A Damsel in Distress...........................................................................................................................................1

P.G. Wodehouse .......................................................................................................................................1

Inasmuch as the scene of this story is that historic pile, Belpher Castle, in the county of Hampshire, it would

be an agreeable task to open it with a leisurely description of the place, followed by some notes on the history

of the Earls of Marshmoreton, who have owned it since the fifteenth century. Unfortunately, in these days of

rush and hurry, a novelist works at a disadvantage. He must leap into the middle of his tale with as little delay

as he would employ in boarding a moving tramcar. He must get off the mark with the smooth swiftness of a

jackrabbit surprised while lunching. Otherwise, people throw him aside and go out to picture palaces.

I may briefly remark that the present Lord Marshmoreton is a widower of some fortyeight years: that he has

two childrena son, Percy Wilbraham Marsh, Lord Belpher, who is on the brink of his twentyfirst

birthday, and a daughter, Lady Patricia Maud Marsh, who is just twenty: that the chatelaine of the castle is

Lady Caroline Byng, Lord Marshmoreton's sister, who married the very wealthy colliery owner, Clifford

Byng, a few years before his death (which unkind people say she hastened): and that she has a stepson,

Reginald. Give me time to mention these few facts and I am done. On the glorious past of the Marshmoretons

Luckily, the loss to literature is not irreparable. Lord Marshmoreton himself is engaged upon a history of the

family, which will doubtless be on every bookshelf as soon as his lordship gets it finished. And, as for the

castle and its surroundings, including the model dairy and the amber drawingroom, you may see them for

yourself any Thursday, when Belpher is thrown open to the public on payment of a fee of one shilling a head.

The money is collected by Keggs the butler, and goes to a worthy local charity. At least, that is the idea. But

the voice of calumny is never silent, and there exists a school of thought, headed by Albert, the pageboy,

which holds that Keggs sticks to these shillings like glue, and adds them to his already considerable savings

in the Farmers' and Merchants' Bank, on the left side of the High Street in Belpher village, next door to the

With regard to this, one can only say that Keggs looks far too much like a particularly saintly bishop to

indulge in any such practices. On the other hand, Albert knows Keggs. We must leave the matter open.

Of course, appearances are deceptive. Anyone, for instance, who had been standing outside the front entrance

of the castle at eleven o'clock on a certain June morning might easily have made a mistake. Such a person

would probably have jumped to the conclusion that the middleaged lady of a determined cast of

countenance who was standing near the rosegarden, talking to the gardener and watching the young couple

strolling on the terrace below, was the mother of the pretty girl, and that she was smiling because the latter

Sherlock Holmes himself might have been misled. One can hear him explaining the thing to Watson in one of

those lightning flashes of inductive reasoning of his. "It is the only explanation, my dear Watson. If the lady

were merely complimenting the gardener on his rosegarden, and if her smile were merely caused by the

excellent appearance of that rosegarden, there would be an answering smile on the face of the gardener. But,

As a matter of fact, the gardenerthat is to say, the stocky, brownfaced man in shirt sleeves and corduroy

trousers who was frowning into a can of whaleoil solutionwas the Earl of Marshmoreton, and there were

two reasons for his gloom. He hated to be interrupted while working, and, furthermore, Lady Caroline Byng

always got on his nerves, and never more so than when, as now, she speculated on the possibility of a

Only his intimates would have recognized in this curious corduroytrousered figure the seventh Earl of

Marshmoreton. The Lord Marshmoreton who made intermittent appearances in London, who lunched among

bishops at the Athenaeum Club without exciting remark, was a correctly dressed gentleman whom no one

would have suspected of covering his sturdy legs in anything but the finest cloth. But if you will glance at

your copy of Who's Who, and turn up the "M's", you will find in the space allotted to the Earl the words

"HobbyGardening". To which, in a burst of modest pride, his lordship has added "Awarded first prize for

Lord Marshmoreton was the most enthusiastic amateur gardener in a land of enthusiastic amateur gardeners.

He lived for his garden. The love which other men expend on their nearest and dearest Lord Marshmoreton

lavished on seeds, roses and loamy soil. The hatred which some of his order feel for Socialists and

Demagogues Lord Marshmoreton kept for roseslugs, rosebeetles and the small, yellowishwhite insect

which is so depraved and sinister a character that it goes through life with an aliasbeing sometimes called a

rosehopper and sometimes a thrips. A simple soul, Lord Marshmoretonmild and pleasant. Yet put him

among the thrips, and he became a dealerout of death and slaughter, a destroyer in the class of Attila the

Hun and Genghis Khan. Thrips feed on the underside of rose leaves, sucking their juice and causing them to

turn yellow; and Lord Marshmoreton's views on these things were so rigid that he would have poured

whaleoil solution on his grandmother if he had found her on the underside of one of his rose leaves sucking

The only time in the day when he ceased to be the hornyhanded toiler and became the aristocrat was in the

evening after dinner, when, egged on by Lady Caroline, who gave him no rest in the matterhe would retire

to his private study and work on his History of the Family, assisted by his able secretary, Alice Faraday. His

progress on that massive work was, however, slow. Ten hours in the open air made a man drowsy, and too

often Lord Marshmoreton would fall asleep in midsentence to the annoyance of Miss Faraday, who was a

The couple on the terrace had turned. Reggie Byng's face, as he bent over Maud, was earnest and animated,

and even from a distance it was possible to see how the girl's eyes lit up at what he was saying. She was

"They make a charming pair," she murmured. "I wonder what dear Reggie is saying. Perhaps at this very

She broke off with a sigh of content. She had had her troubles over this affair. Dear Reggie, usually so plastic

in her hands, had displayed an unaccountable reluctance to offer his agreeable self to Maudin spite of the

fact that never, not even on the public platform which she adorned so well, had his stepmother reasoned

more clearly than she did when pointing out to him the advantages of the match. It was not that Reggie

disliked Maud. He admitted that she was a "topper", on several occasions going so far as to describe her as

"absolutely priceless". But he seemed reluctant to ask her to marry him. How could Lady Caroline know that

Reggie's entire worldor such of it as was not occupied by racing cars and golfwas filled by Alice

"Perhaps at this very moment," went on Lady Caroline, "the dear boy is proposing to her."

Lord Marshmoreton grunted, and continued to peer with a questioning eye in the awesome brew which he

"One thing is very satisfactory," said Lady Caroline. "I mean that Maud seems entirely to have got over that

ridiculous infatuation of hers for that man she met in Wales last summer. She could not be so cheerful if she

were still brooding on that. I hope you will admit now, John, that I was right in keeping her practically a

prisoner here and never allowing her a chance of meeting the man again either by accident or design. They

say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Stuff! A girl of Maud's age falls in and out of love half a dozen

"Eh?" said Lord Marshmoreton. His mind had been far away, dealing with green flies.

"I was speaking about that man Maud met when she was staying with Brenda in Wales."

"Oh, yes!" echoed Lady Caroline annoyed. "Is that the only comment you can find to make? Your only

daughter becomes infatuated with a perfect strangera man we have never seenof whom we know

nothing, not even his namenothing except that he is an American and hasn't a pennyMaud admitted that.

"We hope so. But I should feel safer if Maud were engaged to Reggie. I do think you might take the trouble

"Speak to her? I do speak to her." Lord Marshmoreton's brain moved slowly when he was preoccupied with

Lady Caroline frowned impatiently. Hers was an alert, vigorous mind, bright and strong like a steel trap, and

"I mean to speak to her about becoming engaged to Reggie. You are her father. Surely you can at least try to

"I never suggested that you should coerce her, as you put it. I merely meant that you could point out to her, as

"Drink this!" cried his lordship with sudden fury, spraying his can over the nearest bush, and addressing his

remark to the invisible thrips. He had forgotten Lady Caroline completely. "Don't stint yourselves! There's

A girl came down the steps of the castle and made her way towards them. She was a goodlooking girl, with

an air of quiet efficiency about her. Her eyes were grey and whimsical. Her head was uncovered, and the

breeze stirred her dark hair. She made a graceful picture in the morning sunshine, and Reggie Byng, sighting

her from the terrace, wobbled in his tracks, turned pink, and lost the thread of his remarks.

"I have copied out the notes you made last night, Lord Marshmoreton. I typed two copies."

Alice Faraday spoke in a quiet, respectful, yet subtly authoritative voice. She was a girl of great character.

Previous employers of her services as secretary had found her a jewel. To Lord Marshmoreton she was

rapidly becoming a perfect incubus. Their views on the relative importance of gardening and family histories

did not coincide. To him the history of the Marshmoreton family was the occupation of the idle hour: she

seemed to think that he ought to regard it as a lifework. She was always coming and digging him out of the

garden and dragging him back to what should have been a purely afterdinner task. It was Lord

Marshmoreton's habit, when he awoke after one of his naps too late to resume work, to throw out some vague

promise of "attending to it tomorrow"; but, he reflected bitterly, the girl ought to have tact and sense to

"They are very rough," continued Alice, addressing her conversation to the seat of his lordship's corduroy

trousers. Lord Marshmoreton always assumed a stooping attitude when he saw Miss Faraday approaching

with papers in her hand; for he laboured under a pathetic delusion, of which no amount of failures could rid

him, that if she did not see his face she would withdraw. "You remember last night you promised you would

attend to them this morning." She paused long enough to receive a noncommittal grunt by way of answer.

"Of course, if you're busy" she said placidly, with a halfglance at Lady Caroline. That masterful woman

"Nothing of the kind!" said Lady Caroline crisply. She was still ruffled by the lack of attention which her

recent utterances had received, and welcomed the chance of administering discipline. "Get up at once, John,

Despite his fortyeight years his sister Caroline still had the power at times to make him feel like a small boy.

"The Family History is more important than grubbing about in the dirt. I cannot understand why you do not

leave this sort of thing to MacPherson. Why you should pay him liberal wages and then do his work for him,

I cannot see. You know the publishers are waiting for the History. Go and attend to these notes at once."

"You promised you would attend to them this morning, Lord Marshmoreton," said Alice invitingly.

Lord Marshmoreton clung to his can of whaleoil solution with the clutch of a drowning man. None knew

better than he that these interviews, especially when Caroline was present to lend the weight of her

"Yes, yes, yes!" he said. "Tonight, perhaps. After dinner, eh? Yes, after dinner. That will be capital."

"I think you ought to attend to them this morning," said Alice, gently persistent. It really perturbed this girl to

feel that she was not doing work enough to merit her generous salary. And on the subject of the history of the

Lord Marshmoreton's fingers relaxed their hold. Throughout the rosegarden hundreds of spared thrips went

"Very well, Lord Marshmoreton." Miss Faraday turned to Lady Caroline. "I have been looking up the trains,

Lady Caroline. The best is the twelvefifteen. It has a diningcar, and stops at Belpher if signalled."

"I am giving a short talk to the Social Progress League at Lewisham. I shall return tomorrow."

"Thank you. Oh, by the way, Miss Faraday, will you call to Reggie as you pass, and tell him I wish to speak

Maud had left Reggie by the time Alice Faraday reached him, and that ardent youth was sitting on a stone

seat, smoking a cigarette and entertaining himself with meditations in which thoughts of Alice competed for

precedence with graver reflections connected with the subject of the correct stance for his approachshots.

Reggie's was a troubled spirit these days. He was in love, and he had developed a bad slice with his midiron.

He was conscious, as was his custom in her presence, of a warm, prickly sensation in the small of the back.

Some kind of elephantiasis seemed to have attacked his hands and feet, swelling them to enormous

proportions. He wished profoundly that he could get rid of his habit of yelping with nervous laughter

whenever he encountered the girl of his dreams. It was calculated to give her a wrong impression of a

"That's good! What I mean to say isoh, she is, is she? I see what you mean." The absolute necessity of

saying something at least moderately coherent gripped him. He rallied his forces. "You wouldn't care to come

for a stroll, after I've seen the mater, or a row on the lake, or any rot like that, would you?"

"Thank you very much, but I must go in and help Lord Marshmoreton with his book."

The pity of it tore at Reggie's heart strings. He burned with generous wrath against Lord Marshmoreton, that

modern Simon Legree, who used his capitalistic power to make a slave of this girl and keep her toiling

She passed on with a pleasant smile. When he had recovered from the effect of this Reggie proceeded slowly

"Eh? What? News? Didn't you get hold of a paper at breakfast? Nothing much in it. Tam Duggan beat Alec

Fraser three up and two to play at Prestwick. I didn't notice anything else much. There's a new musical

comedy at the Regal. Opened last night, and seems to be just like mother makes. The Morning Post gave it a

Lady Caroline frowned. This slowness in the uptake, coming so soon after her brother's inattention,

"No, no, no. I mean you and Maud have been talking to each other for quite a long time, and she seemed very

interested in what you were saying. I hoped you might have some good news for me."

"Oh, ah, yes, I see what you mean. No, there wasn't anything of that sort or shape or order."

"I was explaining how I landed dead on the pin with my spoon out of a sandtrap at the eleventh hole

yesterday. It certainly was a pretty ripe shot, considering. I'd sliced into this baby bunker, don't you know; I

simply can't keep 'em straight with the iron nowadaysand there the pill was, grinning up at me from the

"Do you mean to say, Reggie, that, with such an excellent opportunity, you did not ask Maud to marry you?"

"I see what you mean. Well, as a matter of absolute fact, I, as it were, didn't."

"By the way, mater," said Reggie, "I forgot to tell you about that. It's all off."

"Absolutely. You see, it appears there's a chappie unknown for whom Maud has an absolute pash. It seems

she met this sportsman up in Wales last summer. She was caught in the rain, and he happened to be passing

and rallied round with his raincoat, and one thing led to another. Always raining in Wales, what! Good

fishing, though, here and there. Well, what I mean is, this cove was so deucedly civil, and all that, that now

she won't look at anybody else. He's the blueeyed boy, and everybody else is an alsoran, with about as

much chance as a blind man with one arm trying to get out of a bunker with a toothpick."

"What perfect nonsense! I know all about that affair. It was just a passing fancy that never meant anything.

"Now, Reggie," said Lady Caroline tensely, "please listen to me. You know that the castle will be full of

people in a day or two for Percy's comingofage, and this next few days may be your last chance of having

a real, long, private talk with Maud. I shall be seriously annoyed if you neglect this opportunity. There is no

"No, no! Absolutely not!" said Reggie dutifully, wishing he knew what the word meant, and wishing also that

"Now, this afternoon, why should you not take Maud for a long ride in your car?"

"Can't be done, I'm afraid. I've got to motor into town to meet Percy. He's arriving from Oxford this morning.

"I say, mater, dear old soul," said Reggie hastily, "I think you'd better tear yourself away and what not. If

you're catching the twelvefifteen, you ought to be staggering round to see you haven't forgotten anything.

"No, no, mustn't miss the twelvefifteen. Good, fruity train. Everybody speaks well of it. Well, see you anon,

Reggie returned slowly to his stone seat. He breathed a little heavily as he felt for his cigarette case. He felt

Maud came out of the house as the car disappeared down the long avenue of elms. She crossed the terrace to

Maud sat down beside him. There was a flush on her pretty face, and when she spoke her voice quivered with

Reggie patted her back paternally. There were few people he liked better than Maud.

"There's something I want you to do for me, Reggie. You'll have to keep it a dead secret of course."

"You're driving into town in your car this afternoon, aren't you, to meet Percy?"

"You don't know what you are letting yourself in for, Reggie, or I'm sure you wouldn't agree so lightly. I'm

not allowed to leave the castle, you know, because of what I was telling you about."

"Never mind, dear old soul. I'll risk it. None shall learn your secret from these lips."

"Because" She lowered her voice, though there was no one near. "Because he is back in London! He's a

sort of secretary, you know, Reggie, to his uncle, and I saw in the paper this morning that the uncle returned

yesterday after a long voyage in his yacht. Sohe must have come back, too. He has to go everywhere his

"And everywhere the uncle went, the chappie was sure to go!" murmured Reggie. "Sorry. Didn't mean to

"I must see him. I haven't seen him since last summernearly a whole year! And he hasn't written to me, and

I haven't dared to write to him, for fear of the letter going wrong. So, you see, I must go. Today's my only

chance. Aunt Caroline has gone away. Father will be busy in the garden, and won't notice whether I'm here or

not. And, besides, tomorrow it will be too late, because Percy will be here. He was more furious about the

"Rather the proud aristocrat, Percy," agreed Reggie. "I understand absolutely. Tell me just what you want me

"I want you to pick me up in the car about half a mile down the road. You can drop me somewhere in

Piccadilly. That will be near enough to where I want to go. But the most important thing is about Percy. You

must persuade him to stay and dine in town and come back here after dinner. Then I shall be able to get back

"I'll toddle round to the garage and fetch the car." Reggie chuckled amusedly. "Rum thing! The mater's just

"I know what it means to be in love, dear old soul. I say, Maud, old thing, do you find love puts you off your

"No. It hasn't had any effect on my game so far. I went round in eightysix the other day."

"Women are wonderful!" he said. "Well, I'll be legging it and fetching the car. When you're ready, stroll

When he had gone Maud pulled a small newspaper clipping from her pocket. She had extracted it from

yesterday's copy of the Morning Post's society column. It contained only a few words:

"Mr. Wilbur Raymond has returned to his residence at No. 11a Belgrave Square from a prolonged voyage in

Maud did not know Mr. Wilbur Raymond, and yet that paragraph had sent the blood tingling through every

vein in her body. For as she had indicated to Reggie, when the Wilbur Raymonds of this world return to their

town residences, they bring with them their nephew and secretary, Geoffrey Raymond. And Geoffrey

Raymond was the man Maud had loved ever since the day when she had met him in Wales.

The sun that had shone so brightly on Belpher Castle at noon, when Maud and Reggie Byng set out on their

journey, shone on the WestEnd of London with equal pleasantness at two o'clock. In Little Gooch Street all

the children of all the small shopkeepers who support life in that backwater by selling each other vegetables

and singing canaries were out and about playing curious games of their own invention. Cats washed

themselves on doorsteps, preparatory to looking in for lunch at one of the numerous garbage cans which

dotted the sidewalk. Waiters peered austerely from the windows of the two Italian restaurants which carry on

the Lucretia Borgia tradition by means of one shilling and sixpenny table d'hote luncheons. The proprietor of

the grocery store on the corner was bidding a silent farewell to a tomato which even he, though a dauntless

optimist, had been compelled to recognize as having outlived its utility. On all these things the sun shone

with a genial smile. Round the corner, in Shaftesbury Avenue, an east wind was doing its best to pierce the

hardened hides of the citizenry; but it did not penetrate into Little Gooch Street, which, facing south and

Mac, the stout guardian of the stage door of the Regal Theatre, whose gilded front entrance is on the Avenue,

emerged from the little glass case in which the management kept him, and came out to observe life and its

phenomena with an indulgent eye. Mac was feeling happy this morning. His job was a permanent one, not

influenced by the success or failure of the productions which followed one another at the theatre throughout

the year; but he felt, nevertheless, a sort of proprietary interest in these ventures, and was pleased when they

secured the approval of the public. Last night's opening, a musical piece by an American author and

composer, had undoubtedly made a big hit, and Mac was glad, because he liked what he had seen of the

company, and, in the brief time in which he had known him, had come to entertain a warm regard for George

Bevan, the composer, who had travelled over from New York to help with the London production.

George Bevan turned the corner now, walking slowly, and, it seemed to Mac, gloomily towards the stage

door. He was a young man of about twentyseven, tall and well knit, with an agreeable, cleancut face, of

which a pair of good and honest eyes were the most noticeable feature. His sensitive mouth was drawn down

"Yes, sir. Some telegrams. I'll get 'em. Oh, I'll GET 'em," said Mac, as if reassuring some doubting friend and

He disappeared into his glass case. George Bevan remained outside in the street surveying the frisking

children with a sombre glance. They seemed to him very noisy, very dirty and very young. Disgustingly

young. Theirs was joyous, exuberant youth which made a fellow feel at least sixty. Something was wrong

with George today, for normally he was fond of children. Indeed, normally he was fond of most things. He

was a goodnatured and cheerful young man, who liked life and the great majority of those who lived it

But today he had noticed from the moment he had got out of bed that something was amiss with the world.

Either he was in the grip of some divine discontent due to the highly developed condition of his soul, or else

he had a grouch. One of the two. Or it might have been the reaction from the emotions of the previous night.

On the morning after an opening your sensitive artist is always apt to feel as if he had been dried over a

Besides, last night there had been a supper party after the performance at the flat which the comedian of the

troupe had rented in Jermyn Street, a forced, rowdy supper party where a number of tired people with

overstrained nerves had seemed to feel it a duty to be artificially vivacious. It had lasted till four o'clock

when the morning papers with the notices arrived, and George had not got to bed till fourthirty. These things

George put the telegrams in his pocket. A cat, on its way back from lunch, paused beside him in order to use

his leg as a serviette. George tickled it under the ear abstractedly. He was always courteous to cats, but today

"My Missus saw it from the gallery, and all the firstnighters was speaking very 'ighly of it. There's a regular

click, you know, sir, over here in London, that goes to all the first nights in the gallery. 'Ighly critical they are

always. Specially if it's an American piece like this one. If they don't like it, they precious soon let you know.

My missus ses they was all speakin' very 'ighly of it. My missus says she ain't seen a livelier show for a long

time, and she's a great theatregoer. My missus says they was all specially pleased with the music."

"Splendid, all of them. I haven't seen the evening papers yet. I came out to get them."

"There'll be a rehearsal this afternoon, I suppose, sir? Here's Miss Dore coming along."

George followed his glance. A tall girl in a tailormade suit of blue was coming towards them. Even at a

distance one caught the genial personality of the new arrival. It seemed to go before her like a heartening

breeze. She picked her way carefully through the children crawling on the side walk. She stopped for a

moment and said something to one of them. The child grinned. Even the proprietor of the grocery store

appeared to brighten up at the sight of her, as at the sight of some old friend.

"How's business, Bill?" she called to him as she passed the spot where he stood brooding on the mortality of

tomatoes. And, though he replied "Rotten", a faint, grim smile did nevertheless flicker across his tragic mask.

Billie Dore, who was one of the chorus of George Bevan's musical comedy, had an attractive face, a mouth

that laughed readily, rather bright golden hair (which, she was fond of insisting with perfect truth, was

genuine though appearances were against it), and steady blue eyes. The latter were frequently employed by

her in quelling admirers who were encouraged by the former to become too ardent. Billie's views on the

opposite sex who forgot themselves were as rigid as those of Lord Marshmoreton concerning thrips. She

liked men, and she would signify this liking in a practical manner by lunching and dining with them, but she

was entirely selfsupporting, and when men overlooked that fact she reminded them of it in no uncertain

"I was just telling Mr. Bevan, miss, that the missus said she 'adn't seen a livelier show for a long time."

"You were up as late as I was, and you look like Little Eva after a night of sweet, childish slumber."

"Yes, but I drank ginger ale, and didn't smoke eighteen cigars. And yet, I don't know. I think I must be getting

old, George. Allnight parties seem to have lost their charm. I was ready to quit at one o'clock, but it didn't

George was amazed. He had not expected to find his present view of life shared in this quarter.

"I was just thinking myself," he said, feeling not for the first time how different Billie was from the majority

of those with whom his profession brought him in contact, "how flat it all was. The show business I mean,

and these darned first nights, and the party after the show which you can't sidestep. Something tells me I'm

"Anybody with any sense is always about through with the show business. I know I am. If you think I'm

wedded to my art, let me tell you I'm going to get a divorce the first chance that comes along. It's funny about

the show business. The way one drifts into it and sticks, I mean. Take me, for example. Nature had it all

doped out for me to be the Belle of Hicks Corners. What I ought to have done was to buy a gingham bonnet

and milk cows. But I would come to the great city and help brighten up the tired business man."

"Me? I wrote the words and music. Didn't you know I was a country kid? My dad ran a Bide a Wee Home for

flowers, and I used to know them all by their middle names. He was a nursery gardener out in Indiana. I tell

you, when I see a rose nowadays, I shake its hand and say: 'Well, well, Cyril, how's everything with you?

And how are Joe and Jack and Jimmy and all the rest of the boys at home?' Do you know how I used to put in

my time the first few nights I was over here in London? I used to hang around Covent Garden with my head

back, sniffing. The boys that mess about with the flowers there used to stub their toes on me so often that

"We'd have had a better time. Say, George, did you see the awful mistake on Nature's part that Babe Sinclair

showed up with towards the middle of the proceedings? You must have noticed him, because he took up

George recalled having been introduced to a fat man of his own age who answered to that name.

"It's a darned shame," said Billie indignantly. "Babe is only a kid. This is the first show she's been in. And I

happen to know there's an awfully nice boy over in New York crazy to marry her. And I'm certain this gink is

giving her a raw deal. He tried to get hold of me about a week ago, but I turned him down hard; and I suppose

he thinks Babe is easier. And it's no good talking to her; she thinks he's wonderful. That's another kick I have

against the show business. It seems to make girls such darned chumps. Well, I wonder how much longer Mr.

"All's well that ends well. 'Put me among the G's.' There's a good title for a song for you, George. Excuse me

while I grapple with the correspondence. I'll bet half of these are mash notes. I got three between the first and

second acts last night. Why the nobility and gentry of this burg should think that I'm their affinity just

because I've got golden hairwhich is perfectly genuine, Mac; I can show you the pedigreeand because I

Mac leaned his massive shoulders comfortably against the building, and resumed his chat.

George pondered. He was certainly feeling better since he had seen Billie Dore, but he was far from being

"Ah, you're getting blarzy, sir, that's what it is. You've 'ad too much of the fat, you 'ave. This piece was a big

"Yes. It ran over a year in New York, and there are three companies of it out now."

"That's 'ow it is, you see. You've gone and got blarzy. Too big a 'elping of success, you've 'ad." Mac wagged

Billie Dore finished skimming through her mail, and crumpled the letters up into a large ball, which she

"Here's something for you to read in your spare moments, Mac. Glance through them any time you have a

suspicion you may be a chump, and you'll have the comfort of knowing that there are others. What were you

"It's because, as I was saying, 'e's 'ad too big a 'elping of success, and because 'e ain't a married man. You did

"That's 'ow it is, you see. You pretty soon gets sick of pulling off good things, if you ain't got nobody to pat

you on the back for doing of it. Why, when I was single, if I got 'old of a sure thing for the three o'clock race

and picked up a couple of quid, the thrill of it didn't seem to linger somehow. But now, if some of the

gentlemen that come 'ere put me on to something safe and I make a bit, 'arf the fascination of it is taking the

stuff 'ome and rolling it on to the kitchen table and 'aving 'er pat me on the back."

"It ain't an art, sir. It's just gettin' 'old of the right little woman, and 'aving a nice little 'ome of your own to go

"Mac," said Billie admiringly, "you talk like a Tin Pan Alley song hit, except that you've left out the scent of

honeysuckle and Old Mister Moon climbing up over the trees. Well, you're quite right. I'm all for the simple

and domestic myself. If I could find the right man, and he didn't see me coming and duck, I'd become one of

the Mendelssohn's March Daughters right away. Are you going, George? There's a rehearsal at twothirty for

"A nice pleasant gentleman, Mr. Bevan," he said. "Too bad 'e's got the pip the way 'e 'as, just after 'avin' a big

Miss Dore dived into her vanity case and produced a puff with which she proceeded to powder her nose.

"All composers are nuts, Mac. I was in a show once where the manager was panning the composer because

there wasn't a number in the score that had a tune to it. The poor geek admitted they weren't very tuney, but

said the thing about his music was that it had such a wonderful aroma. They all get that way. The jazz seems

to go to their heads. George is all right, though, and don't let anyone tell you different."

"About five years. I was a stenographer in the house that published his songs when I first met him. And

there's another thing you've got to hand it to George for. He hasn't let success give him a swelled head. The

money that boy makes is sinful, Mac. He wears thousand dollar bills next to his skin winter and summer. But

he's just the same as he was when I first knew him, when he was just hanging around Broadway, looking out

for a chance to be allowed to slip a couple of interpolated numbers into any old show that came along. Yes.

Put it in your diary, Mac, and write it on your cuff, George Bevan's all right. He's an ace."

Unconscious of these eulogies, which, coming from one whose judgment he respected, might have cheered

him up, George wandered down Shaftesbury Avenue feeling more depressed than ever. The sun had gone in

for the time being, and the east wind was frolicking round him like a playful puppy, patting him with a cold

paw, nuzzling his ankles, bounding away and bounding back again, and behaving generally as east winds do

when they discover a victim who has come out without his spring overcoat. It was plain to George now that

the sun and the wind were a couple of confidence tricksters working together as a team. The sun had

disarmed him with specious promises and an air of cheery goodfellowship, and had delivered him into the

hands of the wind, which was now going through him with the swift thoroughness of the professional

holdup artist. He quickened his steps, and began to wonder if he was so sunk in senile decay as to have

He discarded the theory as repellent. And yet there must be a reason for his depression. Today of all days, as

Mac had pointed out, he had everything to make him happy. Popular as he was in America, this was the first

piece of his to be produced in London, and there was no doubt that it was a success of unusual dimensions.

He reached Piccadilly and turned westwards. And then, as he passed the gates of the In and Out Club, he had

a moment of clear vision and understood everything. He was depressed because he was bored, and he was

bored because he was lonely. Mac, that solid thinker, had been right. The solution of the problem of life was

to get hold of the right girl and have a home to go back to at night. He was mildly surprised that he had tried

in any other direction for an explanation of his gloom. It was all the more inexplicable in that fully 80 per

cent of the lyrics which he had set in the course of his musical comedy career had had that thought at the back

George gave himself up to an orgy of sentimentality. He seemed to be alone in the world which had paired

itself off into a sort of seething welter of happy couples. Taxicabs full of happy couples rolled by every

minute. Passing omnibuses creaked beneath the weight of happy couples. The very policeman across the

Street had just grinned at a flitting shop girl, and she had smiled back at him. The only female in London who

did not appear to be attached was a girl in brown who was coming along the sidewalk at a leisurely pace,

looking about her in a manner that suggested that she found Piccadilly a new and stimulating spectacle.

