Fairly late that night Barry Raymond jumped off his motorcycle at the
gate of the bungalow known locally as the Hope House. It was a perfect
June night, and as he unlatched the gate Barry heard a nightingale
singing its love-song to the moon, the deliciously pure notes ringing
across the river with a fascinating, almost unearthly, effect.
The garden of the bungalow was full of sleeping flowers, and their
fragrance stole gently out like a tender welcome to Barry as he strode
up the path between their ranks, pale-coloured in the moonlight, though
full of rich, glowing colour beneath the sun.
Another welcome greeted him in a moment. There was a low, deep-toned
bark, a white streak of something advancing in a hurtling flash, and
then, as the great Borzoi discovered the visitor to be a friend, she
dropped into a welcoming march, waving her plumy tail the while.
"Halloa, Olga, old girl! Where's your boss?"
He was not far off, having been warned of the approach of his friend,
and in another moment the two men were shaking hands cordially.
"By Jove, Barry, it's good to see you again!" There was no mistaking the
pleasure in the tone. "I thought you'd be looking me up--someone told me
you were staying down here."
"Yes--only for three days, worse luck. I'm with the Ansteys--you know
Miss Lynn is Mrs. Anstey's niece, and she is there too."
"I see. Well, come in and have a peg." He led the way hospitably through
the green door into the bungalow, and a minute later the two were seated
cosily in the little living-room, which looked oddly attractive in the
lamplight.
Olga, the wolfhound, followed them in as a matter of course, and when
her master had mixed drinks for himself and his visitor, and had taken
his seat, she lay down beside him, her long nose resting on her paws,
while she blinked sleepily in the mellow light.
"Well, Barry, how goes the world? Cheerily, eh?"
"With me? Yes." He took a pull at his glass, "I'm A 1, and so is Olive."
"Work going ahead? I hear the _Bridge_ is making its way."
"Rather!" He spoke enthusiastically. "The next number will be out in a
few days, and it's better than ever."
"Good! Of course Rose is an excellent man for the job. If he can't make
it go, no one can. By the way, he's come to live down here, as I daresay
you know."
"Yes." Barry spoke slowly, and lighted a cigarette rather thoughtfully.
"As a matter of fact, Jim, that's partly why I've come to see you at
this unholy hour."
"Better now than never!" said his host genially. "But I don't think I
quite understand you."
"No." For a moment Barry said nothing more, and the other man looked at
him a little oddly.
He himself was worth looking at, in spite of the shabbiness which
betrayed either a bachelor habit of mind, or a lofty disdain for the
trappings of life. A man of about forty-one, his face was a curious
mixture of youth and age, of experience and of idealism. His big, bright
eyes and curving mouth betokened enthusiasm, fire, a kindly philosophy;
while the lines upon his forehead and the grey streaks in his abundant
hair seemed to speak of deeper things. Life had indeed graven with its
chisel lines and marks ineffaceable. It was the face of one who had
suffered deeply, who had passed through more than one saddening
experience. In repose one would have said the man was serious, grave to
a fault; but when he smiled, it was the face of youth--ardent, eager,
irresponsible--that the beholder saw before him.
It was a queer, baffling, contradictory face altogether. Only one thing
about it was certain, and that was written so plainly thereon that even
a child might read.
It was a face one could trust. Whatever might be the nature of the
tragic experience which had whitened the crisp locks and drawn the heavy
lines on the broad brow, there was something so gentle, so
straightforward, so kindly about the whole man that none could doubt his
sincerity, his trustworthiness. And side by side with the lines drawn by
sorrow there were other lines betokening laughter, those fine lines at
the corners of the eyes which are born from mirth, and even though they
take away from youth's first unlined smoothness, give value and
perspective to the countenance.
For the rest, he was fairly tall, though he stooped somewhat; and he
walked always with a quick, impetuous step, until such times as memory,
or some other quality, came to life, and gave a queer, dragging effect
to his usually swift tread.
"Well?" It was the host who spoke, and Barry recalled his scattered
thoughts with an effort and remembered the cause on which he was
enlisted.
