Harold Dartmouth came of a family celebrated throughout its history
for producing men of marked literary and political ability. Few
generations had passed without a Dartmouth distinguishing himself,
and those members of the family less gifted were not in the habit
of having their fine intellectual qualities called to account. The
consequence was that their young descendant, who inherited all the
family cleverness, although as yet he had betrayed the possession of
none of its higher gifts, paid the penalty of his mental patrimony.
His brain was abnormally active, both through conditions of heredity
and personal incitement; and the cerebral excitation necessarily
produced resulted not infrequently in violent reaction, which took the
form of protracted periods of melancholy. These attacks of melancholy
had begun during his early school-days, when, a remarkably bright
but extremely wild boy, he had been invariably fired with ambition as
examinations approached, and obliged to cram to make up for lost time.
As years went by they grew with his growth, and few months passed
without an attack of the blues more or less violent, no matter
how brief. They came after hours of brooding over his desire to
distinguish himself, and his fatal want of ability; they came during
his intervals of purely intellectual disgust with himself and with
life; but more frequently still they came upon him from no apparent
cause whatever. They were a part of his personality, just as humor,
or light, unthinking gaiety, or a constantly bubbling wit may form the
predominating characteristic of another man.
For a week after the night of his futile impulse to put into shape
the nebulous verse which had tormented his brain, no one saw Harold
Dartmouth. The violent shock and strain had induced an attack of
mental and spiritual depression which amounted to prostration, and
he lay on his sofa taking no notice of the days as they slipped by,
eating little and speaking to no one. At first Jones, his man-servant,
was not particularly disturbed. He had brought Dartmouth up, and
had come to look upon his moods as a matter of course. He therefore
confined himself to forcing his master to take his food and to
parrying the curiosity of the French servants; he knew Dartmouth's
temper too well to venture to call a doctor, and he hoped that in a
few days the mood would wear itself out. But at the end of a week
he became seriously alarmed. He had spent the last day but one in a
desperate and fruitless attempt to rouse Dartmouth, and had used every
expedient his ingenuity could suggest. Finally, at his wits' end, he
determined to call in the help of Lord Bective Hollington, who was
Dartmouth's most intimate friend, and had lived with him and his moods
for months together. He came to this decision late on the night of the
seventh day, and at eleven the next morning he presented himself at
Hollington's apartments in the Rue Lincoln. Hollington was still in
bed and reading the morning paper, but he put it down at once.
"Send him in," he said. "Something is the matter with Harold," he
continued to himself. "Something unusual has been the matter with him
all the week, when he wouldn't even see me. Well, Jones, what is it?"
as that perturbed worthy entered. "You are an early visitor."
"Oh! my Lord!" exclaimed Jones, tearfully; "something dreadful hails
Master 'Arold."
"What is it?" demanded Hollington, quickly. "Is he ill?"
Jones shook his head. "No, my Lord; I wish 'ee was. 'Ee's worse than
hill. 'Ee's got one of 'is moods."
"Poor Harold! I thought he had got over all that since he had given
himself over to the distractions of wine, woman, and song. I haven't
seen him in one of his moods for three or four years."
"Ah, sir, I 'ave, then. 'Ee don't 'ave them so frequent like before he
begun to travel, but hevery wunst in a while 'ee will be terrible for
two hor three days; but I never see hanything like this before, heven
at Crumford 'All. 'Ee 'as never spoke for a week; not since the night
of the ball hat the Russian Legation."
"By Jove! you don't mean it. I thought he was on a 'private tear,' as
the Americans say; but I don't like this at all. Just clear out, and
I'll be dressed and over in his rooms in less than half an hour." And
he sprang out of bed before Jones had closed the door.
He was but a few moments dressing, as he had promised, and was at
Dartmouth's apartment before Jones had time to become impatient,
nervous as he was. He pulled aside the portière of the salon and
looked in. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark, but on a
sofa near the window he saw his friend lying. He picked his way over
through the studiously disordered furniture and touched Dartmouth on
the shoulder.
"Hal!" he said, "Hal!"
Dartmouth opened his eyes and looked up. "Is it you, Becky?" he
said, languidly. "Go away and let me alone." But his words and manner
indicated that the attack was at last "wearing itself out."
"I will do nothing of the sort," replied Hollington. "Get up off that
sofa this moment. A week! I am ashamed of you. What would the old lady
say?"
"She would understand," murmured Dartmouth. "She always understood. I
wish she were here now."
"I wish she were. She would soon have you out of this. Get up. Don't
be a fool."
"I am not a fool. I have got one of the worst of the old attacks, and
I can't shake it off; that is all. Go away, and let me fight it out by
myself."
"I will not move from this room, if I stay here for six months, until
you go with me. So make up your mind to it." And he threw himself into
an easy-chair, and lighting a cigar, proceeded leisurely to smoke it.
Dartmouth turned uneasily once or twice. "You know I can't bear anyone
near me," he said; "I want to be alone."
"You have been alone long enough. I will do as I have said."
There was silence for a few moments, and Dartmouth's restlessness
increased. Hollington watched him closely, and after a time handed him
a cigar and offered him a light. Dartmouth accepted both mechanically,
and for a time the two men smoked in silence. When Dartmouth finished
he rose to his feet.
"Very well," he said, "have your own way. Wait until I dress and I
will go out with you." He went into his dressing-room and returned
about an hour later, during which time Hollington had thrown back the
curtains and written a couple of letters. Dartmouth was still haggard
and very pale, but his face had been shaved and he looked something
like himself once more. Hollington rose and threw down his pen at
once.
"I will drop in on our way back and finish this letter," he said. "You
must get out of the house as quickly as possible. By Jove! how bad you
look!" He put his hand on his friend's shoulder and looked at him a
moment. He was the average Englishman in most of his details,
tall, well-built, with a good profile, and a ruddy Saxon face. His
individual characteristics were an eternal twinkle in his eye, a
forehead with remarkably well-developed reflectives, and a very square
chin and jaw. Just now the twinkle was less aggressive and his face
had softened noticeably. "There is no help for it, I suppose, Hal, is
there?" he said.
Dartmouth looked back at him with a smile, and a good deal of
affection in his eyes. "No, old fellow," he replied; "I am afraid
there is not. But they are rarely as bad as this last. And--thank you
for coming."
They went out together and walked to the Café Anglais on the Boulevard
des Italiens. The air was keen and cold, the walk a long one, and
Dartmouth felt like another man by the time he sat down to breakfast.
One or two other men joined them. Hollington was unusually witty, the
conversation was general and animated, and when Dartmouth left the
café the past week seemed an ugly dream. In the afternoon he met the
wife of the American Consul-General, Mrs. Raleigh, in the Bois, and
learned from her that Margaret Talbot had left Paris. This left him
free to remain; and when Mrs. Raleigh reminded him that her doors were
open that evening, he asked permission at once to present himself.
Mrs. Raleigh not only had a distinguished and interesting salon, but
she casually remarked that she expected Miss Penrhyn, and Dartmouth
felt a strong desire to see the girl again.