"My little girl must wait a long while and meet many young men before
she finally--er--finally--you know,--eh?"
But on that very afternoon she went with her friend, the Hon. Margaret
Neville, to visit Saint Ruth's Social Settlement, in Whitechapel. And
there she met John Landless. The Honorable Margaret introduced them.
"Hullo, Mr. Landless--oh! Miss Oglebay--Mr. Landless. It's her first
time here. Show her about a bit like a good chap, will you, while I look
for to see what my angel children's sewing-class is doing so blithely,
blithely?"
John Landless looked at Phyllis, and Phyllis looked at John. If there is
ever love at first sight! Perhaps it never happens in this prosy old
twentieth century. But, if it ever does, then--there you are.
"It will be a pleasure to show you through the house," said John. "I
wish Dr. Thorpe, the warden, were here, though? you should meet him;
he's great. That is Mrs. Thorpe--over there, talking to the woman who is
crying. She will have her straightened out before you can say Jack
Robinson,--and no nonsense either."
It took a little longer than that, but in a few minutes the woman went
away smiling; and then Phyllis met Mrs. Thorpe, who won her at once.
"I leave you in good hands, Miss Oglebay," she said, when she was called
away. "You will hear Saint Ruth's praises sung. We shall hope to see you
here often."
"I am so glad I came," said Phyllis, "and you are very kind, Mr.
Landless, to explain things to me. Are you certain I am not taking too
much of your time?"
"Oh, we will glance at my boys as we go along," replied John. "The
afternoons are not especially busy. The evenings are full, though, with
classes, and clubs, and games, and all that,--you know."
They walked through the rooms devoted to social amelioration; to the
mental, physical and spiritual redemption of sordid lives. To these
rooms men from the universities, impelled by a new conscience, bring
their learning and their refinement. In these rooms men from the
docks--the flotsam and jetsam of humanity--receive their first glimpse
of
"Plato and the swing of Pleiades."
While John explained the theory and practice of such social settlements
as Toynbee Hall, and Mansfield House, and Saint Ruth's, Phyllis found
time to study his face. His black hair was cut short, but it curled for
all that; his dark eyes were fine, the eyebrows very thick. His mouth
closed tightly, a little too tightly, perhaps. But his chin! "He will
have his way," thought Phyllis. She noticed that he stood very straight,
that his shoulders were broad, and that his light gray suit became him
well.
In the room to which the Hon. Margaret Neville consecrated ten hours a
week were a number of very small girls, trying to use needles without
pricking their fingers, and not succeeding very well. John and Phyllis
stood just outside the door, waiting for the dismissal of the class.
Now, John Landless had a test for new acquaintances, a test evolved of
trying experience If she laughed now!--or said, "How odd!"
"I find this work tremendously absorbing" said John, "and I hope I am
helpful, a little, you know. But besides all that I think the work helps
me in my profession."
"Your profession," repeated Phyllis, turning toward him the sweet,
interested face he was watching so intently. "May I ask what is your
profession?"
"I am a poet," said John simply, and awaited results.
"That is a noble profession," said Phyllis "I am glad you have chosen
it. I hope you will succeed in it." She colored. "And I believe you
will," she added. She was looking at his chin.
Then, for the first time, Phyllis saw John's smile. He had a wonderful
smile; the most winning; he should have smiled oftener; but life is a
serious business to poets, especially at twenty-four.
"It is good of you to say that," said John. "Almost every one roars.
That is--the men. The girls giggle, or say, 'How curious!' I think you
are the first girl who has ever taken it quite as a matter of course
that a man might make poetry his profession. I am prepared to defend the
profession of poetry against the world, if need be; but I don't like to
be stared at while I am doing it."
"I understand," replied Phyllis warmly. "If you said the Army, or the
Church, or Engineering, no one would be surprised or unsympathetic. But
they think one should be a little ashamed of owning himself a poet. So
much the worse for them," she concluded, nodding her pretty head and
catching her breath in that quick way of hers.
"You're very kind to say so, but----" John was about to ask her if she
was sure she meant it. Looking into Phyllis's candid eyes he thought
better of it.
"Are any of your--that is--have you----?" she stammered, partly because
the form of her question puzzled her; partly because she was aware of
John's ardent eyes.
"Yes, I have been in the magazines three or four times," he replied. He
knew that question. "But I hope to bring out a little book of poems in
the spring."
"I shall be eager to see it," said Phyllis.
"Really?" asked John.
"Of course," she replied, coloring again. Mark Holroyd had looked at her
like that; but how different it had been.
"You shall have one of the first copies off the press," said John, in a
low voice, "because you were one of the first to encourage me in all
this great London. And I shall write that in the book, if you will let
me."
Phyllis looked at him earnestly.
"You must never be discouraged," she said slowly. "There will be
difficulties, of course, and obstacles, and--and hard places to get
over. All the poets I have read about had a hard time at first. But
there will be friends to believe in you, many of them, who will wish you
success in your profession."
"If I could know there was one, at least," said John, his dark eyes
glowing.
Phyllis smiled at him. "There will be many," she repeated.
The Honorable Margaret joined them, having delivered her closing remarks
to her class; remarks somewhat pointed on the subject of noses and
handkerchiefs, but inclusive of cleanliness and godliness generally.
"Splendid place, isn't it, Phil?" she remarked with enthusiasm. "Did you
see the dispensary, and the nursery, and the gymnasium and the laundry,
and all around the shop?"
"Yes, I think we saw everything," replied Phyllis. "Mr. Landless has
explained it all in the most interesting way."
"Will you come again?" asked John, as he stood at the curb, while they
stepped into the Neville motor.
"She's sure to," replied the Honorable Margaret promptly. "Saint Ruth's
eats 'em alive. I came to scoff and remained to thread needles myself.
Phyllis will be minding the babies in a month,--eh, Phil?"
"I should love to come again," said Phyllis.
"To-morrow?" asked John.
"No," said the Honorable Margaret. "To-morrow's not my day. I come on
Thursday next."
"I think it _would_ be convenient for me to come to-morrow," said
Phyllis. "Perhaps that nice Mrs. Thorpe, to whom you introduced me,
could find something for me to do. I am afraid I shall have to be taught
how myself first, though."
"Great Scott!" cried the Honorable Margaret, leaning back in the car.
"Saint Ruth has made one mouthful of you."
"Good-bye, Mr. Landless. Thank you again," said Phyllis, extending a
cordial hand.
"Until to-morrow," said John.
He stood at the curb watching the receding car. When he reëntered the
house, his smile lighted his face wonderfully.
"What do you think, Phyllis!" whispered the Honorable Margaret, her eye
on the chauffeur. "Mark Holroyd telephoned me at the Settlement. He told
me he needed bucking up a bit, and was coming to me to be comforted.
He's to be at the house at nine. Isn't he the dearest fellow?"
Phyllis opened her eyes wide; and then half closed them.
"He is one of the dearest, Peggy," she said softly.