"Well, it's about Rose's wife that I want to speak to you." Barry looked
searchingly at his friend, and reading in the bright eyes nothing of the
cheap cynicism with which some men might have greeted the announcement,
he went on quickly. "The fact is, she wants someone to give her a
helping hand."
"Someone--apart from her husband?"
"Yes. You see, she's only a kid and a jolly pretty one. Looks like a
schoolgirl----?"
"Stay a moment." Herrick laid down his pipe. "Is Mrs. Rose a little dark
girl, with very bright eyes and a lot of black hair?"
"That's she. You've met her, then?"
"Well, not exactly. Fact is, I have seen a young woman answering to that
description wandering on the towing-path early in the morning once or
twice; and I was a little puzzled to know who she might be."
"Well, that's Mrs. Rose. Now the fact is"--Barry grew red suddenly as he
realized that his interference was quite unauthorized--"I think she
wants a friend, someone to look after her a bit."
"Why? Is she ... er ... what _is_ she?"
"She is very young." Barry spoke deliberately now, having made up his
mind to proceed. "And although she is a perfect little lady in her
way"--thus unconsciously endorsing Kate's verdict--"she has never been
used to the sort of life she will have to lead down here. To tell the
truth--I know it's safe with you, Jim--she was our typist in the office
before her marriage."
"I see. And Rose fell in love with her?"
"Y ... yes." Even to Herrick, Barry could not give away the secret of
Owen's proposal. "Anyway, he married her, and brought her here; and
to-day I was witness to a curious little scene in her house."
"I'm all attention, Barry."
"Well, Rose is away for the day, and Mrs. Rose invited a girl-cousin
down for the afternoon; and to do honour to her, I imagine, she had
provided a sumptuous tea, including shrimps and one of those wobbly
white things that you get at lunch."
"I see. Well?"
"Well, we--Mrs. Anstey, Olive and I--chose to pay a call to-day; and
when, after a little hesitation, Mrs. Rose asked us to have some tea, we
were taken into the dining-room, where these festal delicacies were laid
out."
"And then?"
"Well, it would have been all right--Mrs. Anstey is a dear, and Olive of
course is a ripper--and we'd have had a very jolly little party, but
unfortunately in the middle of it who should arrive but Lady Martin and
that terrible daughter of hers."
"Lady Martin of soap fame?"
"The same. Well, you know what an utter snob the woman is. In two
minutes she had Toni--Mrs. Rose--reduced to a jelly--simply by sneering
at everything."
"Including the--shrimps?"
"Yes. You know shrimps are--well--a bit _vulgar_, aren't they?"
For a second there was silence. Then Herrick stretched out his hand for
his pipe and spoke slowly in the intervals of filling the bowl.
"There was once, if my memory serves me rightly, an Apostle of the name
of Peter who chose to consider some of the creatures made by his own
Maker in the light of vulgarians; and a sheetful of specimens descended
on Peter's head to warn him against the folly of finding any of God's
creations common or unclean. Of course we've no proof that shrimps were
included----"
"I say, Jim, don't rag!" Barry threw away his cigarette rather
impatiently. "I'm in earnest--oh, I know it sounds beastly snobbish, but
still, shrimps at tea----"
"Are unusual, though really, if you try them, first-rate." Herrick had
filled his pipe, and now took up the match-box. "Seriously, Barry, I
know what you mean. So long as we have false standards of gentility I
suppose the sight of a shrimp in conjunction with the tea-pot will cause
us to shrivel up. But I'll guarantee that neither Mrs. Anstey nor Miss
Lynn turned a hair at the sight."
"Rather not! They ate them as if they really liked them--and if that
wasn't a snub to the awful Martin woman--well, she went, anyway, driven
away by our combined vulgarity, I suppose, and we had quite a decent
time when she had gone."
"Well? If Lady Martin was driven from the field, and you were left the
victors, what's the trouble?"
"The trouble is this. Lady Martin, being a spiteful woman, and knowing
perfectly well that Mrs. Anstey meant to teach her a lesson, will lose
no opportunity of spreading the story abroad; and in time it is certain
to come to Rose's ears."
"Ah!" He spoke thoughtfully. "That is it, is it? And Mr. Rose
will--er--resent the tale?"