As far as George could see she was an extremely pretty girl, small and dainty, with a proud little tilt to her

head and the jaunty walk that spoke of perfect health. She was, in fact, precisely the sort of girl that George

felt he could love with all the storedup devotion of an old buffer of twentyseven who had squandered none

of his rich nature in foolish flirtations. He had just begun to weave a rosetinted romance about their two

selves, when a cold reaction set in. Even as he paused to watch the girl threading her way through the crowd,

the east wind jabbed an icy finger down the back of his neck, and the chill of it sobered him. After all, he

reflected bitterly, this girl was only alone because she was on her way somewhere to meet some confounded

man. Besides there was no earthly chance of getting to know her. You can't rush up to pretty girls in the street

and tell them you are lonely. At least, you can, but it doesn't get you anywhere except the police station.

George's gloom deepeneda thing he would not have believed possible a moment before. He felt that he had

been born too late. The restraints of modern civilization irked him. It was not, he told himself, like this in the

In the Middle Ages, for example, this girl would have been a Damsel; and in that happy time practically

everybody whose technical rating was that of Damsel was in distress and only too willing to waive the

formalities in return for services rendered by the casual passerby. But the twentieth century is a prosaic age,

when girls are merely girls and have no troubles at all. Were he to stop this girl in brown and assure her that

his aid and comfort were at her disposal, she would undoubtedly call that large policeman from across the

way, and the romance would begin and end within the space of thirty seconds, or, if the policeman were a

Better to dismiss dreams and return to the practical side of life by buying the evening papers from the shabby

individual beside him, who had just thrust an early edition in his face. After all notices are notices, even when

the heart is aching. George felt in his pocket for the necessary money, found emptiness, and remembered that

he had left all his ready funds at his hotel. It was just one of the things he might have expected on a day like

The man with the papers had the air of one whose business is conducted on purely cash principles. There was

only one thing to be done, return to the hotel, retrieve his money, and try to forget the weight of the world and

its cares in lunch. And from the hotel he could despatch the two or three cables which he wanted to send to

The girl in brown was quite close now, and George was enabled to get a clearer glimpse of her. She more

than fulfilled the promise she had given at a distance. Had she been constructed to his own specifications, she

would not have been more acceptable in George's sight. And now she was going out of his life for ever. With

an overwhelming sense of pathos, for there is no pathos more bitter than that of parting from someone we

have never met, George hailed a taxicab which crawled at the side of the road; and, with all the refrains of all

the sentimental song hits he had ever composed ringing in his ears, he got in and passed away.

"A rotten world," he mused, as the cab, after proceeding a couple of yards, came to a standstill in a block of

the traffic. "A dull, flat bore of a world, in which nothing happens or ever will happen. Even when you take a

George hid her. He did it, too, without wasting precious time by asking questions. In a situation which might

well have thrown the quickestwined of men off his balance, he acted with promptitude, intelligence and

despatch. The fact is, George had for years been an assiduous golfer; and there is no finer school for teaching

concentration and a strict attention to the matter in hand. Few crises, however unexpected, have the power to

disturb a man who has so conquered the weakness of the flesh as to have trained himself to bend his left knee,

raise his left heel, swing his arms well out from the body, twist himself into the shape of a corkscrew and use

the muscle of the wrist, at the same time keeping his head still and his eye on the ball. It is estimated that

there are twentythree important points to be borne in mind simultaneously while making a drive at golf; and

to the man who has mastered the art of remembering them all the task of hiding girls in taxicabs is mere

child's play. To pull down the blinds on the side of the vehicle nearest the kerb was with George the work of

a moment. Then he leaned out of the centre window in such a manner as completely to screen the interior of

"Thank you so much," murmured a voice behind him. It seemed to come from the floor.

"Not at all," said George, trying a sort of vocal chipshot out of the corner of his mouth, designed to lift his

He gazed upon Piccadilly with eyes from which the scales had fallen. Reason told him that he was still in

Piccadilly. Otherwise it would have seemed incredible to him that this could be the same street which a

moment before he had passed judgment upon and found flat and uninteresting. True, in its salient features it

had altered little. The same number of stodgylooking people moved up and down. The buildings retained

their air of not having had a bath since the days of the Tudors. The east wind still blew. But, though

superficially the same, in reality Piccadilly had altered completely. Before it had been just Piccadilly. Now it

was a golden street in the City of Romance, a main thoroughfare of Bagdad, one of the principal arteries of

the capital of Fairyland. A rosecoloured mist swam before George's eyes. His spirits, so low but a few

moments back, soared like a good niblick shot out of the bunker of Gloom. The years fell away from him till,

in an instant, from being a rather poorly preserved, liverish greybeard of sixtyfive or so, he became a

sprightly lad of twentyone in a world of springtime and flowers and laughing brooks. In other words, taking

it by and large, George felt pretty good. The impossible had happened; Heaven had sent him an adventure,

It was possibly the rosecoloured mist before his eyes that prevented him from observing the hurried

approach of a faultlessly attired young man, aged about twentyone, who during George's preparations for

ensuring privacy in his cab had been galloping in pursuit in a resolute manner that suggested a welldressed

bloodhound somewhat overfed and out of condition. Only when this person stopped and began to pant within

"You, sir!" said the bloodhound, removing a gleaming silk hat, mopping a pink forehead, and replacing the

Whatever may be said of the possibility of love at first sight, in which theory George was now a confirmed

believer, there can be no doubt that an exactly opposite phenomenon is of frequent occurrence. After one look

at some people even friendship is impossible. Such a one, in George's opinion, was this gurgling excrescence

underneath the silk hat. He comprised in his single person practically all the qualities which George disliked

most. He was, for a young man, extraordinarily obese. Already a second edition of his chin had been

published, and the perfectlycut morning coat which encased his upper section bulged out in an opulent

semicircle. He wore a little moustache, which to George's prejudiced eye seemed more a complaint than a

moustache. His face was red, his manner dictatorial, and he was touched in the wind. Take him for all in all

George had been educated at Lawrenceville and Harvard, and had subsequently had the privilege of mixing

socially with many of New York's most prominent theatrical managers; so he knew how to behave himself.

"And what," he inquired suavely, leaning a little further out of the cab, "is eating you, Bill?"

A messenger boy, two shabby men engaged in nonessential industries, and a shop girl paused to observe the

scene. Time was not of the essence to these confirmed sightseers. The shop girl was late already, so it didn't

matter if she was any later; the messenger boy had nothing on hand except a message marked "Important:

Rush"; and as for the two shabby men, their only immediate plans consisted of a vague intention of getting to

some public house and leaning against the wall; so George's time was their time. One of the pair put his head

on one side and said: "What ho!"; the other picked up a cigar stub from the gutter and began to smoke.

At this juncture the block in the traffic was relieved, and the cab bowled smartly on for some fifty yards when

it was again halted. George, protruding from the window like a snail, was entertained by the spectacle of the

pursuit. The hunt was up. Short of throwing his head up and baying, the stout young man behaved exactly as

a bloodhound in similar circumstances would have conducted itself. He broke into a jerky gallop, attended by

his selfappointed associates; and, considering that the young man was so stout, that the messenger boy

considered it unprofessional to hurry, that the shop girl had doubts as to whether sprinting was quite ladylike,

and that the two Bohemians were moving at a quicker gait than a shuffle for the first occasion in eleven years,

the cavalcade made good time. The cab was still stationary when they arrived in a body.

"Here he is, guv'nor," said the messenger boy, removing a bead of perspiration with the rush message.

The smoker spat appreciatively at a passing dog. The point seemed to him well taken. Not for many a day had

he so enjoyed himself. In an arid world containing too few goes of gin and too many policemen, a world in

which the poor were oppressed and could seldom even enjoy a quiet cigar without having their fingers

trodden upon, he found himself for the moment contented, happy, and expectant. This looked like a row

between toffs, and of all things which most intrigued him a row between toffs ranked highest.

"Mordee! Cummere! Cummere quick! Sumfin' hap'nin'!" Maudie, accompanied by perhaps a dozen more of

London's millions, added herself to the audience. These all belonged to the class which will gather round and

watch silently while a motorist mends a tyre. They are not impatient. They do not call for rapid and

continuous action. A mere hole in the ground, which of all sights is perhaps the least vivid and dramatic, is

enough to grip their attention for hours at a time. They stared at George and George's cab with unblinking

gaze. They did not know what would happen or when it would happen, but they intended to wait till

something did happen. It might be for years or it might be for ever, but they meant to be there when things

A rednosed spectator with a tray of collarstuds harnessed to his stomach started another school of thought.

"Nothin' of the blinkin' kind! The fat 'un's bin 'avin' one or two around the corner, and it's gorn and got into 'is

The driver of the cab, who till now had been ostentatiously unaware that there was any sort of disturbance

"Exactly what I want to know," said George. He indicated the collarstud merchant. "The gentleman over

there with the portable Woolworthbargaincounter seems to me to have the best theory."

The stout young man, whose peculiar behaviour had drawn all this flattering attention from the manyheaded

and who appeared considerably ruffled by the publicity, had been puffing noisily during the foregoing

conversation. Now, having recovered sufficient breath to resume the attack, he addressed himself to George

"There is a young lady in that cab. I saw her get in, and I have been watching ever since, and she has not got

"Your argument seems to be without a flaw. But what then? We applaud the Man of Logic, but what of the

"I know I can't," said George, "but I shall. In this life, my dear sir, we must be prepared for every emergency.

We must distinguish between the unusual and the impossible. It would be unusual for a comparative stranger

to lean out of a cab window and sock you one, but you appear to have laid your plans on the assumption that

"The advice I give to every young man starting life is 'Never confuse the unusual with the impossible!' Take

the present case, for instance. If you had only realized the possibility of somebody some day busting you on

the jaw when you tried to get into a cab, you might have thought out dozens of crafty schemes for dealing

with the matter. As it is, you are unprepared. The thing comes on you as a surprise. The whisper flies around

the clubs: 'Poor old What'shisname has been taken unawares. He cannot cope with the situation!"

The man with the collarstuds made another diagnosis. He was seeing clearer and clearer into the thing every

"Looney!" he decided. "This 'ere one's bin moppin' of it up, and the one in the keb's orf 'is bloomin' onion.

That's why 'e 's standin' up instead of settin'. 'E won't set down 'cept you bring 'im a bit o' toast, 'cos he thinks

He broke off here, not because he had not more to say, but for the reason that the stout young man, now in

quite a Berserk frame of mind, made a sudden spring at the cab door and clutched the handle, which he was

about to wrench when George acted with all the promptitude and decision which had marked his behaviour

It was a situation which called for the nicest judgment. To allow the assailant free play with the handle or

even to wrestle with him for its possession entailed the risk that the door might open and reveal the girl. To

bust the young man on the jaw, as promised, on the other hand, was not in George's eyes a practical policy.

Excellent a deterrent as the threat of such a proceeding might be, its actual accomplishment was not to be

thought of. Gaols yawn and actions for assault lie in wait for those who go about the place busting their

fellows on the jaw. No. Something swift, something decided and immediate was indicated, but something

George brought his hand round with a sweep and knocked the stout young man's silk hat off.

The effect was magical. We all of us have our Achilles heel, andparadoxically enoughin the case of the

stout young man that heel was his hat. Superbly built by the only hatter in London who can construct a silk

hat that is a silk hat, and freshly ironed by loving hands but a brief hour before at the only shavingparlour in

London where ironing is ironing and not a brutal attack, it was his pride and joy. To lose it was like losing his

trousers. It made him feel insufficiently clad. With a passionate cry like that of some wild creature deprived

of its young, the erstwhile Berserk released the handle and sprang in pursuit. At the same moment the traffic

The last George saw was a group scene with the stout young man in the middle of it. The hat had been

popped up into the infield, where it had been caught by the messenger boy. The stout young man was bending

over it and stroking it with soothing fingers. It was too far off for anything to be audible, but he seemed to

George to be murmuring words of endearment to it. Then, placing it on his head, he darted out into the road

and George saw him no more. The audience remained motionless, staring at the spot where the incident had

happened. They would continue to do this till the next policeman came along and moved them on.

With a pleasant wave of farewell, in case any of them might be glancing in his direction, George drew in his

The girl in brown had risen from the floor, if she had ever been there, and was now seated composedly at the

He was enabled now to get a closer, more leisurely and much more satisfactory view of this distressed damsel

than had been his good fortune up to the present. Small details which, when he had first caught sight of her,

distance had hidden from his view, now presented themselves. Her eyes, he discovered, which he had

supposed brown, were only brown in their general colourscheme. They were shot with attractive little flecks

of gold, matching perfectly the little streaks gold which the sun, coming out again on one of his flying visits

and now shining benignantly once more on the world, revealed in her hair. Her chin was square and

determined, but its resoluteness was contradicted by a dimple and by the pleasant goodhumour of the

mouth; and a further softening of the face was effected by the nose, which seemed to have started out with the

intention of being dignified and aristocratic but had defeated its purpose by tilting very slightly at the tip.

This was a girl who would take chances, but would take them with a smile and laugh when she lost.

George was but an amateur physiognomist, but he could read what was obvious in the faces he encountered;

and the more he looked at this girl, the less he was able to understand the scene which had just occurred. The

thing mystified him completely. For all her goodhumour, there was an air, a manner, a something capable

and defensive, about this girl with which he could not imagine any man venturing to take liberties. The

goldbrown eyes, as they met his now, were friendly and smiling, but he could imagine them freezing into a

stare baleful enough and haughty enough to quell such a person as the silkhatted young man with a single

glance. Why, then, had that superfatted individual been able to demoralize her to the extent of flying to the

shelter of strange cabs? She was composed enough now, it was true, but it had been quite plain that at the

moment when she entered the taxi her nerve had momentarily forsaken her. There were mysteries here,

The girl looked steadily at George and George looked steadily at her for the space of perhaps ten seconds.

She seemed to George to be summing him up, weighing him. That the inspection proved satisfactory was

shown by the fact that at the end of this period she smiled. Then she laughed, a clear pealing laugh which to

"And of course you're much too well bred to be inquisitive about other people's business?"

"I mean he will feel very hurt if I don't give him a full explanation of all this. He stooped from his pedestal to

"I was going back to my hotel. I came out without any money, so I shall have to go there first to get some."

"There's only one thing to be done. You will have to wait in the cab at the hotel, while I go and get some

"Of course, if you think I ought to be economical, I'll go thirdclass. That would only be five shillings.

Tenandsix is the firstclass fare. So you see the place I want to get to is two hours from London."

"I think I had better lend you a sovereign. Then you'll be able to buy a lunchbasket."

"You think of everything. And you're perfectly right. I shall be starving. But how do you know you will get

"Well, then, I shall have to be inquisitive and ask your name. Otherwise I shan't know where to send the

"I was only thinking of back there. You know, I haven't thanked you nearly enough for all you did. You were

"What did happen? You must remember I couldn't see a thing except your back, and I could only hear

"Well, it started by a man galloping up and insisting that you had got into the cab. He was a fellow with the

appearance of a beforeusing advertisement of an antifat medicine and the manners of a ringtailed

"I reasoned with the man, but didn't seem to soothe him, and finally he made a grab for the doorhandle, so I

"Oh, what a shame I couldn't see it. But how resourceful of you! How did you happen to think of it?"

A serious look came into the girl's face. The smile died out of her eyes. She shivered.

"Oh, no. Any man would have done just what I did. Surely, knocking off Percy's hat was an act of simple

"You might have been some awful bounder. Or, what would have been almost worse, a slowwitted idiot

who would have stopped to ask questions before doing anything. To think I should have had the luck to pick

"Mr. Bevan, you mustn't think that, because I've been laughing a good deal and have seemed to treat all this

as a joke, you haven't saved me from real trouble. If you hadn't been there and hadn't acted with such

"But surely, if that fellow was annoying you, you could have called a policeman?"

"Oh, it wasn't anything like that. It was much, much worse. But I mustn't go on like this. It isn't fair on you."

Her eyes lit up again with the old shining smile. "I know you have no curiosity about me, but still there's no

knowing whether I might not arouse some if I went on piling up the mystery. And the silly part is that really

"That very fact seems to me to constitute the makings of a pretty fair mystery."

"Well, what I mean is, I'm not a princess in disguise trying to escape from anarchists, or anything like those

things you read about in books. I'm just in a perfectly simple piece of trouble. You would be bored to death if

"No. Besides, here we are." The cab had stopped at the hotel, and a commissionaire was already opening the

door. "Now, if you haven't repented of your rash offer and really are going to be so awfully kind as to let me

have that money, would you mind rushing off and getting it, because I must hurry. I can just catch a good

The last George saw of her was another of those exhilarating smiles of hers. It was literally the last he saw of

her, for, when he returned not more than two minutes later, the cab had gone, the girl had gone, and the world

To him, gaping at this wholly unforeseen calamity the commissionaire vouchsafed information.

"Almost immediately after you had gone, sir, she got in again and told the man to drive to Waterloo."

George could make nothing of it. He stood there in silent perplexity, and might have continued to stand

indefinitely, had not his mind been distracted by a dictatorial voice at his elbow.

A second taxicab had pulled up, and from it a stout, scarlet faced young man had sprung. One glance told

George all. The hunt was up once more. The bloodhound had picked up the trail. Percy was in again!

For the first time since he had become aware of her flight, George was thankful that the girl had disappeared.

He perceived that he had too quickly eliminated Percy from the list of the Things That Matter. Engrossed

with his own affairs, and having regarded their late skirmish as a decisive battle from which there would be

no rallying, he had overlooked the possibility of this annoying and unnecessary person following them in

another caba task which, in the congested, slowmoving traffic, must have been a perfectly simple one.

Well, here he was, his soul manifestly all stirred up and his bloodpressure at a far higher figure than his

doctor would have approved of, and the matter would have to be opened all over again.

George regarded him with a critical and unfriendly eye. He disliked this fatty degeneration excessively.

Looking him up and down, he could find no point about him that gave him the least pleasure, with the single

exception of the state of his hat, in the side of which he was rejoiced to perceive there was a large and

"You thought you had shaken me off! You thought you'd given me the slip! Well, you're wrong!"

"I know what's the matter with you," he said. "Someone's been feeding you meat."

The young man bubbled with fury. His face turned a deeper scarlet. He gesticulated.

At this extraordinary remark the world rocked about George dizzily. The words upset his entire diagnosis of

the situation. Until that moment he had looked upon this man as a Lothario, a pursuer of damsels. That the

other could possibly have any right on his side had never occurred to him. He felt unmanned by the shock. It

George was still endeavouring to adjust his scattered faculties. He felt foolish and apologetic. He had

imagined himself unassailably in the right, and it now appeared that he was in the wrong.

For a moment he was about to become conciliatory. Then the recollection of the girl's panic and her hints at

some trouble which threatened herpresumably through the medium of this man, brother or no

brotherchecked him. He did not know what it was all about, but the one thing that did stand out clearly in

the welter of confused happenings was the girl's need for his assistance. Whatever might be the rights of the

A rich, deep, soft, soothing voice slid into the heated scene like the Holy Grail sliding athwart a sunbeam.

A vast policeman had materialized from nowhere. He stood beside them, a living statue of Vigilant Authority.

One thumb rested easily on his broad belt. The fingers of the other hand caressed lightly a moustache that had

caused more heartburnings among the gentler sex than any other two moustaches in the Cdivision. The

George liked policemen. He knew the way to treat them. His voice, when he replied, had precisely the correct

"I really couldn't say, officer," he said, with just that air of having in a time of trouble found a kind elder

brother to help him out of his difficulties which made the constable his ally on the spot. "I was standing here,

when this man suddenly made his extraordinary attack on me. I wish you would ask him to go away."

"This won't do, you know!" he said austerely. "This sort o' thing won't do, 'ere, you know!"

"'Ullo! 'Ullo! 'Ullo!" he said in a shocked voice, as of a god defied by a mortal. "'Ullo! 'Ullo! 'Ullo!"

His fingers fell on Percy's shoulder again, but this time not in a mere warning tap. They rested where they

"It won't do, you know," he said. "This sort o' thing won't do!" Madness came upon the stout young man.

Common prudence and the lessons of a carefullytaught youth fell from him like a garment. With an

incoherent howl he wriggled round and punched the policeman smartly in the stomach.

"Ho!" quoth the outraged officer, suddenly becoming human. His left hand removed itself from the belt, and

he got a businesslike grip on his adversary's collar. "Will you come along with me!"

It was amazing. The thing had happened in such an incredibly brief space of time. One moment, it seemed to

George, he was the centre of a nasty row in one of the most public spots in London; the next, the focus had

shifted; he had ceased to matter; and the entire attention of the metropolis was focused on his late assailant,

as, urged by the arm of the Law, he made that journey to Vine Street Police Station which so many a better

George watched the pair as they moved up the Haymarket, followed by a growing and increasingly absorbed

"This," he said to himself; "is the middle of a perfect day! And I thought London dull!"

George awoke next morning with a misty sense that somehow the world had changed. As the last remnants of

sleep left him, he was aware of a vague excitement. Then he sat up in bed with a jerk. He had remembered

There was no doubt about it. A curious happiness pervaded his entire being. He felt young and active.

Everything was emphatically for the best in this best of all possible worlds. The sun was shining. Even the

sound of someone in the street below whistling one of his old compositions, of which he had heartily

sickened twelve months before, was pleasant to his ears, and this in spite of the fact that the unseen whistler

only touched the key in odd spots and had a poor memory for tunes. George sprang lightly out of bed, and

turned on the cold tap in the bathroom. While he lathered his face for its morning shave he beamed at himself

George had never been in love before. Not really in love. True, from the age of fifteen, he had been in

varying degrees of intensity attracted sentimentally by the opposite sex. Indeed, at that period of life of which

Mr. Booth Tarkington has written so searchinglythe age of seventeenhe had been in love with

practically every female he met and with dozens whom he had only seen in the distance; but ripening years

had mellowed his taste and robbed him of that fine romantic catholicity. During the last five years women

had found him more or less cold. It was the nature of his profession that had largely brought about this

cooling of the emotions. To a man who, like George, has worked year in and year out at the composition of

musical comedies, woman comes to lose many of those attractive qualities which ensnare the ordinary male.

To George, of late years, it had begun to seem that the salient feature of woman as a sex was her disposition

to kick. For five years he had been wandering in a world of women, many of them beautiful, all of them

superficially attractive, who had left no other impress on his memory except the vigour and frequency with

which they had kicked. Some had kicked about their musical numbers, some about their lovescenes; some

had grumbled about their exit lines, others about the lines of their secondact frocks. They had kicked in a

myriad differing wayswrathfully, sweetly, noisily, softly, smilingly, tearfully, pathetically and

patronizingly; but they had all kicked; with the result that woman had now become to George not so much a

flaming inspiration or a tender goddess as something to be dodgedtactfully, if possible; but, if not possible,

by open flight. For years he had dreaded to be left alone with a woman, and had developed a habit of gliding

The psychological effect of such a state of things is not difficult to realize. Take a man of naturally quixotic

temperament, a man of chivalrous instincts and a feeling for romance, and cut him off for five years from the

exercise of those qualities, and you get an accumulated store of foolishness only comparable to an escape of

gas in a sealed room or a cellarful of dynamite. A flicker of a match, and there is an explosion.

This girl's tempestuous irruption into his life had supplied flame for George. Her bright eyes, looking into his,

had touched off the spiritual trinitrotoluol which he had been storing up for so long. Up in the air in a million

pieces had gone the prudence and selfrestraint of a lifetime. And here he was, as desperately in love as any

It was not till he had finished shaving and was testing the temperature of his bath with a shrinking toe that the

realization came over him in a wave that, though he might be in love, the fairway of love was dotted with

more bunkers than any golf course he had ever played on in his life. In the first place, he did not know the

girl's name. In the second place, it seemed practically impossible that he would ever see her again. Even in

the midst of his optimism George could not deny that these facts might reasonably be considered in the nature

of obstacles. He went back into his bedroom, and sat on the bed. This thing wanted thinking over.

He was not depressedonly a little thoughtful. His faith in his luck sustained him. He was, he realized, in

the position of a man who has made a supreme drive from the tee, and finds his ball near the green but in a

cuppy lie. He had gained much; it now remained for him to push his success to the happy conclusion. The

driver of Luck must be replaced by the spoonor, possibly, the niblickof Ingenuity. To fail now, to allow

this girl to pass out of his life merely because he did not know who she was or where she was, would stamp

him a feeble adventurer. A fellow could not expect Luck to do everything for him. He must supplement its

What had he to go on? Well, nothing much, if it came to that, except the knowledge that she lived some two

hours by train out of London, and that her journey started from Waterloo Station. What would Sherlock

Holmes have done? Concentrated thought supplied no answer to the question; and it was at this point that the

cheery optimism with which he had begun the day left George and gave place to a grey gloom. A dreadful

phrase, haunting in its pathos, crept into his mind. "Ships that pass in the night!" It might easily turn out that

way. Indeed, thinking over the affair in all its aspects as he dried himself after his tub, George could not see

He dressed moodily, and left the room to go down to breakfast. Breakfast would at least alleviate this sinking

feeling which was unmanning him. And he could think more briskly after a cup or two of coffee.

The handwriting was feminine. It was also in pencil, and strange to him. He opened the envelope.

"I hope you won't think me very rude, running off without waiting to say goodbye. I had to. I saw Percy

driving up in a cab, and knew that he must have followed us. He did not see me, so I got away all right. I

managed splendidly about the money, for I remembered that I was wearing a nice brooch, and stopped on the

George read the note twice on the way down to the breakfast room, and three times more during the meal;

then, having committed its contents to memory down to the last comma, he gave himself up to glowing

What a girl! He had never in his life before met a woman who could write a letter without a postscript, and

this was but the smallest of her unusual gifts. The resource of her, to think of pawning that brooch! The

sweetness of her to bother to send him a note! More than ever before was he convinced that he had met his

ideal, and more than ever before was he determined that a triviality like being unaware of her name and

address should not keep him from her. It was not as if he had no clue to go upon. He knew that she lived two

hours from London and started home from Waterloo. It narrowed the thing down absurdly. There were only

about three counties in which she could possibly live; and a man must be a poor fellow who is incapable of

searching through a few small counties for the girl he loves. Especially a man with luck like his.

Luck is a goddess not to be coerced and forcibly wooed by those who seek her favours. From such masterful

spirits she turns away. But it happens sometimes that, if we put our hand in hers with the humble trust of a

little child, she will have pity on us, and not fail us in our hour of need. On George, hopefully watching for

It was George's practice, when he lunched alone, to relieve the tedium of the meal with the assistance of

reading matter in the shape of one or more of the evening papers. Today, sitting down to a solitary repast at

the Piccadilly grillroom, he had brought with him an early edition of the Evening News. And one of the first

items which met his eye was the following, embodied in a column on one of the inner pages devoted to

humorous comments in prose and verse on the happenings of the day. This particular happening the writer

"Outside the 'Carlton,' 'tis averred, these stirring happenings occurred. The hour, 'tis said (and no one doubts)

was halfpast two, or thereabouts. The day was fair, the sky was blue, and everything was peaceful too, when

suddenly a welldressed gent engaged in heated argument and roundly to abuse began another welldressed

gentleman. His suedegloved fist he raised on high to dot the other in the eye. Who knows what horrors

might have been, had there not come upon the scene old London city's favourite son, Policeman C. 231.

'What means this conduct? Prithee stop!' exclaimed that admirable slop. With which he placed a warning

hand upon the brawler's collarband. We simply hate to tell the rest. No subject here for flippant jest. The mere

remembrance of the tale has made our ink turn deadly pale. Let us be brief. Some demon sent stark madness

on the welldressed gent. He gave the constable a punch just where the latter kept his lunch. The constable

said 'Well! Well! Well!' and marched him to a dungeon cell. At Vine Street Station out it cameLord

Belpher was the culprit's name. But British Justice is severe alike on pauper and on peer; with even hand she

holds the scale; a thumping fine, in lieu of gaol, induced Lord B. to feel remorse and learn he mustn't punch

George's mutton chop congealed on the plate, untouched. The French fried potatoes cooled off, unnoticed.

This was no time for food. Rightly indeed had he relied upon his luck. It had stood by him nobly. With this

clue, all was over except getting to the nearest Free Library and consulting Burke's Peerage. He paid his bill

Ten minutes later he was drinking in the pregnant information that Belpher was the family name of the Earl

of Marshmoreton, and that the present earl had one son, Percy Wilbraham Marsh, educ. Eton and Christ

Church, Oxford, and what the book with its customary curtness called "one d."Patricia Maud. The family

Some hours later, seated in a firstclass compartment of a train that moved slowly out of Waterloo Station,

George watched London vanish behind him. In the pocket closest to his throbbing heart was a single ticket to

At about the time that George Bevan's train was leaving Waterloo, a grey racing car drew up with a grinding

of brakes and a sputter of gravel in front of the main entrance of Belpher Castle. The slim and elegant young

man at the wheel removed his goggles, pulled out a watch, and addressed the stout young man at his side.

"Two hours and eighteen minutes from Hyde Park Corner, Boots. Not so dusty, what?"

His companion made no reply. He appeared to be plunged in thought. He, too, removed his goggles,

revealing a florid and gloomy face, equipped, in addition to the usual features, with a small moustache and an

extra chin. He scowled forbiddingly at the charming scene which the goggles had hidden from him.

Before him, a symmetrical mass of grey stone and green ivy, Belpher Castle towered against a light blue sky.

