[Cover Illustration]
THE
MASTER HOPE
BY
PHYLLIS BOTTOME
AUTHOR OF “LIFE THE INTERPRETER”
LONDON
HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED
13, Great Marlborough Street, W.
1904
_Dedication_
TO WILMETT, IN HOPE AND LOVE
“Ah! if indeed there be
Beyond one darksome door, a secret stair
Which winding to the battlements, shall lead
Hence to pure light, free air,
This is the master hope, or the supreme despair!”
—WILLIAM WATSON
The Master Hope
CHAPTER I.
“Thou canst not choose Freedom and go in bondage to the delight
of life.”
—RUDYARD KIPLING
It was Daphne’s last day in London. She wondered as she looked out over
the sunny gardens, with their new birth of green leaves and neatly
ordered flowers, why the country should take possession of her, and if
the riches it gave would really compensate for the riches she must lose.
If it had been a little later in the season, and she had not been in
mourning, perhaps she would not have wondered at this. It is only when
we cannot do what we want, that what we can do becomes such a drudgery.
Daphne anticipated nothing but the uncongenial, so she sat fretting at
fate and wondering what to do with the hours left her. Beyond the wish
to avoid her stepmother, whose somewhat hasty re-marriage had caused her
flight, she had no settled plan. She had just decided to ring for a maid
and go out into the gardens, when she was startled by the announcement
of Lord Cheston, who came in apologetic and a little shy to find out, as
he expressed it, “What she was up to?”
“I have a day of last moments before me,” she explained, “without even a
luggage label to write: and I _don’t_ want to leave London, Reggie,
isn’t it awful?” Reggie looked as if he thought it was very awful indeed
and shook his head at the hopelessness of the prospect.
“You could stay on, you know,” he finally brought out, “couldn’t you?”
“With Vera—and a new husband, a young man with a moustache!” cried
Daphne impatiently. “And to hear him called my stepfather once removed!
It’s an impossible situation. You might as well suggest that I should go
to an orphan asylum, or become a foundling!”
“Do you object to moustaches?” asked Reggie, seizing the only subject on
which he felt himself competent to speak. “I do, myself, you know. I
always think they hide a fellow’s mouth.”
“That’s their one advantage,” said Daphne with some bitterness, “they
hide his! If we stay here much longer Vera will come in; can’t you think
of something to do?” Reggie’s face expressed the terrible struggle that
the importance of such a subject suggested. He was perfectly content
where he was, and so unused to projects which included Daphne, and so
unwilling to include projects that didn’t, that it was she who had
finally to help him out. “Have you ever seen the Tower?” she said. “I
haven’t. We might go on the top of a ’bus, and walk about in the city. I
have never walked about in the city; have you?”
“Rather,” said Reggie with pride, “my lawyer’s office is in the city.
I’ve been there heaps of times.”
“Jews are there, too,” said Daphne with painful emphasis. Reggie looked
crestfallen.
“What I say is,” he ventured feebly, “there isn’t any real harm in
Jews.”
“I daresay you are competent to judge,” said Daphne a little grimly.
There was a pause.
“We can’t go alone, can we?” Reggie asked doubtfully.
Daphne, who had just decided that they couldn’t, regarded him with
unmixed scorn.
“I should very much like to know why not?” she said with some dignity.
“I am quite able to judge of such matters for myself.”
“Oh! all right,” said Reggie delightedly. “Go and put your things on,
and I’ll square Vera if she comes in.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Daphne as she left the room,
“by squaring Vera!” Reggie, left alone, chuckled. Vera, it seemed, was
closeted with her housekeeper, and would not need squaring. In a few
moments, his companion descended with the addition of a large
rose-covered hat, a well-fitting jacket, and an admirably handsome and
useless feather boa. Daphne asked him if her hat was on quite straight.
It was a superfluous question, as the room was well supplied with
mirrors, but it gave him a valuable opportunity of surveying the whole
effect from every possible point of view. “There’s nothing wrong, is
there?” she pleaded anxiously.
“It’s fairly decent,” said Reggie contentedly, “only it hides your face
a little.”
“It’s meant to do that,” Daphne informed him.
“Well, then, I don’t approve of its intentions,” said Reggie. “They’re a
bit too shady.” This obvious pun having met with the scorn it deserved,
the two descended, and stood for a blissful moment surveying the bright,
sweet freshness of the morning, which seemed expressly created for their
benefit. Their youth laid claim to every breath of spring. They wandered
through the Gardens to the Park, reaching the verge of Piccadilly at
about twelve. Time, however, meaning nothing to them, they continued
their journey, while Reggie explained to her from the front seat of a
’bus all the places that he didn’t know along their route, and she
contradicted him in equally happy ignorance. The foolish moments
gathered an extra force, until at last when they had reached their
destination and passed in due form through the historical associations,
which seemed so very far away, they were confronted by an obviously
absurd clock which asserted that it was half-past one! When they found
that both their watches were under the same delusion, Daphne became
alarmed.