"You see it's this way." Barry gave way to the impulse to confide in his
friend, to whom all his boyish confidences had been given. "Rose is a
real good sort, and wouldn't for the world let Toni suspect that he
knows he's married beneath him, as the world calls it."
"The world? Ah!" There was a light scorn in the tone.
"Oh, I know--we both know it's all rot, that sort of thing. But still,
as the world goes, one has to remember it; and somehow, although Rose is
genuinely fond of his wife, I doubt whether his love would stand
much--well, ridicule."
"Ah! And I suppose the child did make herself rather ridiculous in her
attempts to welcome a cousin to whom she is doubtless attached."
"It isn't only that." Having once begun, Barry unburdened himself still
further. "You know, although I admire Mrs. Rose immensely, and she's a
ripping kid really, I'm not a bit sure that the marriage will be a
success."
"Why not, Barry?"
"Well, they're unsuited to one another in heaps of ways. Toni is, as I
say, a dear little girl, but she's only half-educated, and not in the
least intellectual. Sharp in her way--the way of a quick-witted
woman--shrewd, and no fool. But you know Rose is rather an exceptional
fellow."
"So I have always understood."
"He's clever, you know--and deep, too. Not one of those fellows who are
always showing off, but really brilliant; and it's rather a dangerous
thing for a shallow woman to marry a man of that sort."
"It's often done, Barry," said the other man quietly.
"Oh, I know, but that doesn't make it any safer. Toni is an out-and-out
good sort, as straight as a die, and a merry, light-hearted little thing
into the bargain; but she's bound to turn out a disappointment to her
husband all the same."
"I don't see why," said Herrick after a moment's pause. "Lots of clever
men marry feather-headed women and manage to get along all right."
"Yes, but Owen's not that sort. He's a fellow who will want his wife to
be a companion, a real comrade, able to go forward side by side with
him, understand his aims, sympathize with his ideals and so on; and this
girl can't do it."
"But why are you so sure she can't, my boy? Probably she is very
different when alone with her husband. All women, as well as men, have
two soul-sides, you know--'one to face the world with'--the other----"
"Oh, that's Browning's view, of course, but then he was an idealist!"
Barry spoke rather impatiently. "No, Jim, there's not much hope of that.
I've made a study of the girl--I don't mind telling you I did my best to
prevent Rose marrying her--and I'm perfectly certain that as far as
anything beyond the merest good-fellowship goes, Rose might just as well
have married a Persian kitten."
"Yet she is fond of him--in her way?"
"Very, I should say; but even then there's an element of something which
shouldn't exist between husband and wife. There is a sort of quite
unconscious patronage on Rose's side which matches a pretty gratitude on
hers; and I have a horrible fear that if ever he found her wanting--and
showed her so--she would break her heart."
"Oh! Then you don't deny her a heart?"
"Good Lord, no! What I do deny her is--well, I don't quite know. Is it
brain, or soul, or what?"
"You take an interest in this girl, Barry. Is it possible you are going
to try to supply this deficiency of brain, or soul, or whatever it is?"
Barry laughed rather defiantly.
"Oh, I know you think I'm a fool for my pains! Yes, that's just what I
do want to do. I want to wake the girl up, to make her use her
intellect, fit herself to be Owen's companion. I hate to think of their
marriage turning out a failure--Owen disappointed in her, feeling
aggrieved, perhaps, at her inability to go forward with him, while she
in her turn feels impatient with him for expecting her to be something
she isn't--and that he ought never to have expected her to be!"
"Wait a moment, Barry." Herrick looked at him squarely. "Isn't there
something behind all this? Didn't I hear a rumour that some woman had
jilted Rose--thrown him over for a richer man, or something of the
sort?"
"Well"--Barry bit his lip--"since you know so much--yes."
"And possibly this marriage was in the nature of a reprisal? Intended to
show the jilting lady that--to put it plainly--there were still good
fish in the sea?"
"Yes--in a way it was."
"Ah! Now I understand. And you, having doubtless been forced into the
position of an accessory before the fact, are anxious that as little
harm as possible shall be done to either party?"