On either side rolling park land spread as far as the eye could see, carpeted here and there with violets, dotted

with great oaks and ashes and Spanish chestnuts, orderly, peaceful and English. Nearer, on his left, were

rosegardens, in the centre of which, tilted at a sharp angle, appeared the seat of a pair of corduroy trousers,

whose wearer seemed to be engaged in hunting for snails. Thrushes sang in the green shrubberies; rooks

cawed in the elms. Somewhere in the distance sounded the tinkle of sheep bells and the lowing of cows. It

was, in fact, a scene which, lit by the evening sun of a perfect spring day and fanned by a gentle westerly

wind, should have brought balm and soothing meditations to one who was the sole heir to all this Paradise.

But Percy, Lord Belpher, remained uncomforted by the notable cooperation of Man and Nature, and drew

no solace from the reflection that all these pleasant things would one day be his own. His mind was occupied

at the moment, to the exclusion of all other thoughts, by the recollection of that painful scene in Bow Street

Police Court. The magistrate's remarks, which had been tactless and unsympathetic, still echoed in his ears.

And that infernal night in Vine Street police station . . . The darkness . . . The hard bed. . . The discordant

vocalising of the drunk and disorderly in the next cell. . . . Time might soften these memories, might lessen

Percy had been shaken to the core of his being. Physically, he was still stiff and sore from the plank bed.

Mentally, he was a volcano. He had been marched up the Haymarket in the full sight of all London by a

bounder of a policeman. He had been talked to like an erring child by a magistrate whom nothing could

convince that he had not been under the influence of alcohol at the moment of his arrest. (The man had said

things about his liver, kindly bewarnedintimeandpullupbeforeitistoolate things, which would

have seemed to Percy indecently frank if spoken by his medical adviser in the privacy of the sick chamber.) It

is perhaps not to be wondered at that Belpher Castle, for all its beauty of scenery and architecture, should

have left Lord Belpher a little cold. He was seething with a fury which the conversation of Reggie Byng had

done nothing to allay in the course of the journey from London. Reggie was the last person he would

willingly have chosen as a companion in his hour of darkness. Reggie was not soothing. He would insist on

addressing him by his old Eton nickname of Boots which Percy detested. And all the way down he had been

breaking out at intervals into ribald comments on the recent unfortunate occurrence which were very hard to

"This," said Reggie, "is rather like a bit out of a melodrama. Convict son totters up the steps of the old home

and punches the bell. What awaits him beyond? Forgiveness? Or the raspberry? True, the whitehaired butler

who knew him as a child will sob on his neck, but what of the old dad? How will dad take the blot of the

"Great Heavens, I'm not joking. How could I have the heart to joke at a moment like this, when the friend of

"Do you think it is any pleasure to me to be seen about with a man who is now known in criminal circles as

Percy, the Piccadilly PolicemanPuncher? I keep a brave face before the world, but inwardly I burn with

The great door of the castle swung open, revealing Keggs, the butler. He was a man of reverend years, portly

and dignified, with a respectfully benevolent face that beamed gravely on the young master and Mr. Byng, as

if their coming had filled his cup of pleasure. His light, slightly protruding eyes expressed reverential good

will. He gave just that touch of cosy humanity to the scene which the hall with its half lights and massive

furniture needed to make it perfect to the returned wanderer. He seemed to be intimating that this was a

moment to which he had looked forward long, and that from now on quiet happiness would reign supreme. It

is distressing to have to reveal the jarring fact that, in his hours of privacy when off duty, this apparently ideal

servitor was so far from being a respecter of persons that he was accustomed to speak of Lord Belpher as

"Percy", and even as "His Nibs". It was, indeed, an open secret among the upper servants at the castle, and a

Lord Belpher acknowledged the salutation with a grunt, but Reggie was more affable.

"How are you, Keggs? Now's your time, if you're going to do it." He stepped a little to one side and indicated

"Ah. You'd rather wait till you can do it a little more privately. Perhaps you're right."

The butler smiled indulgently. He did not understand what Reggie was talking about, but that did not worry

him. He had long since come to the conclusion that Reggie was slightly mad, a theory supported by the

latter's valet, who was of the same opinion. Keggs did not dislike Reggie, but intellectually he considered him

"A topping idea," said Reggie. "I'll just take the old car round to the garage, and then I'll be with you."

He climbed to the steering wheel, and started the engine. Lord Belpher proceeded to the library, while Keggs

melted away through the green baize door at the end of the hail which divided the servants' quarters from the

Reggie had hardly driven a dozen yards when he perceived his stepmother and Lord Marshmoreton coming

"Old Boots? I think he's gone to the library. I just decanted him out of the car."

"All right. All right. All right," said Lord Marshmoreton irritably. Something appeared to have ruffled his

Reggie drove on. As he was strolling back after putting the car away he met Maud.

"Couldn't get back last night. Had to stick in town and rally round old Boots. Couldn't desert the old boy in

his hour of trial." Reggie chuckled amusedly. "'Hour of trial,' is rather good, what? What I mean to say is,

"Do you mean to say you haven't heard? Of course not. It wouldn't have been in the morning papers. Why,

"Slugged a slop. Most dramatic thing. Sloshed him in the midriff. Absolutely. The cross marks the spot where

Maud caught her breath. Somehow, though she could not trace the connection, she felt that this extraordinary

happening must be linked up with her escapade. Then her sense of humour got the better of apprehension.

"Absolutely. The human tiger, and what not. Menace to Society and all that sort of thing. No holding him.

For some unexplained reason the generous blood of the Belphers boiled over, and thenzing. They jerked

him off to Vine Street. Like the poem, don't you know. 'And poor old Percy walked between with gyves upon

his wrists.' And this morning, bright and early, the beak parted him from ten quid. You know, Maud, old

thing, our duty stares us plainly in the eyeball. We've got to train old Boots down to a reasonable weight and

spring him on the National Sporting Club. We've been letting a champion middleweight blush unseen under

"I suppose you don't know," she asked carelessly, "why he did it? I mean, did he tell you anything?"

"Couldn't get a word out of him. Oysters garrulous and tombs chatty in comparison. Absolutely. All I know is

that he popped one into the officer's waistband. What led up to it is more than I can tell you. How would it be

"Well, I met the mater and his lordship on their way to the library, and it looked to me very much as if the

mater must have got hold of an evening paper on her journey from town? When did she arrive?"

"Then that's what's happened. She would have bought an evening paper to read in the train. By Jove, I

wonder if she got hold of the one that had the poem about it. One chappie was so carried away by the beauty

of the episode that he treated it in verse. I think we ought to look in and see what's happening."

Maud hesitated again. But she was a girl of spirit. And she had an intuition that her best defence would be

attack. Bluff was what was needed. Wideeyed, innocent wonder . . . After all, Percy couldn't be certain he

"By the way, dear old girl," inquired Reggie, "did your little business come out satisfactorily? I forgot to ask."

"How would it be," said Reggie nervously, "not to dwell too much on that part of it? What I mean to say is,

"Don't worry," said Maud with a laugh. "I'm not going to talk about the thing at all."

Lord Belpher, meanwhile, in the library, had begun with the aid of a whisky and soda to feel a little better.

There was something about the library with its sombre half tones that soothed his bruised spirit. The room

held something of the peace of a deserted city. The world, with its violent adventures and tall policemen, did

not enter here. There was balm in those rows and rows of books which nobody ever read, those vast writing

tables at which nobody ever wrote. From the broad mantelpiece the bust of some unnamed ancient looked

down almost sympathetically. Something remotely resembling peace had begun to steal into Percy's soul,

when it was expelled by the abrupt opening of the door and the entry of Lady Caroline Byng and his father.

One glance at the face of the former was enough to tell Lord Belpher that she knew all.

Lady Caroline quivered with repressed emotion. This masterly woman had not lost control of herself, but her

aristocratic calm had seldom been so severely tested. As Reggie had surmised, she had read the report of the

proceedings in the evening paper in the train, and her world had been reeling ever since. Caesar, stabbed by

Brutus, could scarcely have experienced a greater shock. The other members of her family had disappointed

her often. She had become inured to the spectacle of her brother working in the garden in corduroy trousers

and in other ways behaving in a manner beneath the dignity of an Earl of Marshmoreton. She had resigned

herself to the innate flaw in the character of Maud which had allowed her to fall in love with a nobody whom

she had met without an introduction. Even Reggie had exhibited at times democratic traits of which she

thoroughly disapproved. But of her nephew Percy she had always been sure. He was solid rock. He, at least,

she had always felt, would never do anything to injure the family prestige. And now, so to speak, "Lo, Ben

Adhem's name led all the rest." In other words, Percy was the worst of the lot. Whatever indiscretions the rest

had committed, at least they had never got the family into the comic columns of the evening papers. Lord

Marshmoreton might wear corduroy trousers and refuse to entertain the County at garden parties and go to

bed with a book when it was his duty to act as host at a formal ball; Maud might give her heart to an

impossible person whom nobody had ever heard of; and Reggie might be seen at fashionable restaurants with

pugilists; but at any rate evening paper poets had never written facetious verses about their exploits. This

crowning degradation had been reserved for the hitherto blameless Percy, who, of all the young men of Lady

Caroline's acquaintance, had till now appeared to have the most scrupulous sense of his position, the most

rigid regard for the dignity of his great name. Yet, here he was, if the carefully considered reports in the daily

press were to be believed, spending his time in the very springtide of his life running about London like a

frenzied Hottentot, brutally assaulting the police. Lady Caroline felt as a bishop might feel if he suddenly

discovered that some favourite curate had gone over to the worship of Mumbo Jumbo.

"Explain?" she cried. "How can you explain? Youmy nephew, the heir to the title, behaving like a common

"In verse," added Lord Marshmoreton. He chuckled amiably at the recollection. He was an easily amused

"But deplorable, of course," added Lord Marshmoreton hastily. "Very deplorable." He endeavoured to regain

his sister's esteem by a show of righteous indignation. "What do you mean by it, damn it? You're my only

son. I have watched you grow from child to boy, from boy to man, with tender solicitude. I have wanted to be

proud of you. And all the time, dash it, you are prowling about London like a lion, seeking whom you may

devour, terrorising the metropolis, putting harmless policemen in fear of their lives. . ."

"Will you listen to me for a moment?" shouted Percy. He began to speak rapidly, as one conscious of the

necessity of saying his say while the saying was good. "The facts are these. I was walking along Piccadilly on

my way to lunch at the club, when, near Burlington Arcade, I was amazed to see Maud."

"I can't understand it," went on Lord Marshmoreton, pursuing his remarks. Righteous indignation had, he felt,

gone well. It might be judicious to continue in that vein, though privately he held the opinion that nothing in

Percy's life so became him as this assault on the Force. Lord Marshmoreton, who in his time had committed

all the follies of youth, had come to look on his blameless son as scarcely human. "It's not as if you were

wild. You've never got into any scrapes at Oxford. You've spent your time collecting old china and prayer

"Oh, very well," said Lord Marshmoreton. "I only spoke. I merely made a remark."

"Precisely. I was on the point of putting it down to an extraordinary resemblance, when suddenly she got into

Lord Marshmoreton could not permit this to pass in silence. He was a fairminded man.

"Why shouldn't the girl have got into a cab? Why must a girl walking along Piccadilly be my daughter Maud

just because she got into a cab. London," he proceeded, warming to the argument and thrilled by the clearness

"I said she got into a cab. There was somebody else already in the cab. A man. Aunt Caroline, it was the

"Good gracious," ejaculated Lady Caroline, falling into a chair as if she had been hamstrung.

"I am absolutely convinced of it," proceeded Lord Belpher solemnly. "His behaviour was enough to confirm

my suspicions. The cab had stopped in a block of the traffic, and I went up and requested him in a perfectly

civil manner to allow me to look at the lady who had just got in. He denied that there was a lady in the cab.

And I had seen her jump in with my own eyes. Throughout the conversation he was leaning out of the

window with the obvious intention of screening whoever was inside from my view. I followed him along

Piccadilly in another cab, and tracked him to the Carlton. When I arrived there he was standing on the

pavement outside. There were no signs of Maud. I demanded that he tell me her whereabouts. . ."

"That reminds me," said Lord Marshmoreton cheerfully, "of a story I read in one of the papers. I daresay it's

old. Stop me if you've heard it. A woman says to the maid: 'Do you know anything of my husband's

"Do be quiet," snapped Lady Caroline. "I should have thought that you would be interested in a matter

"I am. I am," said Lord Marshmoreton hastily. "The maid replied: 'They're at the wash.' Of course I am. Go

"At that moment the fool of a policeman came up and wanted to know what the matter was. I lost my head. I

"What does that matter?" demanded Lady Caroline. "You did quite right, Percy. These insolent jacks in office

"Extremely ordinarylooking. In fact, all I can remember about him was that he was cleanshaven. I cannot

understand how Maud could have come to lose her head over such a man. He seemed to me to have no

attraction whatever," said Lord Belpher, a little unreasonably, for Apollo himself would hardly appear

"Precisely. If we wanted further proof, he was an American. You recollect that we heard that the man in

There was a portentous silence. Percy stared at the floor. Lady Caroline breathed deeply. Lord

Marshmoreton, feeling that something was expected of him, said "Good Gad!" and gazed seriously at a

"What ho, what ho, what ho!" said Reggie breezily. He always believed in starting a conversation well, and

"Hullo, Percy, dear," she said, meeting her brother's accusing eye with the perfect composure that comes only

from a thoroughly guilty conscience. "What's all this I hear about your being the Scourge of London? Reggie

The chill in the air would have daunted a less courageous girl. Lady Caroline had risen, and was staring

sternly. Percy was pulling the puffs of an overwrought soul. Lord Marshmoreton, whose thoughts had

wandered off to the rose garden, pulled himself together and tried to look menacing. Maud went on without

waiting for a reply. She was all bubbling gaiety and insouciance, a charming picture of young English

"Father dear," she said, attaching herself affectionately to his buttonhole, "I went round the links in

eightythree this morning. I did the long hole in four. One under par, a thing I've never done before in my

life." ("Bless my soul," said Lord Marshmoreton weakly, as, with an apprehensive eye on his sister, he patted

his daughter's shoulder.) "First, I sent a screecher of a drive right down the middle of the fairway. Then I took

my brassey and put the ball just on the edge of the green. A hundred and eighty yards if it was an inch. My

Lady Caroline, who was no devotee of the royal and ancient game, interrupted the recital.

Maud's gaze was the gaze of a young child who has never even attempted to put anything over in all its little

Lady Caroline was no sportsman. She put one of those direct questions, capable of being answered only by

"Yes" or "No", which ought not to be allowed in controversy. They are the verbal equivalent of shooting a

The monstrous unfairness of this method of attack pained Maud. From childhood up she had held the

customary feminine views upon the Lie Direct. As long as it was a question of suppression of the true or

suggestion of the false she had no scruples. But she had a distaste for deliberate falsehood. Faced now with a

choice between two evils, she chose the one which would at least leave her selfrespect.

Reggie Byng slid softly from the room. He felt that he would be happier elsewhere. He had been an acutely

embarrassed spectator of this distressing scene, and had been passing the time by shuffling his feet, playing

"Well, what I mean to say isfamily row and what notif you see what I meanI've one or two things I

He vanished. Lord Belpher frowned a sombre frown. "Then it was that man who knocked my hat off?"

"What do you mean?" said Lady Caroline. "Knocked your hat off? You never told me he knocked your hat

"It was when I was asking him to let me look inside the cab. I had grasped the handle of the door, when he

suddenly struck my hat, causing it to fly off. And, while I was picking it up, he drove away."

"C'k," exploded Lord Marshmoreton. "C'k, c'k, c'k." He twisted his face by a supreme exertion of will power

into a mask of indignation. "You ought to have had the scoundrel arrested," he said vehemently. "It was a

"The man who knocked your hat off, Percy," said Maud, "was not . . . He was a different man altogether. A

"As if you would be in a cab with a stranger," said Lady Caroline caustically. "There are limits, I hope, to

Lady Caroline turned to Maud. Her manner was plaintive. She looked like a martyr at the stake who

deprecatingly lodges a timid complaint, fearful the while lest she may be hurting the feelings of her

persecutors by appearing even for a moment out of sympathy with their activities.

"My dear child, why will you not be reasonable in this matter? Why will you not let yourself be guided by

"Please do not interrupt, Percy. Now, you've made me forget what I was going to say."

"To my mind," said Lord Marshmoreton, coming to the surface once more, "the proper attitude to adopt on

Lord Marshmoreton stopped, and resumed his silent communion with the stuffed bird.

"Why, when I was at Oxford in the year '87," he said chattily, "I fancied myself in love with the female

assistant at a tobacconist shop. Desperately in love, dammit. Wanted to marry her. I recollect my poor father

took me away from Oxford and kept me here at Belpher under lock and key. Lock and key, dammit. I was

deucedly upset at the time, I remember." His mind wandered off into the glorious past. "I wonder what that

girl's name was. Odd one can't remember names. She had chestnut hair and a mole on the side of her chin. I

Lady Caroline, usually such an advocate of her brother's researches into the family history, cut the

"Well," said Lady Caroline, "at any rate poor father acted with great good sense on that occasion. There

seems nothing to do but to treat Maud in just the same way. You shall not stir a step from the castle till you

"I shall watch you," said Lord Belpher solemnly, "I shall watch your every movement."

"They make a very good imitation," said Lady Caroline coldly, ignoring the interruption.

Maud faced her defiantly. She looked like a princess in captivity facing her gaolers.

"I don't care. I love him, and I always shall love him, and nothing is ever going to stop me loving

"Nonsense," said Lady Caroline. "In a year from now you will have forgotten his name. Don't you agree with

"Deuced hard things to remember, names," said Lord Marshmoreton. "If I've tried once to remember that

tobacconist girl's name, I've tried a hundred times. I have an idea it began with an 'L.' Muriel or Hilda or

"Within a year," said Lady Caroline, "you will be wondering how you ever came to be so foolish. Don't you

"Good God, boy, can't you answer a simple question with a plain affirmative? What do you meanquite? If

somebody came to me and pointed you out and said, 'Is that your son?' do you suppose I should say 'Quite?' I

"They say prison life often weakens the intellect, father," said Maud. She moved towards the door and turned

the handle. Albert, the page boy, who had been courting earache by listening at the keyhole, straightened his

"You'll find you can help it after you've been cooped up here for a few more months," said Percy.

"What did she say?" asked Lord Marshmoreton, interested. "Something about somebody laughing at a

locksmith? I don't understand. Why should anyone laugh at locksmiths? Most respectable men. Had one up

here only the day before yesterday, forcing open the drawer of my desk. Watched him do it. Most interesting.

He smelt rather strongly of a damned bad brand of tobacco. Fellow must have a throat of leather to be able to

smoke the stuff. But he didn't strike me as an object of derision. From first to last, I was never tempted to

Lord Belpher wandered moodily to the window and looked out into the gathering darkness.

"And this has to happen," he said bitterly, "on the eve of my twentyfirst birthday."

The first requisite of an invading army is a base. George, having entered Belpher village and thus

accomplished the first stage in his foreward movement on the castle, selected as his base the Marshmoreton

Arms. Selected is perhaps hardly the right word, as it implies choice, and in George's case there was no

choice. There are two inns at Belpher, but the Marshmoreton Arms is the only one that offers accommodation

for man and beast, assumingthat is to saythat the man and beast desire to spend the night. The other

house, the Blue Boar, is a mere beerhouse, where the lower strata of Belpher society gather of a night to

quench their thirst and to tell one another interminable stories without any point whatsoever. But the

Marshmoreton Arms is a comfortable, respectable hostelry, catering for the village plutocrats. There of an

evening you will find the local veterinary surgeon smoking a pipe with the grocer, the baker, and the butcher,

with perhaps a sprinkling of neighbouring farmers to help the conversation along. There is a "shilling

ordinary"which is rural English for a cut off the joint and a boiled potato, followed by hunks of the sort of

cheese which believes that it pays to advertise, and this is usually well attended. On the other days of the

week, until late in the evening, however, the visitor to the Marshmoreton Arms has the place almost entirely

It is to be questioned whether in the whole length and breadth of the world there is a more admirable spot for

a man in love to pass a day or two than the typical English village. The Rocky Mountains, that traditional

stampingground for the heartbroken, may be well enough in their way; but a lover has to be cast in a pretty

stem mould to be able to be introspective when at any moment he may meet an annoyed cinnamon bear. In

the English village there are no such obstacles to meditation. It combines the comforts of civilization with the

restfulness of solitude in a manner equalled by no other spot except the New York Public Library. Here your

lover may wander to and fro unmolested, speaking to nobody, by nobody addressed, and have the satisfaction

at the end of the day of sitting down to a capitally cooked chop and chips, lubricated by golden English ale.

Belpher, in addition to all the advantages of the usual village, has a quiet charm all its own, due to the fact

that it has seen better days. In a sense, it is a ruin, and ruins are always soothing to the bruised soul. Ten years

before, Belpher had been a flourishing centre of the South of England oyster trade. It is situated by the shore,

where Hayling Island, lying athwart the mouth of the bay, forms the waters into a sort of brackish lagoon, in

much the same way as Fire Island shuts off the Great South Bay of Long Island from the waves of the

Atlantic. The water of Belpher Creek is shallow even at high tide, and when the tide runs out it leaves

glistening mud flats, which it is the peculiar taste of the oyster to prefer to any other habitation. For years

Belpher oysters had been the mainstay of gay supper parties at the Savoy, the Carlton and Romano's. Dukes

doted on them; chorus girls wept if they were not on the bill of fare. And then, in an evil hour, somebody

discovered that what made the Belpher Oyster so particularly plump and succulent was the fact that it

breakfasted, lunched and dined almost entirely on the local sewage. There is but a thin line ever between

popular homage and execration. We see it in the case of politicians, generals and prizefighters; and oysters

are no exception to the rule. There was a typhoid scarequite a passing and unjustified scare, but strong

enough to do its deadly work; and almost overnight Belpher passed from a place of flourishing industry to the

sleepy, bytheworldforgotten spot which it was when George Bevan discovered it. The shallow water is

still there; the mud is still there; even the oysterbeds are still there; but not the oysters nor the little world of

activity which had sprung up around them. The glory of Belpher is dead; and over its gates Ichabod is

written. But, if it has lost in importance, it has gained in charm; and George, for one, had no regrets. To him,

It was not at first that George roused himself to the point of asking why he was here and whatnow that he

was herehe proposed to do. For two languorous days he loafed, sufficiently occupied with his thoughts. He

smoked long, peaceful pipes in the stableyard, watching the ostlers as they groomed the horses; he played

with the Inn puppy, bestowed respectful caresses on the Inn cat. He walked down the quaint cobbled street to

the harbour, sauntered along the shore, and lay on his back on the little beach at the other side of the lagoon,

from where he could see the red roofs of the village, while the imitation waves splashed busily on the stones,

trying to conceal with bustle and energy the fact that the water even two hundred yards from the shore was

only eighteen inches deep. For it is the abiding hope of Belpher Creek that it may be able to deceive the

And presently the tide would ebb. The waste of waters became a sea of mud, cheerfully covered as to much

of its surface with green grasses. The evening sun struck rainbow colours from the moist softness. Birds sang

in the thickets. And George, heaving himself up, walked back to the friendly cosiness of the Marshmoreton

Arms. And the remarkable part of it was that everything seemed perfectly natural and sensible to him, nor

had he any particular feeling that in falling in love with Lady Maud Marsh and pursuing her to Belpher he

had set himself anything in the nature of a hopeless task. Like one kissed by a goddess in a dream, he walked

on air; and, while one is walking on air, it is easy to overlook the boulders in the path.

Consider his position, you fainthearted and selfpitying young men who think you have a tough row to hoe

just because, when you pay your evening visit with the pound box of candy under your arm, you see the

handsome sophomore from Yale sitting beside her on the porch, playing the ukulele. If ever the world has

turned black to you in such a situation and the moon gone in behind a cloud, think of George Bevan and what

he was up against. You are at least on the spot. You can at least put up a fight. If there are ukuleles in the

world, there are also guitars, and tomorrow it may be you and not he who sits on the moonlit porch; it may be

he and not you who arrives late. Who knows? Tomorrow he may not show up till you have finished the

Bedouin's Love Song and are annoying the local birds, roosting in the trees, with Poor Butterfly.

What I mean to say is, you are on the map. You have a sporting chance. Whereas George... Well, just go over

to England and try wooing an earl's daughter whom you have only met onceand then without an

introduction; whose brother's hat you have smashed beyond repair; whose family wishes her to marry some

other man: who wants to marry some other man herselfand not the same other man, but another other man;

who is closely immured in a mediaeval castle . . . Well, all I say istry it. And then go back to your porch

George, as I say, had not envisaged the peculiar difficulties of his position. Nor did he until the evening of his

second day at the Marshmoreton Arms. Until then, as I have indicated, he roamed in a golden mist of dreamy

meditation among the soothing byways of the village of Belpher. But after lunch on the second day it came

upon him that all this sort of thing was pleasant but not practical. Action was what was needed. Action.

The first, the obvious move was to locate the castle. Inquiries at the Marshmoreton Arms elicited the fact that

it was "a step" up the road that ran past the front door of the inn. But this wasn't the day of the week when the

general public was admitted. The sightseer could invade Belpher Castle on Thursdays only, between the

hours of two and four. On other days of the week all he could do was to stand like Moses on Pisgah and take

in the general effect from a distance. As this was all that George had hoped to be able to do, he set forth.

It speedily became evident to George that "a step" was a euphemism. Five miles did he tramp before,

trudging wearily up a winding lane, he came out on a breezeswept hilltop, and saw below him, nestling in

its trees, what was now for him the centre of the world. He sat on a stone wail and lit a pipe. Belpher Castle.

The first thought that came to him was practical, even prosaic the thought that he couldn't possibly do this

fivemilesthere andfivemilesback walk, every time he wanted to see the place. He must shift his base

nearer the scene of operations. One of those trim, thatched cottages down there in the valley would be just the

thing, if he could arrange to take possession of it. They sat there all round the castle, singly and in groups,

like small dogs round their master. They looked as if they had been there for centuries. Probably they had, as

they were made of stone as solid as that of the castle. There must have been a time, thought George, when the

castle was the central rallyingpoint for all those scattered homes; when rumour of danger from marauders

had sent all that little community scuttling for safety to the sheltering walls.

For the first time since he had set out on his expedition, a certain chill, a discomforting sinking of the heart,

afflicted George as he gazed down at the grim grey fortress which he had undertaken to storm. So must have

felt those marauders of old when they climbed to the top of this very hill to spy out the land. And George's

case was even worse than theirs. They could at least hope that a strong arm and a stout heart would carry

them past those solid walls; they had not to think of social etiquette. Whereas George was so situated that an

The evening was drawing in. Already, in the brief time he had spent on the hilltop, the sky had turned from

blue to saffron and from saffron to grey. The plaintive voices of homing cows floated up to him from the

valley below. A bat had left its shelter and was wheeling around him, a sinister blot against the sky. A sickle

moon gleamed over the trees. George felt cold. He turned. The shadows of night wrapped him round, and

little things in the hedgerows chirped and chittered mockery at him as he stumbled down the lane.

George's request for a lonely furnished cottage somewhere in the neighbourhood of the castle did not, as he

had feared, strike the Belpher houseagent as the demand of a lunatic. Every welldressed stranger who

comes to Belpher is automatically set down by the natives as an artist, for the picturesqueness of the place has

caused it to be much infested by the brothers and sisters of the brush. In asking for a cottage, indeed, George

did precisely as Belpher society expected him to do; and the agent was reaching for his list almost before the

words were out of his mouth. In less than half an hour George was out in the street again, the owner for the

season of what the agent described as a "gem" and the employer of a farmer's wife who lived nearby and

would, as was her custom with artists, come in the morning and evening to "do" for him. The interview

would have taken but a few minutes, had it not been prolonged by the chattiness of the agent on the subject of

the occupants of the castle, to which George listened attentively. He was not greatly encouraged by what he

heard of Lord Marshmoreton. The earl had made himself notably unpopular in the village recently by his

firmthe houseagent said "pigheaded"attitude in respect to a certain dispute about a rightofway. It

was Lady Caroline, and not the easygoing peer, who was really to blame in the matter; but the impression

that George got from the houseagent's description of Lord Marshmoreton was that the latter was a sort of

Nero, possessing, in addition to the qualities of a Roman tyrant, many of the least lovable traits of the ghila

monster of Arizona. Hearing this about her father, and having already had the privilege of meeting her

brother and studying him at first hand, his heart bled for Maud. It seemed to him that existence at the castle in

"Nothing," said George. "Well, I'll take that cottage. I'd better write you a cheque for the first month's rent

So George took up his abode, full of strenuousif vaguepurpose, in the plainlyfurnished but not

uncomfortable cottage known locally as "the one down by Platt's." He might have found a worse billet. It was

a twostoried building of stained red brick, not one of the thatched nests on which he had looked down from

the hill. Those were not for rent, being occupied by families whose ancestors had occupied them for

generations back. The one down by Platt's was a more modern structurea speculation, in fact, of the farmer

whose wife came to "do" for George, and designed especially to accommodate the stranger who had the

desire and the money to rent it. It so departed from type that it possessed a small but undeniable bathroom.