“What on earth _shall_ we do, Reggie?” she said; “you ought to have been
more careful!” He met her reproach with a rueful sigh. “Can’t you think
of anything?” she demanded indignantly.
“I can think of lunch,” he ventured. “I could think quite a lot about
lunch.”
“We oughtn’t to,” said Daphne hesitating.
“Well, that settles it,” said Reggie; “besides,” he added solemnly, “I
have known you since you were five years old. And you scratched me. It
is one of my earliest memories.”
“Well, I don’t wonder!” said Daphne crossly; “but I don’t see that has
anything to do with it—anybody would have scratched you!”
“Armed with the days of our infancy,” Reggie assured her, “why shouldn’t
we share chops, particularly if they are grilled? I grant you it would
be improper if they were fried. I know an awfully good place, too.” That
decided her. Daphne could not refuse what sounded so eminently
satisfactory; besides, it was really great fun, and Reggie was only a
boy. She always considered him a boy, though, as a matter of fact, he
was her senior by three years.
“I don’t know how you came to know of such a good place,” she said to
him suspiciously as she finished her beautifully grilled cutlet. “I
suppose you lunched here with your lawyer?” Reggie looked a little put
out.
“I don’t see why you should always drag him in,” he said, “just when I
was enjoying myself, too.”
“Well, you mustn’t any more,” said Daphne. “It’s time we went home, and
if we meet anybody I shall never forgive you.”
“The principle is the same,” said Reggie sternly, “if we don’t.”
“How absurd you are, Reggie. We aren’t doing any harm, are we?”
“I’m not, certainly,” said Reggie; “but I can’t answer for you.”
“Well, if we aren’t doing any harm,” Daphne went on, ignoring his
remark, “it can’t be wrong, but if people see us and think it’s wrong,
it _will_ be, you must see that. We are told to avoid the very
appearance——”
“Of evil,” Reggie finished; “you are, that’s where that hat comes in, it
imputes a bad motive to the whole proceeding. You’d better not take it
into the vicarage, your uncle would want to reform it.”
“Oh! do you think he’ll reform me?” cried Daphne aghast. Reggie
chuckled.
“I daresay he’ll _try_,” he said reassuringly, “but I shouldn’t be
anxious about the _result_ if I were you.” Daphne tried to frown, but
her success was dashed by a dimple which she could not overcome. They
went for one more look at the river. The sun caught the sails of the
boats and floated with them into the distant mist. The dome of St.
Paul’s shone like a lighted window, and far off the towers of
Westminster shot up to share the glory.
“I shall remember to-day,” said Daphne with a little sigh. “Now that I
drift off too, into the mist, where shall I land, I wonder, and shall I
ever come back? It will be all the same, but I sha’n’t be; you know,
Reggie. It will be another girl! I hope,” her eyes rested on the
cathedral in sudden self-searching, “I hope a very much better girl,
Reggie.”
“Oh! I wouldn’t go as far as that,” he pleaded, “if I were you!” but his
voice was not as steady as he could have wished.
“You don’t know,” said Daphne in a low, earnest voice, “you don’t know
what I mean.”
“And won’t you tell me?” he asked. Daphne shook her head.
“Don’t let’s be sentimental,” she said, “it doesn’t suit you nor please
me. Now, which is most respectable for us: a ’bus or a hansom?” Reggie
looked thoughtful.
“A hansom is nicer in some ways,” he concluded, “but a ’bus takes a
longer time.”
“Then we’ll take a hansom,” said Daphne decidedly. “I agree with you,
that the shorter time is a great advantage.”
“Now, who ever said that?” cried the exasperated Reggie, “you’re simply
unfair!” It was nearly four o’clock, and people had begun to call,
before they reached their destination. “I suppose you’ll write to a
fellow?” Reggie asked as the unnecessarily speedy hansom gave its last
jerk and plunge. Daphne shook her head.
“There are so many things to do in the country,” she exclaimed as she
said “good-bye.” He held her hand as long as he dared.
“I say,” he said, blushing furiously, “it’s been a good day, hasn’t it?”
Daphne ceased to gibe, her eyes grew tender as they met his. There was
no doubt that he was an exceedingly nice boy.
“I told you I wouldn’t forget,” she said, “and I try not to remember
what I haven’t enjoyed.” She turned swiftly and passed into the house.
Even the hat with roses could not hide the friendliness of her eyes.
The last moments were nearly over, but not quite, when she ran up to her
room and unlocked an old writing-desk full of letters. The handwriting
was strong and full of character, and the letters had been read more
than once. She did not re-read them now, she only glanced at the
signatures Arthur—Arthur—Arthur. There was almost a monotony in the
authorship, yet each had a golden difference to the girl who held them
on her lap. She took them all over to the empty grate and set a match to
them. Passion, and faith, and hope were burned to ashes in a few
moments.
She sat watching them with hungry eyes. “Now it is all over,” she said,
knowing that nothing had been changed but the visible, and that even
that was not altogether a satisfaction.
She could not alter so lightly what the letters had meant.
The drawback to many destructions is that they destroy so little.