"Yes--but principally to the girl."
"Of course, seeing that she was probably unconscious of the reason
behind the match. Well, it seems hard that she should have been used as
a catspaw, doesn't it?"
"Oh, it wasn't as bad as that. Rose really liked the girl----"
"In spite of her want of--soul?"
"Yes. And I thought," said Barry eagerly, "that if you and I, and one or
two more--Olive, for instance--could give her a helping hand now and
then, show her how to make the best of herself and so on, things might
turn out all right."
"Ah, Barry!" Herrick looked at him with a half-humorous, half-sad smile.
"You're very young--and youth is always--or should be--courageous. Do
you really think that I, or you, or even Miss Lynn, can alter by a
fraction the destiny marked out for that pretty child across the river
there?"
"Destiny--no, perhaps not," said Barry, taken aback by the big word.
"But we might help her--help her to find herself, as the Ibsenites call
it--realize her soul, and all the rest of it. The soul's _there_, all
right, but somehow it seems to be hidden, undeveloped, or something of
the sort."
For a second the older man said nothing, though his square white teeth
clenched themselves on the stem of his pipe. Then, removing the latter,
he said slowly:
"Do you remember what Browning says, Barry?
'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls
And matter enough to save one's own!'
Well, don't you agree with him--and me--that one's own soul takes a vast
deal of salvation?"
"Yes, of course--but still--I thought you would be ready to help...."
His accent of dejection touched the other man's heart.
"Come, don't look so disappointed. Of course I'll help, as much as I
can! It ought to be an interesting task, anyway, helping a woman to find
her soul. And if I can help her in any way, I will."
"Good! But how?" He wanted to clinch the matter.
"Well, I suppose the first thing to do is to make the lady's
acquaintance. I know Rose, slightly, and a call will no doubt be
considered neighbourly. And if I can do anything for the child, you may
depend on me to do it."
"You're a brick, Jim!" In the midst of his relief Barry remembered the
hour and rose hastily. "Well, I must be off, or the house will be shut
up. Good-night, old chap. I'm no end obliged to you. I knew you would
help, if anyone would."
He had turned towards the door when a thought struck him and he turned
back rather awkwardly.
"I say, Jim"--he was looking down at the floor as he spoke--"I hadn't
forgotten, but I didn't like to say much. How ... how is--she?"
"My wife, you mean?" Herrick's smile was bitter. "She is pretty well, I
believe. They say her health has improved lately."
"I'm glad. And--forgive me if I'm tactless, Jim, but when do you expect
her back?"
"When does she come out?" All the youth had died away from his face,
leaving it desperately tired and sad. "Some time in the autumn, October,
I believe. The time isn't really up quite so soon, but there's some
remission for good conduct, I understand, which shortens the sentence."
"Have you seen her lately?"
"No. She refused to see me last time, and I shall not trouble her
again."
"I see." Barry fidgeted from one foot to the other, then made a sudden
grab at his friend's hand. "Well, good-bye, Jim. Ever so many thanks for
promising to help the kid. You can do lots for her if you will, and I do
want the marriage to be a success."
"You've come to a queer person to help you, Barry," said the other with
a twisted smile. "My own marriage has been so wonderfully successful,
hasn't it? But there, don't let's talk about it now. How are you going
home? Motor? Ah, all right. Then Olga and I will come and see you safely
off the premises."
He had regained his former kindly manner, and bade the boy good-night
with all his accustomed heartiness; but as Barry turned for a last look
and saw the stooping figure return through the gate, accompanied by the
graceful Borzoi, a fury of rage gripped his generous young heart.
"Damn that woman--oh, _damn_ her!" He said the words wildly to himself
as he spun down the moonlit road between the fragrant hedges. "She's
ruined his life, and will go on doing it as long as they live! October,
he said. Well, there's time to give poor little Toni a helping hand
before then!"
* * * * *
But in the quiet bungalow behind him Jim Herrick sat alone until the
short summer night had given way to the glories of the dawn. And in his
face, as he gazed before him, seeing, perhaps the troubled past, perhaps
the darkened future, there was now no trace of youth, only a great and
weary disillusionment.