Besides this miracle, there was a cosy sittingroom, a larger bedroom on the floor above and next to this an

empty room facing north, which had evidently served artist occupants as a studio. The remainder of the

ground floor was taken up by kitchen and scullery. The furniture had been constructed by somebody who

would probably have done very well if he had taken up some other line of industry; but it was mitigated by a

very fine and comfortable wicker easy chair, left there by one of last year's artists; and other artists had

helped along the good work by relieving the plainness of the walls with a landscape or two. In fact, when

George had removed from the room two antimacassars, three group photographs of the farmer's relations, an

illuminated text, and a china statuette of the Infant Samuel, and stacked them in a corner of the empty studio,

Solitude can be very unsolitary if a man is in love. George never even began to be bored. The only thing that

in any way troubled his peace was the thought that he was not accomplishing a great deal in the matter of

helping Maud out of whatever trouble it was that had befallen her. The most he could do was to prowl about

roads near the castle in the hope of an accidental meeting. And such was his good fortune that, on the fourth

Taking his morning prowl along the lanes, he was rewarded by the sight of a grey racingcar at the side of

the road. It was empty, but from underneath it protruded a pair of long legs, while beside it stood a girl, at the

sight of whom George's heart began to thump so violently that the longlegged one might have been

Until he spoke the soft grass had kept her from hearing his approach. He stopped close behind her, and

For a moment hers were empty of any recognition. Then they lit up. She caught her breath quickly, and a

The long legs wriggled out into the road followed by a long body. The young man under the car sat up,

"It's awfully good of you, old chap, but so do I. It's the only thing I can do well. Thanks very much and so

"If there is anything in the world I can possibly do for you," he said slowly, "I hope you will let me know. I

"Civil cove, that," he said. "Rather gushing though, what? American, wasn't he?"

"Americans are the civillest coves I ever struck. I remember asking the way of a chappie at Baltimore a

couple of years ago when I was there in my yacht, and he followed me for miles, shrieking advice and

"I wish you would hurry up and get the car right, Reggie. We shall be awfully late for lunch."

"Imitation of greased lightningvery difficult," said Reggie encouragingly. "Be patient. Try and amuse

yourself somehow. Ask yourself a riddle. Tell yourself a few anecdotes. I'll be with you in a moment. I say, I

wonder what the cove is doing at Belpher? Deuced civil cove," said Reggie approvingly. "I liked him. And

His smiling face vanished under the car like the Cheshire cat. Maud stood looking thoughtfully down the road

The following day was a Thursday and on Thursdays, as has been stated, Belpher Castle was thrown open to

the general public between the hours of two and four. It was a tradition of long standing, this periodical

lowering of the barriers, and had always been faithfully observed by Lord Marshmoreton ever since his

accession to the title. By the permanent occupants of the castle the day was regarded with mixed feelings.

Lord Belpher, while approving of it in theory, as he did of all the family traditionsfor he was a great

supporter of all things feudal, and took his position as one of the hereditary aristocracy of Great Britain

extremely seriouslyheartily disliked it in practice. More than once he had been obliged to exit hastily by a

further door in order to keep from being discovered by a drove of tourists intent on inspecting the library or

the great drawingroom; and now it was his custom to retire to his bedroom immediately after lunch and not

Keggs, the butler, always looked forward to Thursdays with pleasurable anticipation. He enjoyed the sense of

authority which it gave him to herd these poor outcasts to and fro among the surroundings which were an

everyday commonplace to himself. Also he liked hearing the sound of his own voice as it lectured in rolling

periods on the objects of interest by the wayside. But even to Keggs there was a bitter mixed with the sweet.

No one was better aware than himself that the nobility of his manner, excellent as a means of impressing the

mob, worked against him when it came to a question of tips. Again and again had he been harrowed by the

spectacle of tourists, huddled together like sheep, debating among themselves in nervous whispers as to

whether they could offer this personage anything so contemptible as half a crown for himself and deciding

that such an insult was out of the question. It was his endeavour, especially towards the end of the

proceedings, to cultivate a manner blending a dignity fitting his position with a sunny geniality which would

allay the timid doubts of the tourist and indicate to him that, bizarre as the idea might seem, there was nothing

Possibly the only member of the castle community who was absolutely indifferent to these public visits was

Lord Marshmoreton. He made no difference between Thursday and any other day. Precisely as usual he

donned his stained corduroys and pottered about his beloved garden; and when, as happened on an average

once a quarter, some visitor, strayed from the main herd, came upon him as he worked and mistook him for

one of the gardeners, he accepted the error without any attempt at explanation, sometimes going so far as to

encourage it by adopting a rustic accent in keeping with his appearance. This sort thing tickled the

George joined the procession punctually at two o'clock, just as Keggs was clearing his throat preparatory to

saying, "We are now in the main 'all, and before going any further I would like to call your attention to Sir

Peter Lely's portrait of" It was his custom to begin his Thursday lectures with this remark, but today it was

postponed; for, no sooner had George appeared, than a breezy voice on the outskirts of the throng spoke in a

And Billie Dore detached herself from the group, a trim vision in blue. She wore a dustcoat and a motor

"Oh, I motored down with a boy I know. We had a breakdown just outside the gates. We were on our way to

Brighton for lunch. He suggested I should pass the time seeing the sights while he fixed up the sprockets or

the differential gear or whatever it was. He's coming to pick me up when he's through. But, on the level,

George, how do you get this way? You sneak out of town and leave the show flat, and nobody has a notion

where you are. Why, we were thinking of advertising for you, or going to the police or something. For all

This aspect of the matter had not occurred to George till now. His sudden descent on Belpher had seemed to

him the only natural course to pursue. He had not realized that he would be missed, and that his absence

"Not quite. I've a cottage down the road. I wanted a few days in the country so I rented it."

Keggs, who had been regarding these disturbers of the peace with dignified disapproval, coughed.

"Eh? How's that?" Miss Dore looked up with a bright smile. "I'm sorry. Come along, George. Get in the

game." She nodded cheerfully to the butler. "All right. All set now. You may fire when ready, Gridley."

"We are now in the main 'all, and before going any further I would like to call your attention to Sir Peter

Lely's portrait of the fifth countess. Said by experts to be in his best manner."

There was an almost soundless murmur from the mob, expressive of wonder and awe, like a gentle breeze

"Yes, there was an awful lot of excitement when they found that you had disappeared. They were phoning the

Carlton every ten minutes trying to get you. You see, the summertime number flopped on the second night,

and they hadn't anything to put in its place. But it's all right. They took it out and sewed up the wound, and

now you'd never know there had been anything wrong. The show was ten minutes too long, anyway."

"It's a riot. They think it will run two years in London. As far as I can make it out you don't call it a success in

"Fine. That fellow Gray is still hanging round Babe. It beats me what she sees in him. Anybody but an infant

could see the man wasn't on the level. Well, I don't blame you for quitting London, George. This sort of thing

The procession had reached one of the upper rooms, and they were looking down from a window that

commanded a sweep of miles of the countryside, rolling and green and wooded. Far away beyond the last

covert Belpher Bay gleamed like a streak of silver. Billie Dore gave a little sigh.

"There's nothing like this in the world. I'd like to stand here for the rest of my life, just lapping it up."

"I will call your attention," boomed Keggs at their elbow, "to this window, known in the fem'ly tredition as

Leonard's Leap. It was in the year seventeen 'undred and eightyseven that Lord Leonard Forth, eldest son of

'Is Grace the Dook of Lochlane, 'urled 'imself out of this window in order to avoid compromising the

beautiful Countess of Marshmoreton, with oom 'e is related to 'ave 'ad a ninnocent romance. Surprised at an

advanced hour by 'is lordship the earl in 'er ladyship's boudoir, as this room then was, 'e leaped through the

open window into the boughs of the cedar tree which stands below, and was fortunate enough to escape with

A murmur of admiration greeted the recital of the ready tact of this eighteenthcentury Steve Brodie.

"There," said Billie enthusiastically, "that's exactly what I mean about this country. It's just a mass of

Leonard's Leaps and things. I'd like to settle down in this sort of place and spend the rest of my life milking

"We will now," said Keggs, herding the mob with a gesture, "proceed to the Amber DrawingRoom,

"What do you say, George," asked Billie in an undertone, "if we sidestep the Amber DrawingRoom? I'm

wild to get into that garden. There's a man working among those roses. Maybe he would show us round."

George followed her pointing finger. Just below them a sturdy, brownfaced man in corduroys was pausing

They made their way down the great staircase. The voice of Keggs, saying complimentary things about the

Gobelin Tapestry, came to their ears like the roll of distant drums. They wandered out towards the

rosegarden. The man in corduroys had lit his pipe and was bending once more to his task.

The man straightened himself. He was a nicelooking man of middle age, with the kind eyes of a friendly

"Don't stop smoking on my account," she said. "I like it. Well, you've got the right sort of a job, haven't you!

If I was a man, there's nothing I'd like better than to put in my eight hours in a rosegarden." She looked

about her. "And this," she said with approval, "is just what a rosegarden ought to be."

"You bet I am! You must have every kind here that was ever invented. All the fiftyseven varieties."

"There are nearly three thousand varieties," said the man in corduroys tolerantly.

"I was speaking colloquially, dadda. You can't teach me anything about roses. I'm the guy that invented them.

The man in corduroys seemed to have come to the conclusion that Billie was the only thing on earth that

mattered. This revelation of a kindred spirit had captured him completely. George was merely among those

"We don't get Ayrshires in America. At least, I never ran across them. I suppose they do have them."

There was an earnest expression on Billie Dore's face that George had never seen there before.

George moved away. The conversation was becoming too technical for him, and he had an idea that he would

not be missed. There had come to him, moreover, in a flash one of those sudden inspirations which great

generals get. He had visited the castle this afternoon without any settled plan other than a vague hope that he

might somehow see Maud. He now perceived that there was no chance of doing this. Evidently, on

Thursdays, the family went to earth and remained hidden until the sightseers had gone. But there was another

avenue of communication open to him. This gardener seemed an exceptionally intelligent man. He could be

In his late rambles about Belpher Castle in the company of Keggs and his followers, George had been

privileged to inspect the library. It was an easily accessible room, opening off the main hail. He left Billie and

her new friend deep in a discussion of slugs and plantlice, and walked quickly back to the house. The library

George was a thorough young man. He believed in leaving nothing to chance. The gardener had seemed a

trustworthy soul, but you never knew. It was possible that he drank. He might forget or lose the precious note.

So, with a wary eye on the door, George hastily scribbled it in duplicate. This took him but a few minutes. He

went out into the garden again to find Billie Dore on the point of stepping into a blue automobile.

"Oh, there you are, George. I wondered where you had got to. Say, I made quite a hit with dadda. I've given

him my address, and he's promised to send me a whole lot of roses. By the way, shake hands with Mr.

The blue car gathered speed and vanished down the drive. George returned to the man in corduroys, who had

"Just a minute," said George hurriedly. He pulled out the first of the notes. "Give this to Lady Maud the first

He hastened away. He noticed that gratification had turned the other nearly purple in the face, and was

anxious to leave him. He was a modest young man, and effusive thanks always embarrassed him.

There now remained the disposal of the duplicate note. It was hardly worth while, perhaps, taking such a

precaution, but George knew that victories are won by those who take no chances. He had wandered perhaps

a hundred yards from the rosegarden when he encountered a small boy in the manybuttoned uniform of a

page. The boy had appeared from behind a big cedar, where, as a matter of fact, he had been smoking a stolen

George walked off with the consciousness of a good day's work done. Albert the page, having bitten his

halfcrown, placed it in his pocket. Then he hurried away, a look of excitement and gratification in his deep

While George and Billie Dore wandered to the rose garden to interview the man in corduroys, Maud had been

seated not a hundred yards awayin a very special haunt of her own, a cracked stucco temple set up in the

days of the Regency on the shores of a little lilycovered pond. She was reading poetry to Albert the page.

Albert the page was a recent addition to Maud's inner circle. She had interested herself in him some two

months back in much the same spirit as the prisoner in his dungeon cell tames and pets the conventional

mouse. To educate Albert, to raise him above his groove in life and develop his soul, appealed to her

romantic nature as a worthy task, and as a good way of filling in the time. It is an exceedingly moot

pointand one which his associates of the servants' hall would have combated hotlywhether Albert

possessed a soul. The most one could say for certain is that he looked as if he possessed one. To one who saw

his deep blue eyes and their sweet, pensive expression as they searched the middle distance he seemed like a

young angel. How was the watcher to know that the thought behind that faroff gaze was simply a

speculation as to whether the bird on the cedar tree was or was not within range of his catapult? Certainly

Maud had no such suspicion. She worked hopefully day by day to rouse Albert to an appreciation of the

Not but what it was tough going. Even she admitted that. Albert's soul did not soar readily. It refused to leap

from the earth. His reception of the poem she was reading could scarcely have been called encouraging.

Maud finished it in a hushed voice, and looked pensively across the dappled water of the pool. A gentle

"I wish you wouldn't say 'Very good, m'lady'. It's likelike" She paused. She had been about to say that it

was like a butler, but, she reflected regretfully, it was probably Albert's dearest ambition to be like a butler.

Maud was not enthusiastic about the 'M'lady', but she let it go. After all, she had not quite settled in her own

mind what exactly she wished Albert's attitude towards herself to be. Broadly speaking, she wanted him to be

as like as he could to a medieval page, one of those silkandsatined little treasures she had read about in the

Ingoldsby Legends. And, of course, they presumably said 'my lady'. And yetshe feltnot for the first

timethat it is not easy, to revive the Middle Ages in these curious days. Pages like other things, seem to

"That poem was written by a very clever man who married one of my ancestresses. He ran away with her

"He was far below her in the eyes of the world, but she knew what a wonderful man he was, so she didn't

"Red'eaded gel that used to be cook 'ere. Mr. Keggs says to 'er, 'e says, 'You're marrying beneath you,

Susan', 'e says. I 'eard 'im. I was listenin' at the door. And she says to 'im, she says, 'Oh, go and boil your fat

This translation of a favourite romance into terms of the servants' hall chilled Maud like a cold shower. She

"Wouldn't you like to get a good education, Albert," she said perseveringly, "and become a great poet and

It was discouraging. But Maud was a girl of pluck. You cannot leap into strange cabs in Piccadilly unless you

"Read me some of this," she said, "and then tell me if it doesn't make you feel you want to do big things."

Albert took the book cautiously. He was getting a little fed up with all this sort of thing. True, 'er ladyship

gave him chocolates to eat during these sessions, but for all that it was too much like school for his taste. He

Albert began. He had a husky voice, due, it is to be feared, to precocious cigarette smoking, and his

"Wiv' blekest morss the flowerports WasI mean werecrusted one and orl; Ther rusted niles fell from the

knorts That 'eld the pear to the gardenworll. Ther broken sheds looked sed and stringe; Unlifted was the

clinking latch; Weeded and worn their ancient thatch Erpon ther lownely moated gringe, She only said 'Me

Albert rather liked this part. He was never happy in narrative unless it could be sprinkled with a plentiful

Maud had listened to this rendition of one of her most adored poems with much the same feeling which a

composer with an oversensitive ear would suffer on hearing his pet opus assassinated by a schoolgirl.

Albert, who was a willing lad and prepared, if such should be her desire, to plough his way through the entire

seven stanzas, began the second verse, but Maud gently took the book away from him. Enough was

"Now, wouldn't you like to be able to write a wonderful thing like that, Albert?"

"Yus, m'lady. Butchers earn good money," he said, a light of enthusiasm in his blue eyes, for he was now on

his favourite subject. "You've got to 'ave meat, yer see, m'lady. It ain't like poetry, m'lady, which no one

"But, Albert," cried Maud faintly. "Killing poor animals. Surely you wouldn't like that?"

"Mr. Widgeon down at the 'ome farm," he murmured reverently, "he says, if I'm a good boy, 'e'll let me watch

He gazed out over the waterlilies, his thoughts far away. Maud shuddered. She wondered if medieval pages

Albert rose, not unwilling to call it a day. He was conscious of the need for a quiet cigarette. He was fond of

"Pigs squeal like billyo, m'lady!" he observed by way of adding a parting treasure to Maud's stock of

Maud remained where she was, thinking, a wistful figure. Tennyson's "Mariana" always made her wistful

even when rendered by Albert. In the occasional moods of sentimental depression which came to vary her

normal cheerfulness, it seemed to her that the poem might have been written with a prophetic eye to her

Well, no, not that particular part, perhaps. If he had found so much as one flowerpot of his even thinly

crusted with any foreign substance, Lord Marshmoreton would have gone through the place like an east wind,

"She only said 'My life is dreary, He cometh not,' she said. She said 'I am aweary, aweary. I would that I were

How exactlyat these moments when she was not out on the links picking them off the turf with a midiron

or engaged in one of those other healthful sports which tend to take the mind off its troublesthose words

Why didn't Geoffrey come? Or at least write? She could not write to him. Letters from the castle left only by

way of the castle postbag, which Rogers, the chauffeur, took down to the village every evening. Impossible

to entrust the kind of letter she wished to write to any mode of delivery so publicespecially now, when her

movements were watched. To open and read another's letters is a low and dastardly act, but she believed that

Lady Caroline would do it like a shot. She longed to pour out her heart to Geoffrey in a long, intimate letter,

but she did not dare to take the risk of writing for a wider public. Things were bad enough as it was, after that

At this point a soothing vision came to herthe vision of George Bevan knocking off her brother Percy's hat.

It was the only pleasant thing that had happened almost as far back as she could remember. And then, for the

first time, her mind condescended to dwell for a moment on the author of that act, George Bevan, the friend

in need, whom she had met only the day before in the lane. What was George doing at Belpher? His presence

there was significant, and his words even more so. He had stated explicitly that he wished to help her.

She found herself oppressed by the irony of things. A knight had come to the rescuebut the wrong knight.

Why could it not have been Geoffrey who waited in ambush outside the castle, and not a pleasant but

negligible stranger? Whether, deep down in her consciousness, she was aware of a fleeting sense of

disappointment in Geoffrey, a swiftly passing thought that he had failed her, she could hardly have said, so

She pondered on the arrival of George. What was the use of his being somewhere in the neighbourhood if she

had no means of knowing where she could find him? Situated as she was, she could not wander at will about

the countryside, looking for him. And, even if she found him, what then? There was not much that any

She flushed at a sudden thought. Of course there was something George could do for her if he were willing.

He could receive, despatch and deliver letters. If only she could get in touch with him, she couldthrough

The whole world changed for her. The sun was setting and chill little winds had begun to stir the lilypads,

giving a depressing air to the scene, but to Maud it seemed as if all Nature smiled. With the egotism of love,

she did not perceive that what she proposed to ask George to do was practically to fulfil the humble role of

the hollow tree in which lovers dump letters, to be extracted later; she did not consider George's feelings at

all. He had offered to help her, and this was his job. The world is full of Georges whose task it is to hang

She had reached this conclusion when Albert, who had taken a short cut the more rapidly to accomplish his

"I am staying near the castle at a cottage they call 'the one down by Platt's'. It is a rather new, redbrick place.

"Yes, m'lady. It's down by Platt's farm. I see a chicken killed there Wednesday week. Do you know, m'lady,

Maud shivered slightly. Albert's fresh young enthusiasms frequently jarred upon her.

"I find a friend of mine is staying there. I want you to take a note to him from me."

"Perhaps it would be as well if you said nothing about this to any of your friends."

In Lord Marshmoreton's study a council of three was sitting in debate. The subject under discussion was that

other note which George had written and so illadvisedly entrusted to one whom he had taken for a guileless

gardener. The council consisted of Lord Marshmoreton, looking rather shamefaced, his son Percy looking

"This", Lord Belpher was saying in a determined voice, "settles it. From now on Maud must not be allowed

"I rather wish", he said regretfully, "I hadn't spoken about the note. I only mentioned it because I thought you

"Amusing that the fellow should have handed me of all people a letter for Maud," explained her brother. "I

"You are criminally weak," said Lady Caroline severely. "I really honestly believe that you were capable of

giving the note to that poor, misguided girl, and saying nothing about it." She flushed. "The insolence of the

man, coming here and settling down at the very gates of the castle! If it was anybody but this man Platt who

was giving him shelter I should insist on his being turned out. But that man Platt would be only too glad to

"You must go to this man as soon as possible," continued Lady Caroline, fixing her brother with a

commanding stare, "and do your best to make him see how abominable his behaviour is."

"Oh, I couldn't!" pleaded the earl. "I don't know the fellow. He'd throw me out."

"Oh, all right, all right, all right. Well, I think I'll be slipping out to the rose garden again now. There's a clear

There was a tap at the door. Alice Faraday entered bearing papers, a smile of sweet helpfulness on her pretty

"I hoped I should find you here, Lord Marshmoreton. You promised to go over these notes with me, the ones

"Of course, Lord Marshmoreton will be delighted to work on your notes, Miss Faraday," said Lady Caroline

Lord Marshmoreton gave one wistful glance through the open window. Then he sat down with a sigh, and

Your true golfer is a man who, knowing that life is short and perfection hard to attain, neglects no opportunity

of practising his chosen sport, allowing neither wind nor weather nor any external influence to keep him from

it. There is a story, with an excellent moral lesson, of a golfer whose wife had determined to leave him for

ever. "Will nothing alter your decision?" he says. "Will nothing induce you to stay? Well, then, while you're

packing, I think I'll go out on the lawn and rub up my putting a bit." George Bevan was of this turn of mind.

He might be in love; romance might have sealed him for her own; but that was no reason for blinding himself

to the fact that his long game was bound to suffer if he neglected to keep himself up to the mark. His first act

on arriving at Belpher village had been to ascertain whether there was a links in the neighbourhood; and

thither, on the morning after his visit to the castle and the delivery of the two notes, he repaired.

At the hour of the day which he had selected the clubhouse was empty, and he had just resigned himself to a

solitary game, when, with a whirr and a rattle, a grey racingcar drove up, and from it emerged the same long

young man whom, a couple of days earlier, he had seen wriggle out from underneath the same machine. It

was Reggie Byng's habit also not to allow anything, even love, to interfere with golf; and not even the

prospect of hanging about the castle grounds in the hope of catching a glimpse of Alice Faraday and

Reggie surveyed George with a friendly eye. He had a dim recollection of having seen him before somewhere

at some time or other, and Reggie had the pleasing disposition which caused him to rank anybody whom he

George found himself speculating upon Reggie. He was unable to place him. That he was a friend of Maud he

knew, and guessed that he was also a resident of the castle. He would have liked to question Reggie, to probe

him, to collect from him inside information as to the progress of events within the castle walls; but it is a

peculiarity of golf, as of love, that it temporarily changes the natures of its victims; and Reggie, a confirmed

babbler off the links, became while in action a stern, silent, intent person, his whole being centred on the

game. With the exception of a casual remark of a technical nature when he met George on the various tees,

and an occasional expletive when things went wrong with his ball, he eschewed conversation. It was not till

"If I'd known you were such hot stuff," he declared generously, as George holed his eighteenth putt from a

"I was on my game today," said George modestly. "Some times I slice as if I were cutting bread and can't putt

"Let me know when one of those times comes along, and I'll take you on again. I don't know when I've seen

anything fruitier than the way you got out of the bunker at the fifteenth. It reminded me of a match I saw

between" Reggie became technical. At the end of his observations he climbed into the grey car.

"I live quite near there. Perhaps you'd care to come in and have a drink on your way?"

Ten minutes in the grey car ate up the distance between the links and George's cottage. Reggie Byng passed

these minutes, in the intervals of eluding carts and foiling the apparently suicidal intentions of some stray

fowls, in jerky conversation on the subject of his ironshots, with which he expressed a deep satisfaction.

"Topping little place! Absolutely!" was the verdict he pronounced on the exterior of the cottage as he

followed George in. "I've often thought it would be a rather sound scheme to settle down in this sort of shanty

and keep chickens and grow a honey coloured beard, and have soup and jelly brought to you by the vicar's

An exclamation from the other caused him to look up. Reggie Byng was staring at him, wideeyed.

"The Chappie there's all the row about. The mater was telling me only this morning that you lived here."

"Is there what!" Reggie's manner became solicitous. "I say, my dear old sportsman, I don't want to be the

bearer of bad tidings and what not, if you know what I mean, but didn't you know there was a certain amount

of angry passion rising and so forth because of you? At the castle, I mean. I don't want to seem to be

discussing your private affairs, and all that sort of thing, but what I mean is... Well, you don't expect you can

come charging in the way you have without touching the family on the raw a bit. The daughter of the house

falls in love with you; the son of the house languishes in chokey because he has a row with you in Piccadilly;

and on top of all that you come here and camp out at the castle gates! Naturally the family are a bit peeved.

George listened to this address in bewilderment. Maud in love with him! It sounded incredible. That he

should love her after their one meeting was a different thing altogether. That was perfectly natural and in

order. But that he should have had the incredible luck to win her affection. The thing struck him as grotesque

"Well, dash it all, old top, it surely isn't news to you? She must have told you. Why, she told me!"

"Absolutely! I mean absolutely not! Look here." Reggie hesitated. The subject was delicate. But, once

started, it might as well be proceeded with to some conclusion. A fellow couldn't go on talking about his

ironshots after this just as if nothing had happened. This was the time for the laying down of cards, the

opening of hearts. "I say, you know," he went on, feeling his way, "you'll probably think it deuced rummy of

me talking like this. Perfect stranger and what not. Don't even know each other's names."

"Thanks very much, old chap. Great help! Mine's Byng. Reggie Byng. Well, as we're all pals here and the

meeting's tiled and so forth, I'll start by saying that the mater is most deucedly set on my marrying Lady

Maud. Been pals all our lives, you know. Children together, and all that sort of rot. Now there's nobody I

think a more corking sportsman than Maud, if you know what I mean, butthis is where the catch comes

inI'm most frightfully in love with somebody else. Hopeless, and all that sort of thing, but still there it is.

And all the while the mater behind me with a bradawl, sicking me on to propose to Maud who wouldn't have

me if I were the only fellow on earth. You can't imagine, my dear old chap, what a relief it was to both of us

when she told me the other day that she was in love with you, and wouldn't dream of looking at anybody else.

George felt inclined to imitate his excellent example. A burst of song was the only adequate expression of the

mood of heavenly happiness which this young man's revelations had brought upon him. The whole world

seemed different. Wings seemed to sprout from Reggie's shapely shoulders. The air was filled with soft

He mixed himself a second whisky and soda. It was the next best thing to singing.

"I see," he said. It was difficult to say anything. Reggie was regarding him enviously.

"I wish I knew how the deuce fellows set about making a girl fall in love with them. Other chappies seem to

do it, but I can't even start. She seems to sort of gaze through me, don't you know. She kind of looks at me as

if I were more to be pitied than censured, but as if she thought I really ought to do something about it. Of

course, she's a devilish brainy girl, and I'm a fearful chump. Makes it kind of hopeless, what?"

George, in his newborn happiness, found a pleasure in encouraging a less lucky mortal.

"It seems to me it's purely a question of luck. Either you're lucky or you're not. Look at me, for instance.

"No. You were right the first time. It's all a question of luck. There's nothing anyone can do."

"I hang about a good deal and get in her way," said Reggie. "She's always tripping over me. I thought that

"Deuced funny thing. I'm not what you'd call a silent sort of chappie by nature. But, when I'm with herI

don't know. It's rum!" He drained his glass and rose. "Well, I suppose I may as well be staggering. Don't get

George gave himself up to glowing thoughts. For the first time in his life he seemed to be vividly aware of his

own existence. It was as if he were some newlycreated thing. Everything around him and everything he did

had taken on a strange and novel interest. He seemed to notice the ticking of the clock for the first time.

When he raised his glass the action had a curious air of newness. All his senses were oddly alert. He could

"How would it be," enquired Reggie, appearing in the doorway like part of a conjuring trick. "If I gave her a

flower or two every now and then? Just thought of it as I was starting the car. She's fond of flowers."

"Fine!" said George heartily. He had not heard a word. The alertness of sense which had come to him was

accompanied by a strange inability to attend to other people's speech. This would no doubt pass, but

Reggie withdrew, and presently came the noise of the car starting. George returned to his thoughts.

Time, as we understand it, ceases to exist for a man in such circumstances. Whether it was a minute later or

several hours, George did not know; but presently he was aware of a small boy standing beside hima

goldenhaired boy with blue eyes, who wore the uniform of a page. He came out of his trance. This, he

recognized, was the boy to whom he had given the note for Maud. He was different from any other intruder.

"You'll find some cake and gingerale in the kitchen," said the grateful George. "Give it a trial."

"I've found the kike," rejoined Albert, adducing proof of the statement in the shape of a massive slice, from

which he took a substantial bite to assist thought. "But I can't find the ginger ile."

"Look for it, child, look for it! Sniff after it! Bay on its trail! It's somewhere about."

"Wri'!" mumbled Albert through the cake. He flicked a crumb off his cheek with a tongue which would have

"Thank you ever so much for your note, which Albert gave to me. How very, very kind of you to come here

"Good Heavens!" George glared. "What's the matter now? Haven't you found that gingerale yet?"

"Oh, you mean the thing? It's in the middle drawer of the dresser. Use your eyes, my boy!"

"Thank you ever so much for your note which Albert gave to me. How very, very kind of you to come here

like this and to say that you would help me. And how clever of you to find me after I was so secretive that

day in the cab! You really can help me, if you are willing. It's too long to explain in a note, but I am in great

trouble, and there is nobody except you to help me. I will explain everything when I see you. The difficulty

will be to slip away from home. They are watching me every moment, I'm afraid. But I will try my hardest to

Just for a moment it must be confessed, the tone of the letter damped George. He could not have said just

what he had expected, but certainly Reggie's revelations had prepared him for something rather warmer,

something more in the style in which a girl would write to the man she loved. The next moment, however, he

saw how foolish any such expectation had been. How on earth could any reasonable man expect a girl to let

herself go at this stage of the proceedings? It was for him to make the first move. Naturally she wasn't going

George started guiltily. The blush of shame overspread his cheeks. The room seemed to echo with the sound

"Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" he called, snapping his fingers, and repeating the incriminating noise. "I was just calling

Albert's blue eyes met his in a derisive stare. The lid of the left one fluttered. It was but too plain that Albert

"A little black cat with white shirtfront," babbled George perseveringly. "She's usually either here or there,

There was a tense silence. What Albert was thinking one cannot say. The thoughts of Youth are long, long

thoughts. What George was thinking was that the late King Herod had been unjustly blamed for a policy

which had been both statesmanlike and in the interests of the public. He was blaming mawkish sentimentality

of the modem legal system which ranks the evisceration and secret burial of small boys as a crime.

