Redgrave.
At the end of June her friends the Leaches moved from their old house
in Elgin Road to a new one out at Kingsbury-Neasden, and when the
removal was completed Alma went there to make a call, taking her
husband. Harvey had never been beyond Swiss Cottage on this extension
of the Metropolitan Railway; he looked with interest at the new
districts springing up towards Harrow, and talked of them with Mrs.
Leach. A day or two after, he travelled by himself to a greater
distance on the same line, making a survey of the country from Harrow
to Aylesbury. At his next meeting with Hugh Carnaby, which took place
about the middle of July, he threw out a suggestion that for anyone who
wished to live practically in London and yet away from its frenzy, the
uplands towards Buckinghamshire were convenient ground.
'I wish you were thinking of it yourself,' replied Hugh. 'Your wife is
about the only woman Sibyl cares to see much of, and the only woman I
know that she'll get any good from.'
The strong man did not look very cheerfully on the world just now, and
it was evident that he felt some sort of trouble with regard to his
wife. For her sake solely he had returned to England, where he was less
than ever at his ease. He wished Sibyl to live in her own way, grudged
her nothing, admired and cherished her with undiminished fervour; but
in Oxford and Cambridge Mansions it cost him a great effort to pretend
to be at home. The years of wandering had put him hopelessly out of
touch with what Sibyl called society. Little as he understood about
manufactures, or cared for the details of commerce, he preferred to
stay down at Coventry with his partner Mackintosh, living roughly,
smoking his pipe and drinking his whisky in the company of men who had
at least a savour of sturdy manhood. His days of sport were gone by; he
was risking the solid remnant of his capital; and if it vanished--But
of that possibility he would not speak, even with Harvey Rolfe. As he
meditated, his teeth were set, his eyes darkened. And it appeared to
Harvey that the good fellow drank a little more whisky than was
needful, even in these warm days.
'I want to see the little chap, my namesake,' he said. 'Why don't you
have him up here? Doesn't your wife feel she wants him?'
'Alma will think more of him in a year or two,' Harvey replied.
'Yes. I've noticed that women--one sort of women--don't care much about
babies nowadays. I dare say they're right. The fewer children people
have, the better. It's bad to see the poor little squalling brats in
the filth and smoke down yonder, and worse still in this damned London.
Great God! when there's so much of the world clean and sweet, here we
pack and swelter together, a million to the square mile! What eternal
fools we are!'
Harvey growled his heartiest agreement. None the less, a day or two
after, he was holding a conversation with Alma which encouraged her
secret weariness of the clean and sweet places of the earth. They had
come home from a Richter concert, and Alma uttered a regret that she
had not her violin here. A certain _cadenza_ introduced by a certain
player into a certain violin solo did not please her; why, she could
extemporise a _cadenza_ far more in keeping with the spirit of the
piece. After listening, with small attention to the matter, but much to
the ardent speech and face of enthusiasm, Harvey made a quiet remark.
'I want you to decide very soon what we are going to do.'
'Going to do?'
'About the future--where we are to live.'
Alma strummed lightly with her finger-tips upon the table, and smiled,
but did not look up.
'Do you really think of making any change?'
'I leave it entirely to you. You remember our last talk before we came
away. You have simply to ask yourself what your needs are. Be honest
with yourself and with me. Don't sacrifice life to a whim, one way or
the other. You have had plenty of time to think; you have known several
ways of life; you're old enough to understand yourself. Just make up
your mind, and act.'
'But it's ridiculous, Harvey, to speak as if I had only myself to
consider.'
'I don't want you to do so. But supposing that were your position, now,
after all your experience, where would you choose to live?'
He constrained her to answer, and at length she spoke, with a girlish
diffidence which seemed to him very charming.
'I like the concerts--and I like to be near my musical friends--and I
don't think it's at all necessary to give up one's rational way of
living just because one is in London instead of far away.'
'Precisely. That means we ought to come back.'
'Not if you do it unwillingly.'
'I'll be frank in my turn. For Hughie's sake, I don't think we ought to
live in the town; but it's easy enough to find healthy places just
outside.'
'I shouldn't wish to be actually in the town,' said Alma, her voice
tremulous with pleasure. 'You know where the Leaches are living?'
'Yes. Or just a little farther away, on the higher ground. Very well,
let us regard _that_ as settled.'
'But you, dear--could you live there?'
'Well enough. It's all the same to me if I have my books, and a field
to walk in--and if you don't want me to see too many women.'
Alma laughed gaily, and had done with semblance of hesitation.
They began to search for a house, and in a week's time had found one,
newly built, which seemed to answer their requirements. It was at
Pinner, not many minutes by rail from Alma's friends at
Kingsbury-Neasden, and only about half an hour from Baker Street--'so
convenient for the concerts'. A new house might be damp, but the summer
months were hastening to dry it, and they would not enter into
residence before the end of autumn. 'We must go and enjoy our heather,'
said Alma brightly. The rent was twice what Harvey had been paying;
there was no stabling, but Alma agreed that they ought not to keep a
horse, for naturally there would be 'other expenses'.
Other expenses, to be sure. But Harvey signed the three years' lease
without misgiving. A large surplus lay in hand after the 'simple life'
in Carnarvonshire, and his position was not that of men who have
extravagant wives.