Anne was standing in the hall looking like nothing on earth. One of the
reasons why I gave in to Anne and married her was because of her repose.
She can look more tragic than BERNHARDT, but she never makes a noise. In
moments of domestic stress, as when the six hens we had purchased
contributed one egg and that in the next garden (date of birth unknown),
Anne assumes a plaintive smile that leaves the English language at the
post. When the cook, who wears a frayed ulster ornamented with regimental
badges ranging from the Royal Scots to the Brixton Cyclists, looked
on the wine and went further, Anne did not blurt out crudities. Having
shut the kitchen-door behind her, she simply entered the hall and walked
smoothly to the plate where any persons who call may leave cards. Already
she had soothed the house; and in that splendid silence, that pursuit
of the commonplace, she had not merely calmed my dread of the scene
that accompanies a cab and a constable, but had carolled, as it were,
to Ethel the nursery-maid tilted over the second floor banisters that
all was well, or nearly so.
Having stared gravely at a dusty card, which we all knew by heart, Anne
turned her face and, raising her eyebrows about an eighth of an inch,
shrugged her shoulders very slightly and passed on.
But on the present occasion there was, so far as I was aware, no domestic
friction--we had boiled the hens--and I was, I admit, at a loss.
"Come, Herbert," said Anne gently. Then I knew that we were bankrupt--I
mean, of course, more bankrupt. I knew that the Government, having
crouched in leash, had sprung with a snarl upon the married man of
forty-five.
We seated ourselves in Anne's room just as persons do upon the stage,
Anne, leaning against the shutter, stared dreamily out of the window.
"Tell me," I said.
Anne is a great artist. She dabbed at her cheeks--but lightly, as though
scorned a tear--smiled bravely at me with moist eyes, and, walking to
the mantelpiece, adjusted a Dresden shepherdess.
"You have heard me speak of the Ruritanian Relief Fund," she said in a
splendid off-hand tone.
"Frequently," I responded, but not impatiently.
"It was, you remember, the only possible fund when dear Lady Rogerson
heard about the War. All the other allied countries had been snapped
up--there seemed for a while no chance, no hope. Lady Rogerson was
so brave. She said to me at the time, 'My dear we will not give in--we
have as much right as anyone else to hold meetings and ask for money.'"
"And so you did, dear--surely you have been in the thick of it. Constantly
have I seen appeals for Ruritania in the Press."
Anne permitted herself a faint gesture.
"Everything was going so well," she continued, dusting the shepherdess
abstractedly. "We had a splendid committee, and Lady Rogerson was
leaving for Ruritania with our Ladies' Coffee Unit this morning. They
were going to provide hot refreshment for the gallant mountaineers as
they marched through their beautiful mountain passes--they have them,
haven't they, Herbert?"
"They must have," I said hotly. It was a nice state of affairs if they
were going to back out of the coffee on that preposterous ground.
"At the last moment," she sobbed, and, dropping the shepherdess, was
quite overcome. I was seriously concerned for poor Anne, whose affection
for the Ruritanians was only rivalled by her ignorance of where the
blessed country is.
"At the station," she said suddenly in a low voice, "news came that
Ruritania was not even at war."
"Monstrous," I cried. "Most monstrous."
"So we all came back, and Lady Rogerson was so splendid and looked so
brave in her sombrero and brass buttons. She explained how it was all
her own fault--that old Colonel Smith had muddled the names of the
Allies, and that we must be patient because who knew what might or
might not happen in the future? But would you believe it, several of
the Committee said the most awful things about Ruritania and poor Lady
Rogerson, and in the middle of it all the telephone bell rang."
"Ah," I said, with a knowing look.
"And Lady Rogerson, after a moment, laid down the receiver, turned
like BOADICEA, and said in a voice I shall never forget, 'Ladies and
gentlemen, Ruritania declared war this afternoon. If the Coffee Unit
starts immediately they can catch the night train.'"
Anne paused and made a little cairn of broken china on the mantelpiece.
"I'm so glad," I said, stroking her hand--"so glad. Lady Rogerson
deserved her triumph."
Anne made no comment for a moment. When she spoke her voice was poignant.
"The Committee sang the National Anthem," she resumed miserably, "and
we all put on our Ruritanian flags. A vote of confidence in dear Lady
Rogerson was passed amidst tremendous enthusiasm, and the Coffee Unit
set off for the station."
"It must now be on its way," I remarked briskly.
"No," said Anne, "never."
"But Ruritania?"
Anne trailed to the door. She was a wonderful artist in effects.
"Ruritania declared war"--
"I know, my dear--you said so"--
"Upon the Allies," added Anne, and left the room.
It was, considering everything, a rotten thing for Ruritania to do.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Boots (in Irish hotel)._ "I'VE FORGOTTEN, CAPTAIN,
WHETHER YOU WANTED TO BE CALLED AT SIX OR SEVEN."
_Voice from within._ "WHAT TIME IS IT NOW?"
_Boots._ "EIGHT, YER HONOUR."]
* * * * *
Our Helpful Critics.
"Browning's _Sordello_ was literature--but not actable
drama."--_Daily Chronicle._
The same remark applies to _Paradise Lost_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Charwoman._ "PLEASE, MUM, I AIN'T COMING TO WORK HERE NO
MORE."
_Mistress._ "INDEED. HOW IS THAT?"
_Charwoman._ "WELL, MY MAN'S EARNING SO MUCH NOW THAT THERE'S PLENTY
COMING IN. LAST WEEK WE WAS OBLIGED TO PUT SOME IN THE SAVINGS-BANK, AND
I'M AFRAID WE SHALL HAVE TO AGAIN _THIS_."]
* * * * *