George's views on infanticide underwent a slight modification. After all, he felt, much must be excused to

Youth. Youth thinks it funny to see a man kissing a letter. It is not funny, of course; it is beautiful; but it's no

good arguing the point. Let Youth have its snigger, provided, after it has finished sniggering, it intends to

buckle to and be of practical assistance. Albert, as an ally, was not to be despised. George did not know what

Albert's duties as a pageboy were, but they seemed to be of a nature that gave him plenty of leisure and

freedom; and a friendly resident of the castle with leisure and freedom was just what he needed.

"That's very good of you," he said, twisting his reluctant features into a fairly benevolent smile.

He reached into the mysteries of his pocket and produced a piece of string, a knife, the wishbone of a fowl,

two marbles, a crushed cigarette, and a match. Replacing the string, the knife, the wishbone and the marbles,

he ignited the match against the tightest part of his person and lit the cigarette.

A faint smile of retrospective enjoyment lit up Albert's face. "An orful row! Shoutin' and yellin' and cussin'

"Not 'arf I listened. Seeing I'd just drawn you in the sweepstike, of course, I listenednot 'arf!"

"Why, a thing you puts names in 'ats and draw 'em and the one that gets the winning name wins the money."

"But I don't understand. How do you mean you drew me in a sweepstikeI mean a sweepstake? What

"Down in the servants' 'all. Keggs, the butler, started it. I 'eard 'im say he always 'ad one every place 'e was in

as a butler leastways, whenever there was any dorters of the 'ouse. There's always a chance, when there's a

'ouseparty, of one of the dorters of the 'ouse gettin' married to one of the gents in the party, so Keggs 'e puts

all of the gents' names in an 'at, and you pay five shillings for a chance, and the one that draws the winning

name gets the money. And if the dorter of the 'ouse don't get married that time, the money's put away and

George gasped. This revelation of life below stairs in the stately homes of England took his breath away.

"Do you mean to tell me that youyou wormsmade Lady Maud thethe prize of a sweepstake!"

George perceived the need of diplomacy. After all much depended on this child's goodwill.

"'E ain't a worm. 'E's a serpint." Albert drew at his cigarette. His brow darkened. "'E does the drawing, Keggs

"But this time I done him proper. 'E didn't want me in the thing at all. Said I was too young. Tried to do the

drawin' without me. 'Clip that boy one side of the 'ead!' 'e says, 'and turn 'im out!' 'e says. I says, 'Yus, you

will!' I says. 'And wot price me goin' to 'is lordship and blowing the gaff?' I says. 'E says, 'Oh, orl right!' 'e

'Where's yer five shillings?' 'e says. "Ere yer are!' I says. 'Oh, very well,' 'e says. 'But you'll 'ave to draw last,'

'e says, 'bein' the youngest.' Well, they started drawing the names, and of course Keggs 'as to draw Mr.

"Yus. And everyone knew Reggie was the fav'rit. Smiled all over his fat face, the old serpint did! And when

it come to my turn, 'e says to me, 'Sorry, Elbert!' 'e says, 'but there ain't no more names. They've give out!'

'Oh, they 'ave, 'ave they?' I says, 'Well, wot's the matter with giving a fellow a sporting chance?' I says. "Ow

do you mean?' 'e says. 'Why, write me out a ticket marked "Mr. X.",' I says. 'Then, if 'er lidyship marries

anyone not in the 'ouseparty, I cop!' 'Orl right,' 'e says, 'but you know the conditions of this 'ere sweep.

Nothin' don't count only wot tikes plice during the two weeks of the 'ouseparty,' 'e says. 'Orl right,' I says.

'Write me ticket. It's a fair sportin' venture.' So 'e writes me out me ticket, with 'Mr. X.' on it, and I says to

them all, I says, 'I'd like to 'ave witnesses', I says, 'to this 'ere thing. Do all you gents agree that if anyone not

in the 'ouseparty and 'oo's name ain't on one of the other tickets marries 'er lidyship, I get the pool?' I says.

They all says that's right, and then I says to 'em all straight out, I says, 'I 'appen to know', I says, 'that 'er

lidyship is in love with a gent that's not in the party at all. An American gent,' I says. They wouldn't believe it

at first, but, when Keggs 'ad put two and two together, and thought of one or two things that 'ad 'appened, 'e

turned as white as a sheet and said it was a swindle and wanted the drawin' done over again, but the others

says 'No', they says, 'it's quite fair,' they says, and one of 'em offered me ten bob slap out for my ticket. But I

stuck to it, I did. And that," concluded Albert throwing the cigarette into the fireplace just in time to prevent

There is probably no attitude of mind harder for the average man to maintain than that of aloof disapproval.

George was an average man, and during the degrading recital just concluded he had found himself slipping.

At first he had been revolted, then, in spite of himself, amused, and now, when all the facts were before him,

he could induce his mind to think of nothing else than his good fortune in securing as an ally one who

appeared to combine a precocious intelligence with a helpful lack of scruple. War is war, and love is love,

and in each the practical man inclines to demand from his fellowworkers the punch rather than a lofty soul.

A page boy replete with the finer feelings would have been useless in this crisis. Albert, who seemed on the

evidence of a short but sufficient acquaintance, to be a lad who would not recognize the finer feelings if they

were handed to him on a plate with watercress round them, promised to be invaluable. Something in his

"There ain't no little slice," replied Albert with regret. "I've ate it all." He sighed and resumed. "I gotta

"It's like this. You want to see 'er lidyship, but you can't come to the castle, and she can't come to younot

with 'er fat brother dogging of 'er footsteps. That's it, ain't it? Or am I a liar?"

"I'll tell yer wot you can do. There's the big ball tonight 'cos of its bein' 'Is Nibs' comin'ofage tomorrow.

"No, I don't think nothin' of the kind, not bein' a fathead." George apologized. "But wot you could do's this.

I 'eard Keggs torkin to the 'ousekeeper about 'avin' to get in a lot of temp'y waiters to 'elp out for the

"Albert, you're one of the great thinkers of the age. I could get into the castle as a waiter, and you could tell

Lady Maud I was there, and we could arrange a meeting. Machiavelli couldn't have thought of anything

"That's orl right. I'll tell the 'ousekeeper you're my cousin been a waiter in America at the best

restaurongs'ome for a 'oliday, but'll come in for one night to oblige. They'll pay yer a quid."

"You'd better, if you don't want to mike a mess of everything. All you've got to do is to come to the servants'

The great ball in honour of Lord Belpher's comingofage was at its height. The reporter of the Belpher

Intelligencer and Farmers' Guide, who was present in his official capacity, and had been allowed by butler

Keggs to take a peep at the scene through a sidedoor, justly observed in his account of the proceedings next

day that the 'tout ensemble was fairylike', and described the company as 'a galaxy of fair women and brave

men'. The floor was crowded with all that was best and noblest in the county; so that a halfbrick, hurled at

any given moment, must infallibly have spilt blue blood. Peers stepped on the toes of knights; honorables

bumped into the spines of baronets. Probably the only titled person in the whole of the surrounding country

who was not playing his part in the glittering scene was Lord Marshmoreton; who, on discovering that his

private study had been converted into a cloakroom, had retired to bed with a pipe and a copy of Roses Red

and Roses White, by Emily Ann Mackintosh (Popgood, Crooly Co.), which he was to discoverafter he was

between the sheets, and it was too late to repair the errorwas not, as he had supposed, a treatise on his

favourite hobby, but a novel of stearine sentimentality dealing with the adventures of a pure young English

George, from the shaded seclusion of a gallery, looked down upon the brilliant throng with impatience. It

seemed to him that he had been doing this all his life. The novelty of the experience had long since ceased to

divert him. It was all just like the second act of an oldfashioned musical comedy (Act Two: The Ballroom,

Grantchester Towers: One Week Later)a resemblance which was heightened for him by the fact that the

band had more than once played dead and buried melodies of his own composition, of which he had wearied

A complete absence of obstacles had attended his intrusion into the castle. A brief interview with a motherly

old lady, whom even Albert seemed to treat with respect, and who, it appeared was Mrs. Digby, the

housekeeper; followed by an even briefer encounter with Keggs (fussy and irritable with responsibility, and,

even while talking to George carrying on two other conversations on topics of the moment), and he was past

the censors and free for one night only to add his presence to the chosen inside the walls of Belpher. His

duties were to stand in this gallery, and with the assistance of one of the maids to minister to the comfort of

such of the dancers as should use it as a sittingout place. None had so far made their appearance, the

superior attractions of the main floor having exercised a great appeal; and for the past hour George had been

alone with the maid and his thoughts. The maid, having asked George if he knew her cousin Frank, who had

been in America nearly a year, and having received a reply in the negative, seemed to be disappointed in him,

George scanned the approaches to the balcony for a sight of Albert as the shipwrecked mariner scans the

horizon for the passing sail. It was inevitable, he supposed, this waiting. It would be difficult for Maud to slip

George was gazing over the balcony when the voice spoke behind him, and the muscles of his back stiffened

as he recognized its genial note. This was one of the things he had prepared himself for, but, now that it had

happened, he felt a wave of stagefright such as he had only once experienced before in his lifeon the

occasion when he had been young enough and inexperienced enough to take a curtaincall on a first night.

Reggie Byng was friendly, and would not wilfully betray him; but Reggie was also a babbler, who could not

be trusted to keep things to himself. It was necessary, he perceived, to take a strong line from the start, and

convince Reggie that any likeness which the latter might suppose that he detected between his companion of

that afternoon and the waiter of tonight existed only in his heated imagination.

As George turned, Reggie's pleasant face, pink with healthful exercise and Lord Marshmoreton's finest

Bollinger, lost most of its colour. His eyes and mouth opened wider. The fact is Reggie was shaken. All

through the earlier part of the evening he had been sedulously priming himself with stimulants with a view to

amassing enough nerve to propose to Alice Faraday: and, now that he had drawn her away from the throng to

this secluded nook and was about to put his fortune to the test, a horrible fear swept over him that he had

"Would you mind taking a glass of lemonade to the lady in blue sitting on the settee over there by the statue,"

"Pretty good that! Not absolutely a test sentence, perhaps, like 'Truly rural' or 'The intricacies of the British

"You haven't ever seen me before by any chance, if you know what I mean, have you?"

"No, sir. I have often wished I had. I ought to have spoken to father about it. Father could never deny me

Reggie blinked. His misgiving returned. Either his ears, like his eyes, were playing him tricks, or else this

"What were you talking to that man about, Mr. Byng? You seemed to be having a very interesting

Miss Faraday glanced quickly at him. She had had a feeling for some time during the evening that his manner

"HeI meanthat is to saywhat I mean is, he looked the sort of chap who might have a brother. Lots of

Alice Faraday's face took on a motherly look. She was fonder of Reggie than that lovesick youth supposed,

and by sheer accident he had stumbled on the right road to her consideration. Alice Faraday was one of those

girls whose dream it is to be a ministering angel to some chosen man, to be a good influence to him and raise

him to an appreciation of nobler things. Hitherto, Reggie's personality had seemed to her agreeable, but

negative. A positive vice like overindulgence in alcohol altered him completely. It gave him a significance.

"I told him to get you a lemonade," said Reggie. "He seems to be taking his time about it. Hi!"

"You were telling me a diverting story about an Irishman who landed in New York looking for work, sir. You

"Don't you think you had better lie down for a little and rest, Mr. Byng? I'm sure it would do you good."

The solicitous note in her voice made Reggie quiver like a jelly. He had never known her speak like that

before. For a moment he was inclined to lay bare his soul; but his nerve was broken. He did not want her to

mistake the outpouring of a strong man's heart for the irresponsible ravings of a too hearty diner. It was one

of Life's ironies. Here he was for the first time all keyed up to go right ahead, and he couldn't do it.

"It's the heat of the room," said Alice. "Shall we go and sit outside on the terrace? Never mind about the

Reggie followed her like a lamb. The prospect of the cool night air was grateful.

"That," murmured George, as he watched them depart, "ought to hold you for a while!"

He cast a glance at the maid, George's coworker. She was reading a novelette with her back turned.

"Unnecessary. She won't notice my absence. Ever since she discovered that I had never met her cousin Frank

That it was not the nearest and most direct route which they took to the trystingplace George became aware

after he had followed his young guide through doors and up stairs and down stairs and had at last come to a

halt in a room to which the sound of the music penetrated but faintly. He recognized the room. He had been

in it before. It was the same room where he and Billie Dore had listened to Keggs telling the story of Lord

Leonard and his leap. That window there, he remembered now, opened on to the very balcony from which the

historic Leonard had done his spectacular dive. That it should be the scene of this other secret meeting struck

Albert vanished. George took a deep breath. Now that the moment had arrived for which he had waited so

long he was aware of a return of that feeling of stagefright which had come upon him when he heard Reggie

Byng's voice. This sort of thing, it must be remembered, was not in George's usual line. His had been a quiet

and uneventful life, and the only exciting thing which, in his recollection, had ever happened to him previous

to the dramatic entry of Lady Maud into his taxicab that day in Piccadilly, had occurred at college nearly ten

years before, when a festive roommateno doubt with the best motiveshad placed a Mexican horned

A light footstep sounded outside, and the room whirled round George in a manner which, if it had happened

to Reggie Byng, would have caused that injudicious drinker to abandon the habits of a lifetime. When the

furniture had returned to its place and the rug had ceased to spin, Maud was standing before him.

Nothing is harder to remember than a onceseen face. It had caused George a good deal of distress and

inconvenience that, try as he might, he could not conjure up anything more than a vague vision of what the

only girl in the world really looked like. He had carried away with him from their meeting in the cab only a

confused recollection of eyes that shone and a mouth that curved in a smile; and the brief moment in which

he was able to refresh his memory, when he found her in the lane with Reggie Byng and the brokendown

car, had not been enough to add definiteness. The consequence was that Maud came upon him now with the

stunning effect of beauty seen for the first time. He gasped. In that dazzling balldress, with the flush of

dancing on her cheeks and the light of dancing in her eyes, she was so much more wonderful than any picture

of her which memory had been able to produce for his inspection that it was as if he had never seen her

Even her brother, Percy, a stern critic where his nearest and dearest were concerned, had admitted on meeting

her in the drawingroom before dinner that that particular dress suited Maud. It was a shimmering

dreamthing of roseleaves and moonbeams. That, at least, was how it struck George; a dressmaker would

have found a longer and less romantic description for it. But that does not matter. Whoever wishes for a cold

and technical catalogue of the stuffs which went to make up the picture that deprived George of speech may

consult the files of the Belpher Intelligencer and Farmers' Guide, and read the report of the editor's wife, who

"does" the dresses for the Intelligencer under the penname of "Birdie BrightEye". As far as George was

George, as I say, was deprived of speech. That any girl could possibly look so beautiful was enough to

paralyse his faculties; but that this ethereal being straight from Fairyland could have stooped to love

himhiman earthy brute who wore socksuspenders and drank coffee for breakfast . . . that was what

From the Hills of Fairyland soft music came. Or, if we must be exact, Maud spoke.

"I couldn't get away before!" Then she stopped short and darted to the door listening. "Was that somebody

coming? I had to cut a dance with Mr. Plummer to get here, and I'm so afraid he may. . ."

He had. A moment later it was only too evident that this was precisely what Mr. Plummer had done. There

was a footstep on the stairs, a heavy footstep this time, and from outside the voice of the pursuer made itself

George did not know who Mr. Plummer was. He did not want to know. His only thought regarding Mr.

Plummer was a passionate realization of the superfluity of his existence. It is the presence on the globe of

His stunned mind leaped into sudden activity. He must not be found here, that was certain. Waiters who

ramble at large about a feudal castle and are discovered in conversation with the daughter of the house excite

comment. And, conversely, daughters of the house who talk in secluded rooms with waiters also find

explanations necessary. He must withdraw. He must withdraw quickly. And, as a gesture from Maud

indicated, the withdrawal must be effected through the french window opening on the balcony. Estimating the

distance that separated him from the approaching Plummer at three stairsthe voice had come from

belowand a landing, the space of time allotted to him by a hustling Fate for disappearing was some four

seconds. Inside two and half, the french window had opened and closed, and George was out under the stars,

He had now time for meditation. There are few situations which provide more scope for meditation than that

of the man penned up on a small balcony a considerable distance from the ground, with his only avenue of

retreat cut off behind him. So George meditated. First, he mused on Plummer. He thought some hard

thoughts about Plummer. Then he brooded on the unkindness of a fortune which had granted him the

opportunity of this meeting with Maud, only to snatch it away almost before it had begun. He wondered how

long the late Lord Leonard had been permitted to talk on that occasion before he, too, had had to retire

through these same windows. There was no doubt about one thing. Lovers who chose that room for their

It had not occurred to George at first that there could be any further disadvantage attached to his position

other than the obvious drawbacks which had already come to his notice. He was now to perceive that he had

been mistaken. A voice was speaking in the room he had left, a plainly audible voice, deep and throaty; and

within a minute George had become aware that he was to suffer the additional discomfort of being obliged to

listen to a fellow manone could call Plummer that by stretching the facts a littleproposing marriage. The

gruesomeness of the situation became intensified. Of all moments when a manand justice compelled

George to admit that Plummer was technically humanof all moments when a man may by all the laws of

decency demand to be alone without an audience of his own sex, the chiefest is the moment when he is

asking a girl to marry him. George's was a sensitive nature, and he writhed at the thought of playing the

He looked frantically about him for a means of escape. Plummer had now reached the stage of saying at great

length that he was not worthy of Maud. He said it over and over, again in different ways. George was in

hearty agreement with him, but he did not want to hear it. He wanted to get away. But how? Lord Leonard on

a similar occasion had leaped. Some might argue therefore on the principle that what man has done, man can

do, that George should have imitated him. But men differ. There was a man attached to a circus who used to

dive off the roof of Madison Square Garden on to a sloping board, strike it with his chest, turn a couple of

somersaults, reach the ground, bow six times and go off to lunch. That sort of thing is a gift. Some of us have

it, some have not. George had not. Painful as it was to hear Plummer floundering through his proposal of

marriage, instinct told him that it would be far more painful to hurl himself out into midair on the sporting

chance of having his downward progress arrested by the branches of the big tree that had upheld Lord

Inside the room Plummer was now saying how much the marriage would please his mother.

George looked about him. It seemed to him that he had heard a voice. He listened. No. Except for the barking

of a distant dog, the faint wailing of a waltz, the rustle of a roosting bird, and the sound of Plummer saying

that if her refusal was due to anything she might have heard about that breachofpromise case of his a

couple of years ago he would like to state that he was more sinned against than sinning and that the girl had

It was a voice. It came from above. Was it an angel's voice? Not altogether. It was Albert's. The boy was

leaning out of a window some six feet higher up the castle wall. George, his eyes by now grown used to the

darkness, perceived that the stripling gesticulated as one having some message to impart. Then, glancing to

one side, he saw what looked like some kind of a rope swayed against the wall. He reached for it. The thing

This was precisely what George wanted to do for at least another fifty years or so; and it seemed to him as he

stood there in the starlight, gingerly fingering this flimsy linen thing, that if he were to suspend his hundred

and eighty pounds of bone and sinew at the end of it over the black gulf outside the balcony he would look

alive for about five seconds, and after that goodness only knew how he would look. He knew all about

knotted sheets. He had read a hundred stories in which heroes, heroines, low comedy friends and even

villains did all sorts of reckless things with their assistance. There was not much comfort to be derived from

that. It was one thing to read about people doing silly things like that, quite another to do them yourself. He

gave Albert's sheet a tentative shake. In all his experience he thought he had never come across anything so

supremely unstable. (One calls it Albert's sheet for the sake of convenience. It was really Reggie Byng's

sheet. And when Reggie got to his room in the small hours of the morning and found the thing a mass of

knots he jumped to the conclusion being a simplehearted young manthat his bosom friend Jack Ferris,

who had come up from London to see Lord Belpher through the trying experience of a comingofage party,

had done it as a practical joke, and went and poured a jug of water over Jack's bed. That is Life. Just one long

Albert was becoming impatient. He was in the position of a great general who thinks out some wonderful

piece of strategy and can't get his army to carry it out. Many boys, seeing Plummer enter the room below and

listening at the keyhole and realizing that George must have hidden somewhere and deducing that he must be

out on the balcony, would have been baffled as to how to proceed. Not so Albert. To dash up to Reggie

Byng's room and strip his sheet off the bed and tie it to the bedpost and fashion a series of knots in it and

lower it out of the window took Albert about three minutes. His part in the business had been performed

without a hitch. And now George, who had nothing in the world to do but the childish task of climbing up the

sheet, was jeopardizing the success of the whole scheme by delay. Albert gave the sheet an irritable jerk.

It was the worst thing he could have done. George had almost made up his mind to take a chance when the

sheet was snatched from his grasp as if it had been some live thing deliberately eluding his clutch. The

thought of what would have happened had this occurred when he was in midair caused him to break out in a

cold perspiration. He retired a pace and perched himself on the rail of the balcony.

"It's no good saying, 'Psst!'" rejoined George in an annoyed undertone. "I could say "Psst!" Any fool could

Albert, he considered in leaning out of the window and saying "Psst!" was merely touching the fringe of the

It is probable that he would have remained seated on the balcony rail regarding the sheet with cold aversion,

indefinitely, had not his hand been forced by the man Plummer. Plummer, during these last minutes, had shot

his bolt. He had said everything that a man could say, much of it twice over; and now he was through. All

"I think," said Plummer gloomily, and the words smote on George's ear like a knell, "I think I'd like a little

George leaped from his rail like a hunted grasshopper. If Plummer was looking for air, it meant that he was

going to come out on the balcony. There was only one thing to be done. It probably meant the abrupt

Maud looked out on to the balcony. Her heart which had stood still when the rejected one opened the window

and stepped forth to commune with the soothing stars, beat again. There was no one there, only emptiness

"This," said Plummer sombrely, gazing over the rail into the darkness, "is the place where that fellow

Maud understood now, and a thrill of the purest admiration for George's heroism swept over her. So rather

than compromise her, he had done Leonard's leap! How splendid of him! If George, now sitting on Reggie

Byng's bed taking a rueful census of the bits of skin remaining on his hands and knees after his climb could

"I've a jolly good mind," said Plummer, "to do it myself!" He uttered a short, mirthless laugh. "Well,

anyway," he said recklessly, "I'll jolly well go downstairs and have a brandyandsoda!"

Albert finished untying the sheet from the bedpost, and stuffed it under the pillow.

George's idea was to get home. Quick. There was no possible chance of a second meeting with Maud that

night. They had met and had been whirled asunder. No use to struggle with Fate. Best to give in and hope that

another time Fate would be kinder. What George wanted now was to be away from all the gay glitter and the

fairylike tout ensemble and the galaxy of fair women and brave men, safe in his own easychair, where

nothing could happen to him. A nice sense of duty would no doubt have taken him back to his post in order

fully to earn the sovereign which had been paid to him for his services as temporary waiter; but the voice of

Duty called to him in vain. If the British aristocracy desired refreshments let them get them for

But if George had for the time being done with the British aristocracy, the British aristocracy had not done

with him. Hardly had he reached the hall when he encountered the one member of the order whom he would

Lord Belpher was not in genial mood. Late hours always made his head ache, and he was not a dancing man;

so that he was by now fully as weary of the fairylike tout ensemble as was George. But, being the centre and

cause of the night's proceedings, he was compelled to be present to the finish. He was in the position of

captains who must be last to leave their ships, and of boys who stand on burning decks whence all but they

had fled. He had spent several hours shaking hands with total strangers and receiving with a frozen smile

their felicitations on the attainment of his majority, and he could not have been called upon to meet a larger

horde of relations than had surged round him that night if he had been a rabbit. The Belpher connection was

wide, straggling over most of England; and first cousins, second cousins and even third and fourth cousins

had debouched from practically every county on the map and marched upon the home of their ancestors. The

effort of having to be civil to all of these had told upon Percy. Like the heroine of his sister Maud's favourite

poem he was "aweary, aweary," and he wanted a drink. He regarded George's appearance as exceedingly

The two words sound innocent enough, but, wishing as he did to efface himself and avoid publicity, they

were the most unfortunate which George could have chosen. If he had merely bowed acquiescence and

departed, it is probable that Lord Belpher would not have taken a second look at him. Percy was in no

condition to subject everyone he met to a minute scrutiny. But, when you have been addressed for an entire

lifetime as "your lordship", it startles you when a waiter calls you "Sir". Lord Belpher gave George a glance

in which reproof and pain were nicely mingled emotions quickly supplanted by amazement. A gurgle escaped

Percy was rattled. The crisis found him in two minds. On the one hand, he would have been prepared to take

oath that this man before him was the man who had knocked off his hat in Piccadilly. The likeness had struck

him like a blow the moment he had taken a good look at the fellow. On the other hand, there is nothing which

is more likely to lead one astray than a resemblance. He had never forgotten the horror and humiliation of the

occasion, which had happened in his fourteenth year, when a motherly woman at Paddington Station had

called him "dearie" and publicly embraced him, on the erroneous supposition that he was her nephew, Philip.

He must proceed cautiously. A brawl with an innocent waiter, coming on the heels of that infernal episode

with the policeman, would give people the impression that assailing the lower orders had become a hobby of

"No, sir," replied George smoothly. "I am only temporarily attached to the castle staff."

"Yes, sir. I am in England on a vacation. My cousin, Albert, is page boy at the castle, and he told me there

were a few vacancies for extra help tonight, so I applied and was given the job."

Lord Belpher frowned perplexedly. It all sounded entirely plausible. And, what was satisfactory, the

statement could be checked by application to Keggs, the butler. And yet there was a lingering doubt.

"I see," he said at last. "Well, bring that champagne to the library as quick as you can."

Lord Belpher remained where he stood, brooding. Reason told him he ought to be satisfied, but he was not

satisfied. It would have been different had he not known that this fellow with whom Maud had become

entangled was in the neighbourhood. And if that scoundrel had had the audacity to come and take a cottage at

The appearance of one of the footmen, on his way through the hall with a tray, gave him the opportunity for

An interval and the butler arrived. Unlike Lord Belpher late hours were no hardship to Keggs. He was

essentially a nightblooming flower. His brow was as free from wrinkles as his shirtfront. He bore himself

with the conscious dignity of one who, while he would have freely admitted he did not actually own the

castle, was nevertheless aware that he was one of its most conspicuous ornaments.

"Yes. Keggs, there are a number of outside men helping here tonight, aren't there?"

"Indubitably, your lordship. The unprecedented scale of the entertainment necessitated the engagement of a

certain number of supernumeraries," replied Keggs with an easy fluency which Reggie Byng, now cooling

his head on the lower terrace, would have bitterly envied. "In the circumstances, such an arrangement was

"In a manner of speaking, your lordship, and for all practical purposes, yes. Mrs. Digby, the 'ousekeeper

conducted the actual negotiations in many cases, but the arrangement was in no instance considered complete

"The boy Albert did introduce a nominee whom he stated to be 'is cousin 'ome from New York on a visit and

anxious to oblige. I trust he 'as given no dissatisfaction, your lordship? He seemed a respectable young man."

"No, no, not at all. I merely wished to know if you knew him. One can't be too careful."

Lord Belpher was satisfied. He was also relieved. He felt that prudence and a steady head had kept him from

making himself ridiculous. When George presently returned with the lifesaving fluid, he thanked him and

But, if the young master was satisfied, Keggs was not. Upon Keggs a bright light had shone. There were few

men, he flattered himself, who could more readily put two and two together and bring the sum to a correct

answer. Keggs knew of the strange American gentleman who had taken up his abode at the cottage down by

Platt's farm. His looks, his habits, and his motives for coming there had formed food for discussion

throughout one meal in the servant's hall; a stranger whose abstention from brush and palette showed him to

be no artist being an object of interest. And while the solution put forward by a romantic lady'smaid, a great

reader of novelettes, that the young man had come there to cure himself of some unhappy passion by

communing with nature, had been scoffed at by the company, Keggs had not been so sure that there might not

be something in it. Later events had deepened his suspicion, which now, after this interview with Lord

The extreme fishiness of Albert's sudden production of a cousin from America was so manifest that only his

preoccupation at the moment when he met the young man could have prevented him seeing it before. His

knowledge of Albert told him that, if one so versed as that youth in the art of Swank had really possessed a

cousin in America, he would long ago have been boring the servants' hall with fictions about the man's wealth

and importance. For Albert not to lie about a thing, practically proved that thing nonexistent. Such was the

It was in this shameful manner that that mastermind was habitually referred to below stairs.

"Be good!" returned Keggs, whose mode of speech among those of his own world differed substantially from

that which he considered it became him to employ when conversing with the titled.

The fall of great men is but too often due to the failure of their miserable bodies to give the necessary support

to their great brains. There are some, for example, who say that Napoleon would have won the battle of

Waterloo if he had not had dyspepsia. Not otherwise was it with Albert on that present occasion. The arrival

of Keggs found him at a disadvantage. He had been imprudent enough, on leaving George, to endeavour to

smoke a cigar, purloined from the box which stood hospitably open on a table in the hall. But for this, who

knows with what cunning counterattacks he might have foiled the butler's onslaught? As it was, the battle

"Never mind about my 'ead. If I was to do my duty to you, I'd give you a clip side of your 'ead, that's what I'd

"And then bury it in the woods," added Albert, wincing as the consequences of his rash act swept through his

small form like some nauseous tidal wave. He shut his eyes. It upset him to see Keggs shimmering like that.

"Yes, what about them? That's just what Lord Belpher and me have been asking ourselves."

"You soon will, young blighted Albert! Who sneaked that American fellow into the 'ouse to meet Lady

Too late Albert saw his false movea move which in a normal state of health, he would have scorned to

make. Just as Napoleon, minus a stomachache, would have scorned the blunder that sent his Cuirassiers

"Well," said Keggs, "I haven't time to stand 'ere chatting with you. I must be going back to 'is lordship, to tell

A second spasm shook Albert to the core of his being. The double assault was too much for him. Betrayed by

"I'll have to think it over," mused Keggs. "I don't want to be 'and on a young boy." He struggled silently with

"All right, young blighted Albert," he said briskly. "I'll go against my better nature this once and chance it.

And now, young feller me lad, you just 'and over that ticket of yours! You know what I'm alloodin' to! That

Keggs sighedthe sigh of a good man who has done his best to help a fellowbeing and has been baffled by

"Just as you please," he said sorrowfully. "But I did 'ope I shouldn't 'ave to go to 'is lordship and tell 'im 'ow

Albert capitulated. "'Ere yer are!" A piece of paper changed hands. "It's men like you wot lead to 'arf the

"You'd walk a mile in the snow, you would," continued Albert pursuing his train of thought, "to rob a

"Who's robbing anyone? Don't you talk so quick, young man. I'm doing the right thing by you. You can 'ave

"That's as it may be. Anyhow, there it is." Keggs prepared to withdraw. "You're too young to 'ave all that

money, Albert. You wouldn't know what to do with it. It wouldn't make you 'appy. There's other things in the

world besides winning sweepstakes. And, properly speaking, you ought never to have been allowed to draw

Albert groaned hollowly. "When you've finished torkin', I wish you'd kindly have the goodness to leave me

"That," said Keggs cordially, "is a bit of luck for you, my boy. Accept my 'eartiest felicitations!"

Defeat is the test of the great man. Your true general is not he who rides to triumph on the tide of an easy

victory, but the one who, when crushed to earth, can bend himself to the task of planning methods of rising

again. Such a one was Albert, the pageboy. Observe Albert in his attic bedroom scarcely more than an hour

later. His body has practically ceased to trouble him, and his soaring spirit has come into its own again. With

the exception of a now very occasional spasm, his physical anguish has passed, and he is thinking, thinking

hard. On the chest of drawers is a grubby envelope, addressed in an illformed hand to:

On a sheet of paper, soon to be placed in the envelope, are written in the same hand these words:

"Do not dispare! Remember! Fante hart never won fair lady. I shall watch your futur progres with

The last sentence is not original. Albert's Sundayschool teacher said it to Albert on the occasion of his

taking up his duties at the castle, and it stuck in his memory. Fortunately, for it expressed exactly what Albert

wished to say. From now on Reggie Byng's progress with Lady Maud Marsh was to be the thing nearest to

And George meanwhile? Little knowing how Fate has changed in a flash an ally into an opponent he is

standing at the edge of the shrubbery near the castle gate. The night is very beautiful; the banked spots on his

hands and knees are hurting much less now; and he is full of long, sweet thoughts. He has just discovered the

extraordinary resemblance, which had not struck him as he was climbing up the knotted sheet, between his

own position and that of the hero of Tennyson's Maud, a poem to which he has always been particularly

addictedand never more so than during the days since he learned the name of the only possible girl. When

"Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls Come hither, the dances are done, In glass of satin and glimmer of

pearls. Queen lily and rose in one; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls To the flowers, and be their

The music from the ballroom flows out to him through the motionless air. The smell of sweet earth and

"Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, hath flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at

the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown."

He draws a deep breath, misled young man. The night is very beautiful. It is near to the dawn now and in the

The silver stars looked down dispassionately. This sort of thing had no novelty for them.

Lord Belpher's twentyfirst birthday dawned brightly, heralded in by much twittering of sparrows in the ivy

outside his bedroom. These Percy did not hear, for he was sound asleep and had had a late night. The first

sound that was able to penetrate his heavy slumber and rouse him to a realization that his birthday had arrived

was the piercing cry of Reggie Byng on his way to the bathroom across the corridor. It was Reggie's

disturbing custom to urge himself on to a cold bath with encouraging yells; and the noise of this performance,

followed by violent splashing and a series of sharp howls as the sponge played upon the Byng spine, made

sleep an impossibility within a radius of many yards. Percy sat up in bed, and cursed Reggie silently. He

Presently the door flew open, and the vocalist entered in person, clad in a pink bathrobe and very tousled and

"I'm twentyone today! Twentyone today! I've got the key of the door! Never been twentyone before! And

father says I can do what I like! So shout Hiphiphooray! I'm a jolly good fellow, Twentyone today."

"I thought you would have, laddie, when I saw you getting away with the liquid last night. An Xray

photograph of your liver would show something that looked like a crumpled oakleaf studded with

hobnails. You ought to take more exercise, dear heart. Except for sloshing that policeman, you haven't done

"Between ourselves, old man," he said confidentially, "I alsoI myselfReginald Byng, in personwas

perhaps a shade polluted during the evening. I give you my honest word that just after dinner I saw three

versions of your uncle, the bishop, standing in a row side by side. I tell you, laddie, that for a moment I

thought I had strayed into a Bishop's Beano at Exeter Hall or the Athenaeum or wherever it is those chappies

collect in gangs. Then the three bishops sort of congealed into one bishop, a trifle blurred about the outlines,

and I felt relieved. But what convinced me that I had emptied a flagon or so too many was a rather rummy

thing that occurred later on. Have you ever happened, during one of these feasts of reason and flows of soul,

when you were bubbling over with joiedevivrehave you ever happened to see things? What I mean to

say is, I had a deuced odd experience last night. I could have sworn that one of the waiterchappies was that

Lord Belpher, who had sunk back on to the pillows at Reggie's entrance and had been listening to his talk

"Absolutely! My mistake, of course, but there it was. The fellow might have been his double."

"Oh yes, I have. I forgot to tell you. I met him on the links yesterday. I'd gone out there alone, rather

expecting to have a round with the pro., but, finding this lad there, I suggested that we might go round

together. We did eighteen holes, and he licked the boots off me. Very hot stuff he was. And after the game he

took me off to his cottage and gave me a drink. He lives at the cottage next door to Platt's farm, so, you see, it

was the identical chappie. We got extremely matey. Like brothers. Absolutely! So you can understand what a

shock it gave me when I found what I took to be the same man serving bracers to the multitude the same

evening. One of those nasty jars that cause a fellow's head to swim a bit, don't you know, and make him lose

Lord Belpher did not reply. His brain was whirling. So he had been right after all!

"You know," pursued Reggie seriously, "I think you are making the bloomer of a lifetime over this

hatswatting chappie. You've misjudged him. He's a firstrate sort. Take it from me! Nobody could have got

out of the bunker at the fifteenth hole better than he did. If you'll take my advice, you'll conciliate the feller. A

really firstclass golfer is what you need in the family. Besides, even leaving out of the question the fact that

he can do things with a niblick that I didn't think anybody except the pro. could do, he's a corking good sort.

A stout fellow in every respect. I took to the chappie. He's all right. Grab him, Boots, before he gets away.

That's my tip to you. You'll never regret it! From first to last this lad didn't foozle a single drive, and his

approachputting has to be seen to be believed. Well, got to dress, I suppose. Mustn't waste life's springtime

Lord Belpher leaped from his bed. He was feeling worse than ever now, and a glance into the mirror told him

that he looked rather worse than he felt. Late nights and insufficient sleep, added to the need of a shave,

always made him look like something that should have been swept up and taken away to the ashbin. And as

for his physical condition, talking to Reggie Byng never tended to make you feel better when you had a

headache. Reggie's manner was not soothing, and on this particular morning his choice of a topic had been

unusually irritating. Lord Belpher told himself that he could not understand Reggie. He had never been able

to make his mind quite clear as to the exact relations between the latter and his sister Maud, but he had

always been under the impression that, if they were not actually engaged, they were on the verge of becoming

so; and it was maddening to have to listen to Reggie advocating the claims of a rival as if he had no personal

interest in the affair at all. Percy felt for his complaisant friend something of the annoyance which a

householder feels for the watchdog whom he finds fraternizing with the burglar. Why, Reggie, more than

anyone else, ought to be foaming with rage at the insolence of this American fellow in coming down to

Belpher and planting himself at the castle gates. Instead of which, on his own showing, he appeared to have

adopted an attitude towards him which would have excited remark if adopted by David towards Jonathan. He

seemed to spend all his spare time frolicking with the man on the golflinks and hobnobbing with him in his

Lord Belpber was thoroughly upset. It was impossible to prove it or to do anything about it now, but he was

convinced that the fellow had wormed his way into the castle in the guise of a waiter. He had probably met

Maud and plotted further meetings with her. This thing was becoming unendurable.

One thing was certain. The family honour was in his hands. Anything that was to be done to keep Maud away

from the intruder must be done by himself. Reggie was hopeless: he was capable, as far as Percy could see, of

escorting Maud to the fellow's door in his own car and leaving her on the threshold with his blessing. As for

Lord Marshmoreton, roses and the family history took up so much of his time that he could not be counted on

He had just come to this decision, when, approaching the window and gazing down into the grounds, he

perceived his sister Maud walking rapidlyand, so it seemed to him, with a furtive airdown the east

drive. And it was to the east that Platt's farm and the cottage next door to it lay.

At the moment of this discovery, Percy was in a costume ill adapted for the taking of country walks. Reggie's

remarks about his liver had struck home, and it had been his intention, by way of a corrective to his headache

and a general feeling of swollen illhealth, to do a little work before his bath with a pair of Indian clubs. He

had arrayed himself for this purpose in an old sweater, a pair of grey flannel trousers, and patent leather

evening shoes. It was not the garb he would have chosen himself for a ramble, but time was flying: even to

put on a pair of boots is a matter of minutes: and in another moment or two Maud would be out of sight.

Percy ran downstairs, snatched up a soft shootinghat, which proved, too late, to belong to a person with a

head two sizes smaller than his own; and raced out into the grounds. He was just in time to see Maud

Lord Belpher had never belonged to that virile class of the community which considers running a pleasure

and a pastime. At Oxford, on those occasions when the members of his college had turned out on raw

afternoons to trot along the riverbank encouraging the college eight with yelling and the swinging of

policerattles, Percy had always stayed prudently in his rooms with tea and buttered toast, thereby avoiding

who knows what colds and coughs. When he ran, he ran reluctantly and with a definite object in view, such

as the catching of a train. He was consequently not in the best of condition, and the sharp sprint which was

imperative at this juncture if he was to keep his sister in view left him spent and panting. But he had the

reward of reaching the gates of the drive not many seconds after Maud, and of seeing her walkingmore

slowly nowdown the road that led to Platt's. This confirmation of his suspicions enabled him momentarily

to forget the blister which was forming on the heel of his left foot. He set out after her at a good pace.

The road, after the habit of country roads, wound and twisted. The quarry was frequently out of sight. And

Percy's anxiety was such that, every time Maud vanished, he broke into a gallop. Another hundred yards, and

the blister no longer consented to be ignored. It cried for attention like a little child, and was rapidly

insinuating itself into a position in the scheme of things where it threatened to become the centre of the

world. By the time the third bend in the road was reached, it seemed to Percy that this blister had become the

one great Fact in an unreal nightmarelike universe. He hobbled painfully: and when he stopped suddenly

and darted back into the shelter of the hedge his foot seemed aflame. The only reason why the blister on his

left heel did not at this juncture attract his entire attention was that he had become aware that there was

Percy had stopped and sought cover in the hedge because, as he rounded the bend in the road, he perceived,

before he had time to check his gallop, that Maud had also stopped. She was standing in the middle of the

road, looking over her shoulder, not ten yards away. Had she seen him? It was a point that time alone could

solve. No! She walked on again. She had not seen him. Lord Belpher, by means of a notable triumph of mind

They had now reached that point in the road where three choices offer themselves to the wayfarer. By going

straight on he may win through to the village of MoresbyintheVale, a charming little place with a

Norman church; by turning to the left he may visit the equally seductive hamlet of Little Weeting; by turning

to the right off the main road and going down a leafy lane he may find himself at the door of Platt's farm.

When Maud, reaching the crossroads, suddenly swung down the one to the left, Lord Belpher was for the

moment completely baffled. Reason reasserted its way the next minute, telling him that this was but a ruse.

Whether or no she had caught sight of him, there was no doubt that Maud intended to shake off any possible

pursuit by taking this speciously innocent turning and making a detour. She could have no possible motive in

going to Little Weeting. He had never been to Little Weeting in his life, and there was no reason to suppose

The signpost informed hima statement strenuously denied by the twinblistersthat the distance to

Little Weeting was one and a half miles. Lord Belpher's view of it was that it was nearer fifty. He dragged

himself along wearily. It was simpler now to keep Maud in sight, for the road ran straight: but, there being a

catch in everything in this world, the process was also messier. In order to avoid being seen, it was necessary

for Percy to leave the road and tramp along in the deep ditch which ran parallel to it. There is nothing

halfhearted about these ditches which accompany English country roads. They know they are intended to be

ditches, not mere furrows, and they behave as such. The one that sheltered Lord Belpher was so deep that

only his head and neck protruded above the level of the road, and so dirty that a bare twenty yards of travel

was sufficient to coat him with mud. Rain, once fallen, is reluctant to leave the English ditch. It nestles inside

it for weeks, forming a rich, oatmeallike substance which has to be stirred to be believed. Percy stirred it.

He churned it. He ploughed and sloshed through it. The mud stuck to him like a brother.

Nevertheless, being a determined young man, he did not give in. Once he lost a shoe, but a little searching

recovered that. On another occasion, a passing dog, seeing things going on in the ditch which in his opinion

should not have been going onhe was a highstrung dog, unused to coming upon heads moving along the

road without bodies attachedaccompanied Percy for over a quarter of a mile, causing him exquisite

discomfort by making sudden runs at his face. A wellaimed stone settled this little misunderstanding, and

Percy proceeded on his journey alone. He had Maud well in view when, to his surprise she left the road and

Lord Belpher regained the road, and remained there, a puzzled man. A dreadful thought came to him that he

might have had all this trouble and anguish for no reason. This house bore the unmistakable stamp of a

vicarage. Maud could have no reason that was not innocent for going there. Had he gone through all this,

merely to see his sister paying a visit to a clergyman? Too late it occurred to him that she might quite easily

be on visiting terms with the clergy of Little Weeting. He had forgotten that he had been away at Oxford for

many weeks, a period of time in which Maud, finding life in the country weigh upon her, might easily have

interested herself charitably in the life of this village. He paused irresolutely. He was baffled.

Maud, meanwhile, had rung the bell. Ever since, looking over her shoulder, she had perceived her brother

Percy dodging about in the background, her active young mind had been busying itself with schemes for

throwing him off the trail. She must see George that morning. She could not wait another day before

establishing communication between herself and Geoffrey. But it was not till she reached Little Weeting that

Maud was as baffled for the moment as her brother Percy, now leaning against the vicarage wall in a state of

"He won't know my name. Will you please tell him that a lady wishes to see him?"

The front door closed behind Maud. She followed the maid into the drawingroom. Presently a young small

"I am so sorry to trouble you," said Maud, rocking the young man in his tracks with a smile of dazzling

brilliancy("No trouble, I assure you," said the curate dizzily)"but there is a man following me!"

"A rough sort of a tramp kind of man. He has been following me for miles, and I'm frightened."

"I think he's outside now. I can't think what he wants. Would youwould you mind being kind enough to go

The eyes that had settled George's fate for all eternity flashed upon the curate, who blinked. He squared his

"If you will wait here," he said, "I will go and send him about his business. It is disgraceful that the public

"Thank you ever so much," said Maud gratefully. "I can't help thinking the poor fellow may be a little crazy.

"Yes. He walked most of the way in the ditch at the side of the road. He seemed to prefer it. I can't think

Lord Belpher, leaning against the wall and trying to decide whether his right or left foot hurt him the more

excruciatingly, became aware that a curate was standing before him, regarding him through a pair of

goldrimmed pincenez with a disapproving and hostile expression. Lord Belpher returned his gaze. Neither

was favourably impressed by the other. Percy thought he had seen nicerlooking curates, and the curate

"Come, come!" said the curate. "This won't do, my man!" A few hours earlier Lord Belpher had been startled

when addressed by George as "sir". To be called "my man" took his breath away completely.

The gift of seeing ourselves as others see us is, as the poet indicates, vouchsafed to few men. Lord Belpher,

not being one of these fortunates, had not the slightest conception how intensely revolting his personal

appearance was at that moment. The redrimmed eyes, the growth of stubble on the cheeks, and the thick

coating of mud which had resulted from his rambles in the ditch combined to render him a horrifying object.

"I'm her brother!" He was about to substantiate the statement by giving his name, but stopped himself. He had

had enough of letting his name come out on occasions like the present. When the policeman had arrested him

in the Haymarket, his first act had been to thunder his identity at the man: and the policeman, without saying

in so many words that he disbelieved him, had hinted scepticism by replying that he himself was the king of

The curate's disapproval deepened. In a sense, we are all brothers; but that did not prevent him from

considering that this mudstained derelict had made an impudent and abominable misstatement of fact. Not

unnaturally he came to the conclusion that he had to do with a victim of the Demon Rum.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said severely. "Sad piece of human wreckage as you are, you

speak like an educated man. Have you no selfrespect? Do you never search your heart and shudder at the

horrible degradation which you have brought on yourself by sheer weakness of will?"

He raise his voice. The subject of Temperance was one very near to the curate's heart. The vicar himself had

complimented him only yesterday on the good his sermons against the drink evil were doing in the village,

and the landlord of the Three Pigeons down the road had on several occasions spoken bitter things about

"It is easy enough to stop if you will but use a little resolution. You say to yourself, 'Just one won't hurt me!'

Perhaps not. But can you be content with just one? Ah! No, my man, there is no middle way for such as you.

It must be all or nothing. Stop it nownow, while you still retain some semblance of humanity. Soon it will

be too late! Kill that craving! Stifle it! Strangle it! Make up your mind nownow, that not another drop of

The curate paused. He perceived that enthusiasm was leading him away from the main issue. "A little

perseverance," he concluded rapidly, "and you will soon find that cocoa gives you exactly the same pleasure.

And now will you please be getting along. You have frightened the young lady, and she cannot continue her

Fatigue, pain and the annoyance of having to listen to this man's wellmeant but illjudged utterances had

combined to induce in Percy a condition bordering on hysteria. He stamped his foot, and uttered a howl as the

blister warned him with a sharp twinge that this sort of behaviour could not be permitted.

"Stop talking!" he bellowed. "Stop talking like an idiot! I'm going to stay here till that girl comes out, if have

The curate regarded Percy thoughtfully. Percy was no Hercules: but then, neither was the curate. And in any

case, though no Hercules, Percy was undeniably an uglylooking brute. Strategy, rather than force, seemed to

the curate to be indicated. He paused a while, as one who weighs pros and cons, then spoke briskly, with the

"Dear, dear!" he said. "That won't do! You say you are this young lady's brother?"

"Then perhaps you had better come with me into the house and we will speak to her."

Percy followed him. Down the trim gravel walk they passed, and up the neat stone steps. Maud, peeping

through the curtains, thought herself the victim of a monstrous betrayal or equally monstrous blunder. But she

did not know the Rev. Cyril Ferguson. No general, adroitly leading the enemy on by strategic retreat, ever

had a situation more thoroughly in hand. Passing with his companion through the open door, he crossed the

"Wait in here," he said. Lord Belpher moved unsuspectingly forward. A hand pressed sharply against the

small of his back. Behind him a door slammed and a key clicked. He was trapped. Groping in Egyptian

darkness, his hands met a coat, then a hat, then an umbrella. Then he stumbled over a golfclub and fell

against a wall. It was too dark to see anything, but his sense of touch told him all he needed to know. He had

been added to the vicar's collection of odds and ends in the closet reserved for that purpose.

He groped his way to the door and kicked it. He did not repeat the performance. His feet were in no shape for

Percy's gallant soul abandoned the struggle. With a feeble oath, he sat down on a box containing croquet

"You'll be quite safe now," the curate was saying in the adjoining room, not without a touch of complacent

selfapproval such as becomes the victor in a battle of wits. "I have locked him in the cupboard. He will be

quite happy there." An incorrect statement this. "You may now continue your walk in perfect safety."

"Thank you ever so much," said Maud. "But I do hope he won't be violent when you let him out."

"I shall not let him out," replied the curate, who, though brave, was not rash. "I shall depute the task to a

worthy fellow named Willis, in whom I shall have every confidence. Hehe is, in fact, our local

And so it came about that when, after a vigil that seemed to last for a lifetime, Percy heard the key turn in the

lock and burst forth seeking whom he might devour, he experienced an almost instant quieting of his excited

nervous system. Confronting him was a vast man whose muscles, like those of that other and more celebrated

"There better hadn't be!" said the man darkly. "Mr. Ferguson give me this to give to you. Take it!"

The second gift was a small paper pamphlet. It was entitled "Now's the Time!" and seemed to be a story of

some kind. At any rate, Percy's eyes, before they began to swim in a manner that prevented steady reading,

caught the words "Job Roberts had always been a harddrinking man, but one day, as he was coming out of

the barparlour . . ." He was about to hurl it from him, when he met the other's eye and desisted. Rarely had

"And now you get along," said the man. "You pop off. And I'm going to watch you do it, too. And, if I find

His pause was more eloquent than his speech and nearly as eloquent as his eye. Lord Belpher tucked the tract

into his sweater, pocketed the shilling, and left the house. For nearly a mile down the wellremembered

highway he was aware of a Presence in his rear, but he continued on his way without a glance behind.

"Like one that on a lonely road Doth walk in fear and dread; And, having once looked back, walks on And

turns no more his head! Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread!"

Maud made her way across the fields to the cottage down by Platt's. Her heart was as light as the breeze that

ruffled the green hedges. Gaily she tripped towards the cottage door. Her hand was just raised to knock, when

She had reached her goal, but her father had anticipated her. Lord Marshmoreton had selected the same

Maud tiptoed away, and hurried back to the castle. Never before had she so clearly realized what a handicap

At the moment of Lord Marshmoreton's arrival, George was reading a letter from Billie Dore, which had

come by that morning's post. It dealt mainly with the vicissitudes experienced by Miss Dore's friend, Miss

Sinclair, in her relations with the man Spenser Gray. Spenser Gray, it seemed, had been behaving oddly.

Ardent towards Miss Sinclair almost to an embarrassing point in the early stages of their acquaintance, he had

suddenly cooled; at a recent lunch had behaved with a strange aloofness; and now, at this writing, had

vanished altogether, leaving nothing behind him but an abrupt note to the effect that he had been compelled

to go abroad and that, much as it was to be regretted, he and she would probably never meet again.

"And if," wrote Miss Dore, justifiably annoyed, "after saying all those things to the poor kid and telling her

she was the only thing in sight, he thinks he can just slide off with a 'Goodbye! Good luck! and God bless

you!' he's got another guess coming. And that's not all. He hasn't gone abroad! I saw him in Piccadilly this

afternoon. He saw me, too, and what do you think he did? Ducked down a sidestreet, if you please. He must

have run like a rabbit, at that, because, when I got there, he was nowhere to be seen. I tell you, George, there's

Having been made once or twice before the confidant of the tempestuous romances of Billie's friends, which

always seemed to go wrong somewhere in the middle and to die a natural death before arriving at any definite

point, George was not particularly interested, except in so far as the letter afforded rather comforting

evidence that he was not the only person in the world who was having trouble of the kind. He skimmed

through the rest of it, and had just finished when there was a sharp rap at the front door.

There entered a sturdy little man of middle age whom at first sight George could not place. And yet he had

the impression that he had seen him before. Then he recognized him as the gardener to whom he had given

the note for Maud that day at the castle. The alteration in the man's costume was what had momentarily

baffled George. When they had met in the rosegarden, the other had been arrayed in untidy gardening

clothes. Now, presumably in his Sunday suit, it was amusing to observe how almost dapper he had become.

Really, you might have passed him in the lane and taken him for some neighbouring squire.

George's heart raced. Your lover is ever optimistic, and he could conceive of no errand that could have

brought this man to his cottage unless he was charged with the delivery of a note from Maud. He spared a

moment from his happiness to congratulate himself on having picked such an admirable gobetween. Here

evidently, was one of those trusty old retainers you read about, faithful, willing, discreet, ready to do anything

for "the little missy" (bless her heart!). Probably he had danced Maud on his knee in her infancy, and with a

doglike affection had watched her at her childish sports. George beamed at the honest fellow, and felt in his

A purist might have said he spoke gruffly and without geniality. But that is the beauty of these old retainers.

They make a point of deliberately trying to deceive strangers as to the goldenness of their hearts by adopting

a forbidding manner. And "Good morning!" Not "Good morning, sir!" Sturdy independence, you observe, as

befits a free man. George closed the door carefully. He glanced into the kitchen. Mrs. Platt was not there. All

"If you are alluding to Lady Maud Marsh, my daughter," he replied frostily, "I have not!"

For the past few days George had been no stranger to shocks, and had indeed come almost to regard them as

"It's nothing!" muttered George. "At least, youI mean to say . . . It's only that there's a curious resemblance

between you and one of your gardeners at the castle. II daresay you have noticed it yourself."

"Bevan," replied George, rather relieved at being able to remember it in the midst of his mental turmoil.

"It won't do, Mr. Bevan. It must stop. I allude to this absurd entanglement between yourself and my daughter.

It seemed to George that such an entanglement could hardly be said to have begun, but he did not say so.

Lord Marshmoreton resumed his remarks. Lady Caroline had sent him to the cottage to be stern, and his firm

resolve to be stern lent his style of speech something of the measured solemnity and careful phrasing of his

"I have no wish to be unduly hard upon the indiscretions of Youth. Youth is the period of Romance, when the

"Eh?" cried Lord Marshmoreton, forgetting the thread of his discourse in the shock of pleased surprise.

"Well, well, well! By the way, have you tobacco, my boy. I came without my pouch."

"What was I saying?" said Lord Marshmoreton, blowing a comfortable cloud. "Oh, yes." He removed his

Lord Marshmoreton recalled some of the things his sister had told him to say. "For one thing, what do we

"Well, we're all getting acquainted pretty quick, don't you think? I met your son in Piccadilly and had a long

"And then, that is one point I wish to make, you know. Ours is an old family, I would like to remind you that

"I was only pointing out that I can trace my ancestry a long way. You have to trace things a long way in

Lord Marshmoreton relit his pipe. He had a feeling that they were wandering from the point.

"Too young to know her own mind," pursued Lord Marshmoreton, resolutely crushing down a flutter of

pleasure. There was no doubt that this singularly agreeable man was making things very difficult for him. It

was disarming to discover that he was really capital companythe best, indeed, that the earl could remember

to have discovered in the more recent period of his rather lonely life. "At present, of course, she fancies that

"You needn't tell me that," said George. Really, it was only the fact that people seemed to go out of their way

to call at his cottage and tell him that Maud loved him that kept him from feeling his cause perfectly

"You are a romantic young man, and you no doubt for the moment suppose that you are in love with her."

"No!" George was not going to allow a remark like that to pass unchallenged. "You are wrong there. As far as

I am concerned, there is no question of its being momentary or supposititious or anything of that kind. I am in

love with your daughter. I was from the first moment I saw her. I always shall be. She is the only girl in the

"I do see your point of view. But dimly. You see, my own takes up such a lot of the foreground."

"Then I am afraid," said Lord Marshmoreton, "that we must leave matters as they stand."

"But I must ask you to understand clearly that I shall have to do everything in my power to stop what I look

Lord Marshmoreton coughed. George looked at him with some surprise. He had supposed the interview to be

at an end, but the other made no move to go. There seemed to be something on the earl's mind.

"There isahjust one other thing," said Lord Marshmoreton. He coughed again. He felt embarrassed.

The reason for Lord Marshmoreton's visit to George had been twofold. In the first place, Lady Caroline had

told him to go. That would have been reason enough. But what made the visit imperative was an unfortunate

It will be remembered that Billie Dore had told George that the gardener with whom she had become so

friendly had taken her name and address with a view later on to send her some of his roses. The scrap of

paper on which this information had been written was now lost. Lord Marshmoreton had been hunting for it

Billie Dore had made a decided impression upon Lord Marshmoreton. She belonged to a type which he had

never before encountered, and it was one which he had found more than agreeable. Her knowledge of roses

and the proper feeling which she manifested towards rosegrowing as a lifework consolidated the earl's

liking for her. Never, in his memory, had he come across so sensible and charming a girl; and he had looked

forward with a singular intensity to meeting her again. And now some too zealous housemaid, tidying up

after the irritating manner of her species, had destroyed the only clue to her identity.

It was not for some time after this discovery that hope dawned again for Lord Marshmoreton. Only after he

had given up the search for the missing paper as fruitless did he recall that it was in George's company that

Billie had first come into his life. Between her, then, and himself George was the only link.

It was primarily for the purpose of getting Billie's name and address from George that he had come to the

cottage. And now that the moment had arrived for touching upon the subject, he felt a little embarrassed.

"Exactly. When you visited the castle last Thursday, there was a young lady with you."

Not realizing that the subject had been changed, George was under the impression that the other had shifted

his front and was about to attack him from another angle. He countered what seemed to him an insinuation

"We merely happened to meet at the castle. She came there quite independently of me."

"Certainly I knew her. She is an old friend of mine. But if you are hinting . . ."

"Not at all," rejoined the earl, profoundly relieved. "Not at all. I ask merely because this young lady, with

whom I had some conversation, was good enough to give me her name and address. She, too, happened to

"That's odd. I was just reading a letter from her when you came in. That must be what she's referring to when

she says, 'If you see dadda, the old dear, tell him not to forget my roses.' I read it three times and couldn't

The earl smirked. "She did address me in the course of our conversation as dadda."

"Billie!" said Lord Marshmoreton softly. "I had better write it down. And her address?"

"I don't know her private address. But you could always reach her at the Regal Theatre."

"Very interesting. And you met Miss Dore through her being in this play of yours?"

"Oh, no. I knew her before she went on the stage. She was a stenographer in a musicpublisher's office when

What happened to come into Lord Marshmoreton's mind was a fleeting vision of Billie installed in Miss

Alice Faraday's place as his secretary. With such a helper it would be a pleasure to work on that infernal

Family History which was now such a bitter toil. But the daydream passed. He knew perfectly well that he

had not the courage to dismiss Alice. In the hands of that calmeyed girl he was as putty. She exercised over

"We have been pals for years," said George "Billie is one of the best fellows in the world."

"She may go out to lunch and supper and all that kind of thing, but there's nothing to that."

Lord Marshmoreton felt more drawn than ever to this sensible young mansensible, at least, on all points

but one. It was a pity they could not see eye to eye on what was and what was not suitable in the matter of the

Lord Marshmoreton gave a little sigh. "It's a long time since I went to see a musical performance. More than

twenty years. When I was up at Oxford, and for some years afterwards, I was a great theatregoer. Never

used to miss a first night at the Gaiety. Those were the days of Nellie Farren and Kate Vaughan. Florence St.

John, too. How excellent she was in Faust Up To Date! But we missed Nellie Farren. Meyer Lutz was the

Gaiety composer then. But a good deal of water has flowed under the bridge since those days. I don't suppose

"Johnnie Toole was playing a piece called Partners. Not a good play. And the Yeoman of the Guard had just

been produced at the Savoy. That makes it seem a long time ago, doesn't it? Well, I mustn't take up all your

time. Goodbye, Mr. Bevan. I am glad to have had the opportunity of this little talk. The Regal Theatre, I

think you said, is where your piece is playing? I shall probably be going to London shortly. I hope to see it."

Lord Marshmoreton rose. "As regards the other matter, there is no hope of inducing you to see the matter in

"Then there is nothing more to be said. I will be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Bevan. I like you . . ."

"But I don't want you as a soninlaw. And, dammit," exploded Lord Marshmoreton, "I won't have you as a

soninlaw! Good God! do you think that you can harry and assault my son Percy in the heart of Piccadilly

and generally make yourself a damned nuisance and then settle down here without an invitation at my very

gates and expect to be welcomed into the bosom of the family? If I were a young man . . ."

Lord Marshmoreton hesitated. Then with a rush he unbosomed himself, and made his own position on the

"I know what you'll be saying to yourself the moment my back is turned. You'll be calling me a stage heavy

father and an old snob and a number of other things. Don't interrupt me, dammit! You will, I tell you! And

you'll be wrong. I don't think the Marshmoretons are fenced off from the rest of the world by some sort of

divinity. My sister does. Percy does. But Percy's an ass! If ever you find yourself thinking differently from

"I know what you're going to say. Let me finish. If I were the only person concerned, I wouldn't stand in

Maud's way, whoever she wanted to marry, provided he was a good fellow and likely to make her happy. But

I'm not. There's my sister Caroline. There's a whole crowd of silly, cackling foolsmy sistersmy

sonsinlawall the whole pack of them! If I didn't oppose Maud in this damned infatuation she's got for

youif I stood by and let her marry youwhat do you think would happen to me?I'd never have a

moment's peace! The whole gabbling pack of them would be at me, saying I was to blame. There would be

arguments, discussions, family councils! I hate arguments! I loathe discussions! Family councils make me

sick! I'm a peaceable man, and I like a quiet life! And, damme, I'm going to have it. So there's the thing for

you in letters of one syllable. I don't object to you personally, but I'm not going to have you bothering me like

this. I'll admit freely that, since I have made your acquaintance, I have altered the unfavourable opinion I had

"Exactly the same with me," said George. "You ought never to believe what people tell you. Everyone told

"Be quiet! I say I have changed my opinion of you to a great extent. I mention this unofficially, as a matter

that has no bearing on the main issue; for, as regards any idea you may have of inducing me to agree to your

marrying my daughter, let me tell you that I am unalterably opposed to any such thing!"

"What the devil do you meandon't say that! I do say that! It is out of the question. Do you understand?

The door closed. Lord Marshmoreton walked away feeling that he had been commendably stern. George

filled his pipe and sat smoking thoughtfully. He wondered what Maud was doing at that moment.

Maud at that moment was greeting her brother with a bright smile, as he limped downstairs after a belated

"Oh, Percy, dear," she was saying, "I had quite an adventure this morning. An awful tramp followed me for

miles! Such a horriblelooking brute. I was so frightened that I had to ask a curate in the next village to drive

him away. I did wish I had had you there to protect me. Why don't you come out with me sometimes when I

The gift of hiding private emotion and keeping up appearances before strangers is not, as many suppose,

entirely a product of our modern civilization. Centuries before we were born or thought of there was a widely

pressagented boy in Sparta who even went so far as to let a fox gnaw his tender young stomach without

permitting the discomfort inseparable from such a proceeding to interfere with either his facial expression or

his flow of small talk. Historians have handed it down that, even in the later stages of the meal, the polite lad

continued to be the life and soul of the party. But, while this feat may be said to have established a record

never subsequently lowered, there is no doubt that almost every day in modem times men and women are

performing similar and scarcely less impressive miracles of selfrestraint. Of all the qualities which belong

exclusively to Man and are not shared by the lower animals, this surely is the one which marks him off most

sharply from the beasts of the field. Animals care nothing about keeping up appearances. Observe Bertram

the Bull when things are not going just as he could wish. He stamps. He snorts. He paws the ground. He

throws back his head and bellows. He is upset, and he doesn't care who knows it. Instances could be readily

multiplied. Deposit a charge of shot in some outlying section of Thomas the Tiger, and note the effect. Irritate

Wilfred the Wasp, or stand behind Maud the Mule and prod her with a pin. There is not an animal on the list

who has even a rudimentary sense of the social amenities; and it is this more than anything else which should

In the days which followed Lord Marshmoreton's visit to George at the cottage, not a few of the occupants of

Belpher Castle had their mettle sternly tested in this respect; and it is a pleasure to be able to record that not

one of them failed to come through the ordeal with success. The general public, as represented by the uncles,

cousins, and aunts who had descended on the place to help Lord Belpher celebrate his comingofage, had

not a notion that turmoil lurked behind the smooth fronts of at least half a dozen of those whom they met in

Lord Belpher, for example, though he limped rather painfully, showed nothing of the baffled fury which was

reducing his weight at the rate of ounces a day. His uncle Francis, the Bishop, when he tackled him in the

garden on the subject of Intemperancefor Uncle Francis, like thousands of others, had taken it for granted,

on reading the report of the encounter with the policeman and Percy's subsequent arrest, that the affair had

been the result of a drunken outbursthad no inkling of the volcanic emotions that seethed in his nephew's

bosom. He came away from the interview, indeed, feeling that the boy had listened attentively and with a

becoming regret, and that there was hope for him after all, provided that he fought the impulse. He little knew

that, but for the conventions (which frown on the practice of murdering bishops), Percy would gladly have

Lord Belpher's case, inasmuch as he took himself extremely seriously and was not one of those who can

extract humour even from their own misfortunes, was perhaps the hardest which comes under our notice; but

his sister Maud was also experiencing mental disquietude of no mean order. Everything had gone wrong with

Maud. Barely a mile separated her from George, that essential link in her chain of communication with

Geoffrey Raymond; but so thickly did it bristle with obstacles and dangers that it might have been a mile of

No Man's Land. Twice, since the occasion when the discovery of Lord Marshmoreton at the cottage had

caused her to abandon her purpose of going in and explaining everything to George, had she attempted to

make the journey; and each time some trifling, maddening accident had brought about failure. Once, just as

she was starting, her aunt Augusta had insisted on joining her for what she described as "a nice long walk";

and the second time, when she was within a bare hundred yards of her objective, some sort of a cousin

Foiled in this fashion, she had fallen back in desperation on her second line of attack. She had written a note

to George, explaining the whole situation in good, clear phrases and begging him as a man of proved chivalry

to help her. It had taken up much of one afternoon, this note, for it was not easy to write; and it had resulted

in nothing. She had given it to Albert to deliver and Albert had returned emptyhanded.

"No answer, m'lady. Those was his very words," stoutly maintained the blacksouled boy, who had destroyed

the letter within two minutes after it had been handed to him. He had not even bothered to read it. A deep,

dangerous, dastardly stripling this, who fought to win and only to win. The ticket marked "R. Byng" was in

his pocket, and in his ruthless heart a firm resolve that R. Byng and no other should have the benefit of his

Maud could not understand it. That is to say, she resolutely kept herself from accepting the only explanation

of the episode that seemed possible. In black and white she had asked George to go to London and see

Geoffrey and arrange for the passagethrough himself as a sort of clearinghouseof letters between

Geoffrey and herself. She had felt from the first that such a request should be made by her in person and not

through the medium of writing, but surely it was incredible that a man like George, who had been through so

much for her and whose only reason for being in the neighbourhood was to help her, could have coldly

refused without even a word. And yet what else was she to think? Now, more than ever, she felt alone in a

Yet, to her guests she was bright and entertaining. Not one of them had a suspicion that her life was not one

Albert, I am happy to say, was thoroughly miserable. The little brute was suffering torments. He was

showering anonymous Advice to the Lovelorn on Reggie Byngexcellent stuff, culled from the pages of

weekly papers, of which there was a pile in the housekeeper's room, the property of a sentimental lady's

maidand nothing seemed to come of it. Every day, sometimes twice and thrice a day, he would leave on

Reggie's dressingtable significant notes similar in tone to the one which he had placed there on the night of

the ball; but, for all the effect they appeared to exercise on their recipient, they might have been blank pages.

The choicest quotations from the works of such established writers as "Aunt Charlotte" of ForgetMeNot

and "Doctor Cupid", the heartexpert of Home Chat, expended themselves fruitlessly on Reggie. As far as

Albert could ascertainand he was one of those boys who ascertain practically everything within a radius of

And this after reading "Doctor Cupid's" invaluable tip about "Seeking her company on all occasions" and the

dictum of "Aunt Charlotte" to the effect that "Many a wooer has won his lady by being persistent"Albert

spelled it "persistuent" but the effect is the same"and rendering himself indispensable by constant little

attentions". So far from rendering himself indispensable to Maud by constant little attentions, Reggie, to the

disgust of his backer and supporter, seemed to spend most of his time with Alice Faraday. On three separate

occasions had Albert been revolted by the sight of his protege in close association with the Faraday

girlonce in a boat on the lake and twice in his grey car. It was enough to break a boy's heart; and it

completely spoiled Albert's appetitea phenomenon attributed, I am glad to say, in the Servants' Hall to

reaction from recent excesses. The moment when Keggs, the butler, called him a greedy little pig and hoped

it would be a lesson to him not to stuff himself at all hours with stolen cakes was a bitter moment for Albert.

It is a relief to turn from the contemplation of these tortured souls to the pleasanter picture presented by Lord

Marshmoreton. Here, undeniably, we have a man without a secret sorrow, a man at peace with this best of all

possible worlds. Since his visit to George a second youth seems to have come upon Lord Marshmoreton. He

works in his rosegarden with a new vim, whistling or even singing to himself stray gay snatches of melodies

Hear him now as he toils. He has a long gardenimplement in his hand, and he is sending up the deathrate

And the boom is a deathknell. As it rings softly out on the pleasant spring air, another stout slug has made

It is peculiar, this gaiety. It gives one to think. Others have noticed it, his lordship's valet amongst them.

"I give you my honest word, Mr. Keggs," says the valet, awed, "this very morning I 'eard the old devil

"And only last night 'e gave me 'arf a box of cigars and said I was a good, faithful feller! I tell you, there's

Over this complex situation the mind of Keggs, the butler, played like a searchlight. Keggs was a man of

discernment and sagacity. He had instinct and reasoning power. Instinct told him that Maud, all unsuspecting

the change that had taken place in Albert's attitude toward her romance, would have continued to use the boy

as a link between herself and George: and reason, added to an intimate knowledge of Albert, enabled him to

see that the latter must inevitably have betrayed her trust. He was prepared to bet a hundred pounds that

Albert had been given letters to deliver and had destroyed them. So much was clear to Keggs. It only

remained to settle on some plan of action which would reestablish the broken connection. Keggs did not

conceal a tender heart beneath a rugged exterior: he did not mourn over the picture of two loving fellow

human beings separated by a misunderstanding; but he did want to win that sweepstake.

His position, of course, was delicate. He could not got to Maud and beg her to confide in him. Maud would

not understand his motives, and might leap to the not unjustifiable conclusion that he had been at the sherry.

No! Men were easier to handle than women. As soon as his duties would permitand in the present crowded

"I trust I do not disturb or interrupt you, sir," he said, beaming in the doorway like a benevolent high priest.

He had doffed his professional manner of austere disapproval, as was his Custom in moments of leisure.

"I would not take the liberty, if it is all the same to you, sir. I would prefer to remain standing."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable, that is to say, on the part of George, who was

wondering if the butler remembered having engaged him as a waiter only a few nights back. Keggs himself

"Might I begin by remarking that your little affair of the 'eart, if I may use the expression, is no secret in the

Servants' 'All? I 'ave no wish to seem to be taking a liberty or presuming, but I should like to intimate that the

"You don't have to tell me that," said George coldly. "I know all about the sweepstake."

A flicker of embarrassment passed over the butler's large, smooth facepassed, and was gone.

"I did not know that you 'ad been apprised of that little matter, sir. But you will doubtless understand and

appreciate our point of view. A little sporting flutternothing moredesigned to halleviate the monotony of

"Oh, don't apologize," said George, and was reminded of a point which had exercised him a little from time

to time since his vigil on the balcony. "By the way, if it isn't giving away secrets, who drew Plummer?"

"I rather fancy, sir," Keggs' brow wrinkled in thought, "I rather fancy it was one of the visiting gentlemen's

gentlemen. I gave the point but slight attention at the time. I did not fancy Mr. Plummer's chances. It seemed

"Indeed, sir! An amiable young gentleman, but lacking in many of the essential qualities. Perhaps he struck

"It entered my mind that you might possibly have encountered Mr. Plummer on the night of the ball, sir."

"I remember you perfectly, sir, and it was the fact that we had already met in what one might almost term a

social way that emboldened me to come 'ere today and offer you my services as a hintermediary, should you

"Precisely, sir. I fancy I am in a position to lend you what might be termed an 'elping 'and."

"I say that is very generous of you. Aren't you forgetting that you drew Mr. Byng?"

"You are not quite abreast of the progress of events, sir. Since the original drawing of names, there 'as been a

trifling hadjustment. The boy Albert now 'as Mr. Byng and I 'ave you, sir. A little amicable arrangement

"Precisely, sir. All this while 'er ladyship, under the impression that the boy Albert was devoted to 'er cause,

has no doubt been placing a misguided confidence in 'im . . . The little blighter!" said Keggs, abandoning for

a moment his company manners and permitting vehemence to take the place of polish. "I beg your pardon for

"You think that Lady Maud gave Albert a letter to give to me, and that he destroyed it?"

"Such, I should imagine, must undoubtedly have been the case. The boy 'as no scruples, no scruples

"To my way of thinking there is no doubt of it. It was for that reason that I ventured to come 'ere. In the 'ope

The strong distaste which George had had for plotting with this overfed menial began to wane. It might be

undignified, he told himself but it was undeniably practical. And, after all, a man who has plotted with

pageboys has little dignity to lose by plotting with butlers. He brightened up. If it meant seeing Maud again

"It being a rainy evening and everyone indoors playing games and what not,"Keggs was amiably tolerant

of the recreations of the aristocracy"you would experience little chance of a hinterruption, were you to

proceed to the lane outside the heast entrance of the castle grounds and wait there. You will find in the field

at the roadside a small disused barn only a short way from the gates, where you would be sheltered from the

rain. In the meantime, I would hinform 'er ladyship of your movements, and no doubt it would be possible for

"It is all right, sir. The chances of a hinterruption may be said to be reduced to a minimum. Shall we say in

"Then I will wish you good evening, sir. Thank you, sir. I am glad to 'ave been of assistance."

He withdrew as he had come, with a large impressiveness. The room seemed very empty without him.

For some minutes after he had set foot outside the door of the cottage, George was inclined to revile the

weather for having played him false. On this evening of all evenings, he felt, the elements should, so to

speak, have rallied round and done their bit. The air should have been soft and clear and scented: there should

have been an afterglow of sunset in the sky to light him on his way. Instead, the air was full of that peculiar

smell of hopeless dampness which comes at the end of a wet English day. The sky was leaden. The rain

hissed down in a steady flow, whispering of mud and desolation, making a dreary morass of the lane through

which he tramped. A curious sense of foreboding came upon George. It was as if some voice of the night had

murmured maliciously in his ear a hint of troubles to come. He felt oddly nervous, as he entered the barn.

The barn was both dark and dismal. In one of the dark corners an intermittent dripping betrayed the presence

of a gap in its ancient roof. A rat scurried across the floor. The dripping stopped and began again. George

struck a match and looked at his watch. He was early. Another ten minutes must elapse before he could hope

for her arrival. He sat down on a broken wagon which lay on its side against one of the walls.

Depression returned. It was impossible to fight against it in this beast of a barn. The place was like a

sepulchre. No one but a fool of a butler would have suggested it as a trystingplace. He wondered irritably

why places like this were allowed to get into this condition. If people wanted a barn earnestly enough to take

the trouble of building one, why was it not worth while to keep the thing in proper repair? Waste and futility!

That was what it was. That was what everything was, if you came down to it. Sitting here, for instance, was a

futile waste of time. She wouldn't come. There were a dozen reasons why she should not come. So what was

the use of his courting rheumatism by waiting in this morgue of dead agricultural ambitions? None

And what an awful place to expect her to come to, if by some miracle she did comewhere she would be

stifled by the smell of mouldy hay, damped by raindrops andreflected George gloomily as there was

another scurry and scutter along the unseen floorgnawed by rats. You could not expect a

delicatelynurtured girl, accustomed to all the comforts of a home, to be bright and sunny with a platoon of

George sprang up. At the sound of her voice every nerve in his body danced in mad exhilaration. He was

another man. Depression fell from him like a garment. He perceived that he had misjudged all sorts of things.

The evening, for instance, was a splendid eveningnot one of those awful dry, baking evenings which make

you feel you can't breathe, but pleasantly moist and full of a delightfully musical patter of rain. And the barn!

He had been all wrong about the barn. It was a great little place, comfortable, airy, and cheerful. What could

be more invigorating than that smell of hay? Even the rats, he felt, must be pretty decent rats, when you came

Maud advanced quickly. His eyes had grown accustomed to the murk, and he could see her dimly. The smell

of her damp raincoat came to him like a breath of ozone. He could even see her eyes shining in the darkness,

George's heart was thundering against his ribs. He could scarcely speak. He contrived to emit a No.

"I didn't think at first I could get away. I had to . . ." She broke off with a cry. The rat, fond of exercise like all

A hand clutched nervously at George's arm, found it and held it. And at the touch the last small fragment of

George's selfcontrol fled from him. The world became vague and unreal. There remained of it but one solid

factthe fact that Maud was in his arms and that he was saying a number of things very rapidly in a voice

With a shock of dismay so abrupt and overwhelming that it was like a physical injury, George became aware

that something was wrong. Even as he gripped her, Maud had stiffened with a sharp cry; and now she was

struggling, trying to wrench herself free. She broke away from him. He could hear her breathing hard.

There was a pause that seemed to George to stretch on and on endlessly. The rain pattered on the leafy roof.

Somewhere in the distance a dog howled dismally. The darkness pressed down like a blanket, stifling

"Good night, Mr. Bevan." Her voice was ice. "I didn't think you werethat kind of man."

She was moving toward the door; and, as she reached it, George's stupor left him. He came back to life with a

jerk, shaking from head to foot. All his varied emotions had become one emotiona cold fury.

Maud stopped. Her chin was tilted, and she was wasting a baleful glare on the darkness.

Her tone increased George's wrath. The injustice of it made him dizzy. At that moment he hated her. He was

the injured party. It was he, not she, that had been deceived and made a fool of.

By the exercise of supreme selfcontrol George kept himself from speaking until he could choose milder

Maud's anger became tinged with surprise. Now that the first shock of the wretched episode was over, the

calmer half of her mind was endeavouring to soothe the infuriated half by urging that George's behaviour had

been but a momentary lapse, and that a man may lose his head for one wild instant, and yet remain

fundamentally a gentleman and a friend. She had begun to remind herself that this man had helped her once

in trouble, and only a day or two before had actually risked his life to save her from embarrassment. When

she heard him call to her to stop, she supposed that his better feelings had reasserted themselves; and she had

prepared herself to receive with dignity a broken, stammered apology. But the voice that had just spoken with

a crisp, biting intensity was not the voice of remorse. It was a very angry man, not a penitent one, who was

"Well?" she said again, more coldly this time. She was quite unable to understand this attitude of his. She was

"I haven't the slightest intention of apologizing. I said I would like to explain. When I have finished

"Then, perhaps, you will be kind enough to listen. I won't detain you long. My explanation is quite simple. I

have been made a fool of. I seem to be in the position of the tinker in the play whom everybody conspired to

delude into the belief that he was a king. First a friend of yours, Mr. Byng, came to me and told me that you

Maud gasped. Either this man was mad, or Reggie Byng was. She choose the politer solution.

"So I supposed. At least, I imagined that he must be mistaken. But a man in love is an optimistic fool, of

"So after a while," proceeded George, ignoring the interruption, "I almost persuaded myself that miracles

could still happen, and that what Byng said was true. And when your father called on me and told me the very

same thing I was convinced. It seemed incredible, but I had to believe it. Now it seems that, for some

inscrutable reason, both Byng and your father were making a fool of me. That's all. Good night."

Maud's reply was the last which George or any man would have expected. There was a moment's silence, and

then she burst into a peal of laughter. It was the laughter of overstrained nerves, but to George's ears it had

"I'm glad you find my story entertaining," he said dryly. He was convinced now that he loathed this girl, and

that all he desired was to see her go out of his life for ever. "Later, no doubt, the funny side of it will hit me.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Mr. Bevan. It wasn't that. It wasn't that at all. Oh, I am so sorry. I don't know why I

laughed. It certainly wasn't because I thought it funny. It's tragic. There's been a dreadful mistake!"

"I noticed that," said George bitterly. The darkness began to afflict his nerves. "I wish to God we had some

"I brought it to see my way back with," said Maud in a curious, small voice. "It's very dark across the fields. I

She came towards him, holding the torch over her head. The beam showed her face, troubled and

sympathetic, and at the sight all George's resentment left him. There were mysteries here beyond his

unravelling, but of one thing he was certain: this girl was not to blame. She was a thoroughbred, as straight as

"I came here to tell you everything," she said. She placed the torch on the wagonwheel so that its ray fell in

a pool of light on the ground between them. "I'll do it now. Onlyonly it isn't so easy now. Mr. Bevan,

there's a manthere's a man that father and Reggie Byng mistookthey thought . . . You see, they knew it

was you that I was with that day in the cab, and so they naturally thought, when you came down here, that

George could feel nothing but sympathy. It mastered other emotion in him, even the grey despair that had

"I met him in Wales last year." Maud's voice was a whisper. "The family found out, and I was hurried back

here, and have been here ever since. That day when I met you I had managed to slip away from home. I had

found out that he was in London, and I was going to meet him. Then I saw Percy, and got into your cab. It's

His heart ached like a living wound. She had told so and he could guess so much. This unknown man who

"You mustn't feel like that. How can I help you? That's the point. What is it you want me to do?"

George managed to laugh. It was a laugh that did not sound convincing even to himself, but it served.

"That's morbid," he said. "Be sensible. You need help, and I may be able to give it. Surely a man isn't barred

for ever from doing you a service just because he happens to love you? Suppose you were drowning and Mr.

"You've not forgotten that I was a reluctant earwitness to his recent proposal of marriage?"

"Oh!" George understood. "Oh, no, hardly at all. A few scratches. I scraped my hands a little."

"It was a wonderful thing to do," said Maud, her admiration glowing for a man who could treat such a leap so

lightly. She had always had a private theory that Lord Leonard, after performing the same feat, had bragged

"No, no, nothing," said George, who had since wondered why he had ever made such a todo about climbing

"We are wandering from the main theme," he said. "I want to help you. I came here at enormous expense to

"You see, the whole trouble is that I can't get in touch with Geoffrey. He's in London, and I'm here. And any

chance I might have of getting to London vanished that day I met you, when Percy saw me in Piccadilly."

"So then it was worse then ever," continued Maud. "I daren't risk writing to Geoffrey and having the letter

intercepted. I was wonderingI had the idea almost as soon as I found that you had come here"

"You want me to take a letter from you and see that it reaches him. And then he can write back to my

"Why, it's nothing. I thought you were going to ask me to look in on your brother and smash another of his

Maud laughed delightedly. The whole tension of the situation had been eased for her. More and more she

found herself liking George. Yet, deep down in her, she realized with a pang that for him there had been no

easing of the situation. She was sad for George. The Plummers of this world she had consigned to what they

declared would be perpetual sorrow with scarcely a twinge of regret. But George was different.

"Poor Percy!" she said. "I don't suppose he'll ever get over it. He will have other hats, but it won't be the

same." She came back to the subject nearest her heart. "Mr. Bevan, I wonder if you would do just a little

"Could you go to Geoffrey, and see him, and tell him all about me andand come back and tell me how he

"I never told you. How stupid of me. His name is Geoffrey Raymond, and he lives with his uncle, Mr. Wilbur

George got up. The movement seemed to put him in touch with the outer world. He noticed that the rain had

stopped, and that stars had climbed into the oblong of the doorway. He had an impression that he had been in

the barn a very long time; and confirmed this with a glance at his watch, though the watch, he felt,

understated the facts by the length of several centuries. He was abstaining from too close an examination of

his emotions from a prudent feeling that he was going to suffer soon enough without assistance from himself.

"I think you had better be going back," he said. "It's rather late. They may be missing you."

"I don't mind now what they do. But I suppose dinners must be dressed for, whatever happens." They moved

together to the door. "What a lovely night after all! I never thought the rain would stop in this world. It's like

He wondered if there would be any allusion to the earlier passages of their interview. There was none. Maud

was of the class whose education consists mainly of a training in the delicate ignoring of delicate situations.

George admired her. The little touch of formality which she had contrived to impart to the conversation

struck just the right note, created just the atmosphere which would enable them to part without weighing too

She moved off quickly across the field. Darkness covered her. The dog in the distance had begun to howl

Trouble sharpens the vision. In our moments of distress we can see clearly that what is wrong with this world

of ours is the fact that Misery loves company and seldom gets it. Toothache is an unpleasant ailment; but, if

toothache were a natural condition of life, if all mankind were afflicted with toothache at birth, we should not

notice it. It is the freedom from aching teeth of all those with whom we come in contact that emphasizes the

agony. And, as with toothache, so with trouble. Until our private affairs go wrong, we never realize how

bubbling over with happiness the bulk of mankind seems to be. Our aching heart is apparently nothing but a

George, waking next morning with a heavy heart, made this discovery before the day was an hour old. The

sun was shining, and birds sang merrily, but this did not disturb him. Nature is ever callous to human woes,

laughing while we weep; and we grow to take her callousness for granted. What jarred upon George was the

infernal cheerfulness of his fellow men. They seemed to be doing it on purposetriumphing over

himglorying in the fact, that, however Fate might have shattered him, they were all right.

People were happy who had never been happy before. Mrs. Platt, for instance. A grey, depressed woman of

middle age, she had seemed hitherto to have few pleasures beyond breaking dishes and relating the symptoms

of sick neighbours who were not expected to live through the week. She now sang. George could hear her as

she prepared his breakfast in the kitchen. At first he had had a hope that she was moaning with pain; but this

was dispelled when he had finished his toilet and proceeded downstairs. The sounds she emitted suggested

anguish, but the words, when he was able to distinguish them, told another story. Incredible as it might seem,

on this particular morning Mrs. Platt had elected to be lighthearted. What she was singing sounded like a

dirge, but actually it was "Stop your tickling, Jock!" And. later, when she brought George his coffee and

eggs, she spent a full ten minutes prattling as he tried to read his paper, pointing out to him a number of

merry murders and sprightly suicides which otherwise he might have missed. The woman went out of her

way to show him that for her, if not for less fortunate people, God this morning was in His heaven and all was

Two tramps of supernatural exuberance called at the cottage shortly after breakfast to ask George, whom they

had never even consulted about their marriages, to help support their wives and children. Nothing could have

And then Reggie Byng arrived in his grey racing car, more cheerful than any of them.

Fate could not have mocked George more subtly. A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things,

and the sight of Reggie in that room reminded him that on the last occasion when they had talked together

across this same table it was he who had been in a Fool's Paradise and Reggie who had borne a weight of

care. Reggie this morning was brighter than the shining sun and gayer than the carolling birds.

"HulloulloulloulloulloulloulLo! Topping morning, isn't it!" observed Reggie. "The sunshine! The

birds! The absolute whatdoyoucallit of everything and so forth, and all that sort of thing, if you know

George, who felt older than this by some ninetyeight years, groaned in spirit. This was more than man was

"I say," continued Reggie, absently reaching out for a slice of bread and smearing it with marmalade, "this

business of marriage, now, and all that species of rot! What I mean to say is, what about it? Not a bad

George writhed. The knife twisted in the wound. Surely it was bad enough to see a happy man eating bread

"Well, anyhow, be that as it may," said Reggie, biting jovially and speaking in a thick but joyous voice. "I'm

getting married today, and chance it. This morning, this very morning, I leap off the dock!"

"Thanks, old man. And not without reason. I'm the luckiest fellow alive. I hardly knew I was alive till now."

"I should jolly well say it is sudden! It's got to be sudden. Dashed sudden and deuced secret! If the mater

were to hear of it, there's no doubt whatever she would form a flying wedge and bust up the proceedings with

no uncertain voice. You see, laddie, it's Miss Faraday I'm marrying, and the materdear old soulhas other

ideas for Reginald. Life's a rummy thing, isn't it! What I mean to say is, it's rummy, don't you know, and all

"Who'd have thought, a week ago, that I'd be sitting in this jolly old chair asking you to be my best man?

Why, a week ago I didn't know you, and, if anybody had told me Alice Faraday was going to marry me, I'd

"Absolutely, if you don't mind. You see," said Reggie confidentially, "it's like this. I've got lots of pals, of

course, buzzing about all over London and its outskirts, who'd be glad enough to rally round and join the

executionsquad; but you know how it is. Their maters are all pals of my mater, and I don't want to get them

into trouble for aiding and abetting my little show, if you understand what I mean. Now, you're different. You

don't know the mater, so it doesn't matter to you if she rolls around and puts the Curse of the Byngs on you,

and all that sort of thing. Besides, I don't know." Reggie mused. "Of course, this is the happiest day of my

life," he proceeded, "and I'm not saying it isn't, but you know how it isthere's absolutely no doubt that a

chappie does not show at his best when he's being married. What I mean to say is, he's more or less bound to

look a fearful ass. And I'm perfectly certain it would put me right off my stroke if I felt that some chump like

Jack Ferris or Ronnie Fitzgerald was trying not to giggle in the background. So, if you will be a sportsman

and come and hold my hand till the thing's over, I shall be eternally grateful."

"In London. Alice sneaked off there last night. It was easy, as it happened, because by a bit of luck old

Marshmoreton had gone to town yesterday morningnobody knows why: he doesn't go up to London more

than a couple of times a year. She's going to meet me at the Savoy, and then the scheme was to toddle round

to the nearest registrar and request the lad to unleash the marriage service. I'm whizzing up in the car, and I'm

George reflected. He liked Reggie, and there was no particular reason in the world why he should not give

him aid and comfort in this crisis. True, in his present frame of mind, it would be torture to witness a wedding

"Stout fellow! I don't know how to thank you. It isn't putting you out or upsetting your plans, I hope, or

"Well, you can't get there quicker than in my car. She's a hummer. By the way, I forgot to ask. How is your

"Of course, your trouble isn't like mine was. What I mean is, Maud loves you, and all that, and all you've got

to think out is a scheme for laying the jolly old family a stymie. It's a pityalmostthat yours isn't a case of

having to win the girl, like me; because by Jove, laddie," said Reggie with solemn emphasis, "I could help

"You have? You're a useful fellow to have around. I wish you would tell me what it is."

"We ought to be shifting in a quarter of an hour or so. I don't want to be late. It appears that there's a catch of

some sort in this business of getting married. As far as I can make out, if you roll in after a certain hour, the

Johnnie in charge of the proceedings gives you the missinbaulk, and you have to turn up again next day.

However, we shall be all right unless we have a breakdown, and there's not much chance of that. I've been

tuning up the old car since seven this morning, and she's sound in wind and limb, absolutely.

Oilpetrolwaterairnutsboltssprockets carburetterall present and correct. I've been

looking after them like a lot of baby sisters. Well, as I was saying, I've got the dope. A week ago I was just

one of the mugsdidn't know a thing about itbut now! Gaze on me, laddie! You see before you old

Colonel Romeo, the Man who Knows! It all started on the night of the ball. There was the dickens of a big

ball, you know, to celebrate old Boots' comingofageto which, poor devil, he contributed nothing but the

sunshine of his smile, never having learned to dance. On that occasion a most rummy and extraordinary thing

happened. I got pickled to the eyebrows!" He laughed happily. "I don't mean that that was a unique

occurrence and so forth, because, when I was a bachelor, it was rather a habit of mine to get a trifle

submerged every now and again on occasions of decent mirth and festivity. But the rummy thing that night

was that I showed it. Up till then, I've been told by experts, I was a chappie in whom it was absolutely

impossible to detect the symptoms. You might get a bit suspicious if you found I couldn't move, but you

could never be certain. On the night of the ball, however, I suppose I had been filling the radiator a trifle too

enthusiastically. You see, I had deliberately tried to shove myself more or less below the surface in order to

get enough nerve to propose to Alice. I don't know what your experience has been, but mine is that

proposing's a thing that simply isn't within the scope of a man who isn't moderately woozled. I've often

wondered how marriages ever occur in the dry States of America. Well, as I was saying, on the night of the

"Absolutely not! That was the rummy part of it. He looked as like you as your twin brother."

"No, I know what you mean, but what I mean to say is he looked just like your twin brother would have

looked if you had had a twin brother. Well, I had a word or two with this chappie, and after a brief

conversation it was borne in upon me that I was up to the gills. Alice was with me at the time, and noticed it

too. Now you'd have thought that that would have put a girl off a fellow, and all that. But no. Nobody could

have been more sympathetic. And she has confided to me since that it was seeing me in my oiled condition

that really turned the scale. What I mean is, she made up her mind to save me from myself. You know how

some girls are. Angels absolutely! Always on the look out to pluck brands from the burning, and what not.

"Is that your recipe, then? You would advise the wouldbe bridegroom to buy a case of champagne and a

wedding licence and get to work? After that it would be all over except sending out the invitations?"

"Not at all. You need a lot more than that. That's only the start. You've got to follow up the good work, you

see. That's where a number of chappies would slip up, and I'm pretty certain I should have slipped up myself,

but for another singularly rummy occurrence. Have you ever had a whatdoyoucall it? What's the word I

"No, no. Nothing like that. I don't mean anything you getI mean something you get, if you know what I

"Anonymous letter. That's what I was trying to say. It's a most extraordinary thing, and I can't understand

even now where the deuce they came from, but just about then I started to get a whole bunch of anonymous

"Absolutely. I used to get two or three a day sometimes. Whenever I went up to my room, I'd find another

"These weren't. Not at all, and quite the reverse. They contained a series of perfectly topping tips on how a

"They were great! Real redhot stuff straight from the stable. Priceless tips like 'Make yourself indispensable

to her in little ways', 'Study her tastes', and so on and so forth. I tell you, laddie, I pretty soon stopped

worrying about who was sending them to me, and concentrated the old bean on acting on them. They worked

like magic. The last one came yesterday morning, and it was a topper! It was all about how a chappie who

was nervous should proceed. Technical stuff, you know, about holding her hand and telling her you're lonely

and being sincere and straightforward and letting your heart dictate the rest. Have you ever asked for one card

when you wanted to fill a royal flush and happened to pick out the necessary ace? I did once, when I was up

at Oxford, and, by Jove, this letter gave me just the same thrill. I didn't hesitate. I just sailed in. I was cold

sober, but I didn't worry about that. Something told me I couldn't lose. It was like having to hole out a

threeinch putt. Andwell, there you are, don't you know." Reggie became thoughtful. "Dash it all! I'd like

to know who the fellow was who sent me those letters. I'd like to send him a weddingpresent or a bit of the

cake or something. Though I suppose there won't be any cake, seeing the thing's taking place at a registrar's."

"Well, I shall never know, I suppose. And now how about trickling forth? I say, laddie, you don't object if I

sing slightly from time to time during the journey? I'm so dashed happy, you know."

"It's a rummy thing," he said meditatively, "I've just remembered that, when I was at school, I used to sing a

thing called the what'sit'sname's wedding song. At housesuppers, don't you know, and what not. Jolly

little thing. I daresay you know it. It starts 'Ding dong! Ding dong!' or words to that effect, 'Hurry along! For

it is my weddingmorning!' I remember you had to stretch out the 'mor' a bit. Deuced awkward, if you hadn't

laid in enough breath. 'The Yeoman's WeddingSong.' That was it. I knew it was some chappie or other's.

And it went on 'And the bride in something or other is doing something I can't recollect.' Well, what I mean

is, now it's my weddingmorning! Rummy, when you come to think of it, what? Well, as it's getting tolerable

"Thank you, laddie, no. Dashed dangerous stuff, rice! Worse than shrapnel. Got your hat? All set?"

"Then let the revels commence," said Reggie. "Ding dong! Ding Dong! Hurry along! For it is my

weddingmorning! And the bride Dash it, I wish I could remember what the bride was doing!"

"Probably writing you a note to say that she's changed her mind, and it's all off."

Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Byng, seated at a table in the corner of the Regent GrillRoom, gazed fondly into

each other's eyes. George, seated at the same table, but feeling many miles away, watched them moodily,

fighting to hold off a depression which, cured for a while by the exhilaration of the ride in Reggie's

racingcar (it had beaten its previous record for the trip to London by nearly twenty minutes), now threatened

to return. The gay scene, the ecstasy of Reggie, the more restrained but equally manifest happiness of his

bridethese things induced melancholy in George. He had not wished to attend the weddinglunch, but the

happy pair seemed to be revolted at the idea that he should stroll off and get a bite to eat somewhere else.

"Stick by us, laddie," Reggie had said pleadingly, "for there is much to discuss, and we need the counsel of a

"But that, as the blighters say in books, is but a beginning, not an end. We have now to think out the most

"And Lord Marshmoreton," amended Reggie. "And about a million other people who'll be most frightfully

peeved at my doing the Wedding Glide without consulting them. Stick by us, old top. Join our simple meal.

The arrival of a waiter with dishes broke up the silent communion between husband and wife, and lowered

Reggie to a more earthly plane. He refilled the glasses from the stout bottle that nestled in the icebucket("

Only this one, dear!" murmured the bride in a warning undertone, and "All right darling!" replied the dutiful

"Cheerio! Here's to us all! Maddest, merriest day of all the glad New year and so forth. And now," he

continued, becoming sternly practical, "about the good old sequel and aftermath, so to speak, of this little

binge of ours. What's to be done. You're a brainy sort of feller, Bevan, old man, and we look to you for

"Didn't I tell you he would have some devilish shrewd scheme?" he said enthusiastically to Alice. "Write her

a letter! What could be better? Poetry, by Gad!" His face clouded. "But what would you say in it? That's a

"Not at all. Be perfectly frank and straightforward. Say you are sorry to go against her wishes"

"Wishes," murmured Reggie, scribbling industrially on the back of the marriage licence.

"Never mind, Reggie," put in Alice. "Say it, anyhow. Mr. Bevan is perfectly right."

"Mrs. Byng!" Reggie smiled fatuously. "I don't think I ever heard anything that sounded so indescribably

"Lady Caroline has seen me at the castle," said his bride doubtfully, "but I shouldn't say she knows me. She

"There," said Reggie, earnestly, "you're in luck, dear heart! The mater's a great speaker, especially in

moments of excitement. I'm not looking forward to the time when she starts on me. Between ourselves,

laddie, and meaning no disrespect to the dear soul, when the mater is moved and begins to talk, she uses up

"You mean has the mater the first call on the family doubloons?" said Reggie. "Oh, absolutely not! You see,

when I call her the mater, it's using the word in a loose sense, so to speak. She's my stepmother really. She

has her own little collection of pieces of eight, and I have mine. That part's simple enough."

"Why, now you put it like that," he exclaimed, "I can see that I jolly well am! It's an amazing thing, you

know, habit and all that. I've been so accustomed for years to jumping through hoops and shamming dead

when the mater lifted a little finger, that it absolutely never occurred to me that I had a soul of my Own. I

"Mr. Bevan means that now you've got to jump through hoops and sham dead when I lift a little finger!"

"Blessums 'ittle finger! It shall lift it and have 'ums Reggie jumping through. . . ." He broke off and tendered

George a manly apology. "Sorry, old top! Forgot myself for the moment. Shan't occur again! Have another

"Now that you've lifted the frightful weight of the mater off my mind, dear old lad," he said, puffing

luxuriously, "I find myself surveying the future in a calmer spirit. It seems to me that the best thing to do, as

regards the mater and everybody else, is simply to prolong the merry weddingtrip till Time the Great Healer

has had a chance to cure the wound. Alice wants to put in a week or so in Paris. . . ."

"No, no, not Monte Carlo," said Reggie hastily, "though it's a great place. Airsceneryand what not! But

Nice and Bordighera and Mentone and other fairly ripe resorts. You'd enjoy them. And after that . . . I had a

scheme for buying back my yacht, the jolly old Siren, and cruising about the Mediterranean for a month or

so. I sold her to a local sportsman when I was in America a couple of years ago. But I saw in the paper

yesterday that the poor old buffer had died suddenly, so I suppose it would be difficult to get hold of her for

Both his companions were looking past him, wideeyed. George occupied the chair that had its back to the

door, and was unable to see what it was that had caused their consternation; but he deduced that someone

known to both of them must have entered the restaurant; and his first thought, perhaps naturally, was that it

must be Reggie's "mater". Reggie dived behind a menu, which he held before him like a shield, and his bride,

after one quick look, had turned away so that her face was hidden. George swung around, but the newcomer,

whoever he or she was, was now seated and indistinguishable from the rest of the lunchers.

Reggie laid down the menu with the air of one who after a momentary panic rallies.

"Don't know what I'm making such a fuss about," he said stoutly. "I keep forgetting that none of these

blighters really matter in the scheme of things. I've a good mind to go over and pass the time of day."

"Great Scott, no!" said Reggie. "Nothing so bad as that. It's old Marshmoreton."

"I feel so awful, Mr. Bevan," said Alice. "You know, I left the castle without a word to anyone, and he

doesn't know yet that there won't be any secretary waiting for him when he gets back."

"It's all right, darling. Don't worry. We can nip off secretly by the other door. He's not going to stop us. He's

got a girl with him! The old boy has come to lifeabsolutely! He's gassing away sixteen to the dozen to a

frightfully pretty girl with gold hair. If you slew the old bean round at an angle of about fortyfive, Bevan,

old top, you can see her. Take a look. He won't see you. He's got his back to us."

"Now that I take a good look, precious," replied Reggie with alacrity, "no! Absolutely not! Not my style at

"I think she must know you, Reggie dear," she said softly. "She's waving to you."

"She's waving to ME," said George, bringing back the sunshine to Reggie's life, and causing the latter's face

"Old man," said Reggie, "be a good fellow and slide over to their table and cover our retreat. I know there's

"Goodbye, Bevan old thing, you're a ripper. I can't tell you how bucked up I am at the sportsmanlike way

you've rallied round. I'll do the same for you one of these days. Just hold the old boy in play for a minute or

two while we leg it. And, if he wants us, tell him our address till further notice is Paris. What ho! What ho!

George threaded his way across the room. Billie Dore welcomed him with a friendly smile. The earl, who had

turned to observe his progress, seemed less delighted to see him. His weatherbeaten face wore an almost

furtive look. He reminded George of a schoolboy who has been caught in some breach of the law.

"Fancy seeing you here, George!" said Billie. "We're always meeting, aren't we? How did you come to

separate yourself from the pigs and chickens? I thought you were never going to leave them."

"I had to run up on business," explained George. "How are you, Lord Marshmoreton?"

"Lord Marshmoreton was kind enough to call on me the other morning and drop the incognito."

"Isn't dadda the foxiest old thing!" said Billie delightedly. "Imagine him standing there that day in the garden,

kidding us along like that! I tell you, when they brought me his card last night after the first act and I went

down to take a slant at this Lord Marshmoreton and found dadda hanging round the stage door, you could

"I have not stood at the stagedoor for twentyfive years," said Lord Marshmoreton sadly.

"Now, it's no use your pulling that Henry W. Methuselah stuff," said Billie affectionately. "You can't get

away with it. Anyone can see you're just a kid. Can't they, George?" She indicated the blushing earl with a

Lord Marshmoreton giggled. There is no other verb that describes the sound that proceeded from him.

"I wish some of the juveniles in the shows I've been in," said Billie, "were as young as you. It's getting so

nowadays that one's thankful if a juvenile has teeth." She glanced across the room. "Your pals are walking

out on you, George. The people you were lunching with," she explained. "They're leaving."

"That's all right. I said goodbye to them." He looked at Lord Marshmoreton. It seemed a suitable

opportunity to break the news. "I was lunching with Mr. and Mrs. Byng," he said.

"You know his wife," said George casually. "She was a Miss Faraday. I think she was your secretary."

It would have been impossible to deny that Lord Marshmoreton showed emotion. His mouth opened, and he

clutched the tablecloth. But just what the emotion was George was unable to say till, with a sigh that seemed

"It's a pity they didn't know how you were going to feel. It would have saved them a lot of anxiety. I rather

"That girl," said Lord Marshmoreton vehemently, "was driving me crazy. Always bothering me to come and

"Nice enough girl," admitted his lordship grudgingly. "But a damned nuisance about the house; always at me

to go on with the family history. As if there weren't better things to do with one's time than writing all day

"Isn't dadda fractious today?" said Billie reprovingly, giving the Earl's hand a pat. "Quit knocking your

ancestors! You're very lucky to have ancestors. I wish I had. The Dore family seems to go back about as far

as the presidency of Willard Filmore, and then it kind of gets discouraged and quite cold. Gee! I'd like to feel

that my greatgreatgreatgrandmother had helped Queen Elizabeth with the rent. I'm strong for the fine old

"Did you see his eyes flash then, George? That's what they call aristocratic rage. It's the fine old spirit of the

"It's no use trying to fool us, dadda," said Billie. "You know just as well as I do that it makes you feel good to

"This foolery of titles and aristocracy. Silly fetishworship! One man's as good as another. . . ."

"Regular I.W.W. stuff," agreed Billie. "Shake hands the President of the Bolsheviki!"

Lord Marshmoreton ignored the interruption. There was a strange look in his eyes. It was evident to George,

watching him with close interest, that here was a revelation of the man's soul; that thoughts, locked away for

"Damned silly nonsense! When I was a boy, I wanted to be an enginedriver. When I was a young man, I

was a Socialist and hadn't any idea except to work for my living and make a name for myself. I was going to

the colonies. Canada. The fruit farm was actually bought. Bought and paid for!" He brooded a moment on

that longlost fruit farm. "My father was a younger son. And then my uncle must go and break his neck

hunting, and the baby, poor little chap, got croup or something . . . And there I was, saddled with the title, and

He bit the end of a cigar. "And you can't stand up against it," he went on ruefully. "It saps you. It's like some

damned drug. I fought against it as long as I could, but it was no use. I'm as big a snob as any of them now.

I'm afraid to do what I want to do. Always thinking of the family dignity. I haven't taken a free step for

George and Billie exchanged glances. Each had the uncomfortable feeling that they were eavesdropping and

"I must be getting along now," he said. "I've one or two things to do. Glad to have seen you again, Billie. Is

The earl nodded without speaking. It was not often now that he rebelled even in thoughts against the lot

which fate had thrust upon him, and never in his life before had he done so in words. He was still in the grip

"I'm glad we met George," said Billie. "He's a good boy." She spoke soberly. She was conscious of a curious

feeling of affection for the sturdy, weathertanned little man opposite her. The glimpse she had been given of

"He wants to marry my daughter," said Lord Marshmoreton. A few moments before, Billie would

undoubtedly have replied to such a statement with some jocular remark expressing disbelief that the earl

could have a daughter old enough to be married. But now she felt oddly serious and unlike her usual flippant

Not for years had Billie Dore felt embarrassed, but she felt so now. She judged herself unworthy to be the

"He's a good fellow. I like him. I liked him the moment we met. He knew it, too. And I knew he liked me."

A group of men and girls from a neighbouring table passed on their way to the door. One of the girls nodded

to Billie. She returned the nod absently. The party moved on. Billie frowned down at the tablecloth and drew

"I know it's not my business," said Billie apologetically, interpreting the silence as a rebuff.

"No you don't," snapped the earl. "You think I mean by that that I think your friend isn't good enough to

marry my daughter. You think that I'm an incurable snob. And I've no doubt he thinks so, too, though I took

the trouble to explain my attitude to him when we last met. You're wrong. It isn't that at all. When I say 'I'm

the Earl of Marshmoreton', I mean that I'm a poor spineless fool who's afraid to do the right thing because he

"They'd worry the life out of me. I wish you could meet my sister Caroline! That's what they've got to do with

it. Girls in my daughter's unfortunate position have got to marry position or money."

"Well, I don't know about position, but when it comes to moneywhy, George is the fellow that made the

dollarbill famous. He and Rockefeller have got all there is, except the little bit they have let Andy Carnegie

"What do you mean? He told me he worked for a living." Billie was becoming herself again. Embarrassment

"And I suppose, living out in the woods the way that you do that you haven't a notion that they pay him for

"I wish you wouldn't talk of 'your day' as if you telling the boys down at the corner store about the good they

all had before the Flood. You're one of the Younger Set and don't let me have to tell you again. Say, listen!

You know that show you saw last night. The one where I was supported by a few underlings. Well, George

"Well, did he tell you that he draws three per cent of the gross receipts? You saw the house we had last night.

It was a fair average house. We are playing to over fourteen thousand dollars a week. George's little bit of

that isI can't do it in my head, but it's a round four hundred dollars. That's eighty pounds of your money.

And did he tell you that this same show ran over a year in New York to big business all the time, and that

there are three companies on the road now? And did he mention that this is the ninth show he's done, and that

seven of the others were just as big hits as this one? And did he remark in passing that he gets royalties on

every copy of his music that's sold, and that at least ten of his things have sold over half a million? No, he

didn't, because he isn't the sort of fellow who stands around blowing about his income. But you know it

"I don't know what you call rich, but, keeping on the safe side, I should say that George pulls down in a good

"I thought you hadn't. And, while I'm boosting George, let me tell you another thing. He's one of the whitest

men that ever happened. I know him. You can take it from me, if there's anything rotten in a fellow, the

showbusiness will bring it out, and it hasn't come out in George yet, so I guess it isn't there. George is all

"Oh, I'm strong for George. I wish there were more like him . . . Well, if you think I've butted in on your

private affairs sufficiently, I suppose I ought to be moving. We've a rehearsal this afternoon."

"Yes, and how quick do you think they would let me go, if I did? I'm an honest workinggirl, and I can't

Billie looked at him keenly. Other men in similar circumstances had made much the same remark to her. She

"You gathered, no doubt, from Mr. Bevan's conversation, that my secretary has left me and run away and got

It was not easy to disconcert Billie Dore, but she was taken aback. She had been expecting something

"I can see you perfectly." Lord Marshmoreton's rather formal manner left him. "Do please accept, my dear

child. I've got to finish this damned family history some time or other. The family expect me to. Only

yesterday my sister Caroline got me in a corner and bored me for half an hour about it. I simply can't face the

prospect of getting another from an agency. Charming girl, charming girl, of course, but . . . but . . . well, I'll

"Of all the impulsive kids!" she gurgled. "I never met anyone like you, dadda! You don't even know that I can

"So George has been boosting me, too, has he?" She mused. "I must say, I'd love to come. That old place got

"That's settled, then," said Lord Marshmoreton masterfully. "Go to the theatre and tell themtell whatever is

usual in these cases. And then go home and pack, and meet me at Waterloo at six o'clock. The train leaves at

"Return of the wanderer, accompanied by dizzy blonde! You've certainly got it all fixed, haven't you! Do you

"There's one thing," said Billie complacently, eyeing her reflection in the mirror of her vanitycase, "I may

glitter in the fightingtop, but it is genuine. When I was a kid, I was a regular little towhead."

"Young blighted Albert," said Keggs the butler, shifting his weight so that it distributed itself more

comfortably over the creaking chair in which he reclined, "let this be a lesson to you, young feller me lad."

The day was a week after Lord Marshmoreton's visit to London, the hour six o'clock. The housekeeper's

room, in which the upper servants took their meals, had emptied. Of the gay company which had just finished

dinner only Keggs remained, placidly digesting. Albert, whose duty it was to wait on the upper servants, was

moving to and fro, morosely collecting the plates and glasses. The boy was in no happy frame of mind.

Throughout dinner the conversation at table had dealt almost exclusively with the now celebrated elopement

of Reggie Byng and his bride, and few subjects could have made more painful listening to Albert.

"What's been the result and what I might call the upshot," said Keggs, continuing his homily, "of all your

making yourself so busy and thrusting of yourself forward and meddling in the affairs of your elders and

betters? The upshot and issue of it 'as been that you are out five shillings and nothing to show for it. Five

shillings what you might have spent on some good book and improved your mind! And goodness knows it

wants all the improving it can get, for of all the worthless, idle little messers it's ever been my misfortune to

have dealings with, you are the champion. Be careful of them plates, young man, and don't breathe so hard.

"Not like a grampus you can't, and don't you forget it." Keggs wagged his head reprovingly. "Well, so your

Reggie Byng's gone and eloped, has he! That ought to teach you to be more careful another time 'ow you go

gambling and plunging into sweepstakes. The idea of a child of your age 'aving the audacity to thrust 'isself

"There's no need to go into all that again, young feller. You accepted 'im freely and without prejudice when

the fair exchange was suggested, so for all practical intents and purposes he is your Reggie Byng. I 'ope

"Well, don't let me 'ear it again. The idea! If you 'ad any objections to parting with that ticket, you should

have stated them clearly at the time. And what do you mean by saying I ain't any better off than you are?"

"You think you 'ave, which is a very different thing. I suppose you imagine that you've put a stopper on a

"I never!" exclaimed Albert with a convulsive start that nearly sent eleven plates dashing to destruction.

"'Ow many times have I got to tell you to be careful of them plates?" said Keggs sternly. "Who do you think

you area juggler on the 'Alls, 'urling them about like that? Yes, I know all about that letter. You thought

you was very clever, I've no doubt. But let me tell you, young blighted Albert, that only the other evening 'er

ladyship and Mr. Bevan 'ad a long and extended interview in spite of all your hefforts. I saw through your

In spite of himself Albert was awed. He was oppressed by the sense of struggling with a superior intellect.

"Yes, you did!" he managed to say with the proper note of incredulity, but in his heart he was not

incredulous. Dimly, Albert had begun to perceive that years must elapse before he could become capable of

"Yes, I certainly did!" said Keggs. "I don't know what 'appened at the interviewnot being present in

"And a fat lot of good that's going to do you, when 'e ain't allowed to come inside the 'ouse!"

"If by 'e you're alloodin' to Mr. Bevan, young blighted Albert, let me tell you that it won't be long before 'e

Albert recoiled. He had had enough of speculation where the butler was concerned. Where that schemer was

"Never you mind what I'm going to do. I 'ave my methods. All I 'ave to say to you is that tomorrow or the day

after Mr. Bevan will be seated in our dining'all with 'is feet under our table, replying according to his

personal taste and preference, when I ask 'im if 'e'll 'ave 'ock or sherry. Brush all them crumbs carefully off

the tablecloth, young blighted Albertdon't shuffle your feetbreathe softly through your noseand close

"Oh, go and eat cake!" said Albert bitterly. But he said it to his immortal soul, not aloud. The lad's spirit was

Keggs, the processes of digestion completed, presented himself before Lord Belpher in the billiardroom.

Percy was alone. The houseparty, so numerous on the night of the ball and on his birthday, had melted down

now to reasonable proportions. The second and third cousins had retired, flushed and gratified, to obscure

dens from which they had emerged, and the castle housed only the more prominent members of the family,

always harder to dislodge than the small fry. The Bishop still remained, and the Colonel. Besides these, there

were perhaps half a dozen more of the closer relations: to Lord Belpher's way of thinking, half a dozen too

Keggs was a selfpossessed man, but he found it a little hard to begin. Then he remembered that once in the

misty past he had seen Lord Belpher spanked for stealing jam, he himself having acted on that occasion as

"I earnestly 'ope that your lordship will not think that I am taking a liberty. I 'ave been in his lordship your

father's service many years now, and the family honour is, if I may be pardoned for saying so, extremely near

Lord Belpher had listened with growing impatience to this preamble. His temper was seldom at its best these

Keggs was himself now. In his opening remarks he had simply been, as it were, winding up. He was now

"Your lordship will recall inquiring of me on the night of the ball as to the bona fides of one of the temporary

waiters? The one that stated that 'e was the cousin of young bliof the boy Albert, the page? I have been

making inquiries, your lordship, and I regret to say I find that the man was a impostor. He informed me that 'e

was Albert's cousin, but Albert now informs me that 'e 'as no cousin in America. I am extremely sorry this

should have occurred, your lordship, and I 'ope you attribute it to the bustle and haste inseparable from duties

"If I might be allowed to take a further liberty, your lordship, might I suggest that I am aware of the man's

He waited a little apprehensively. This was the crucial point in the interview. If Lord Belpher did not now

freeze him with a glance and order him from the room, the danger would be past, and he could speak freely.

His light blue eyes were expressionless as they met Percy's, but inwardly he was feeling much the same

sensation as he was wont to experience when the family was in town and he had managed to slip off to

Kempton Park or some other racecourse and put some of his savings on a horse. As he felt when the racing

Astonishment showed in Lord Belpher's round face. Just as it was about to be succeeded by indignation, the

"I am aware, your lordship, that it is not my place to offer suggestions as to the private and intimate affairs of

the family I 'ave the honour to serve, but, if your lordship would consent to overlook the liberty, I think I

could be of 'elp and assistance in a matter which is causing annoyance and unpleasantness to all."

He invigorated himself with another dip into the waters of memory. Yes. The young man before him might

be Lord Belpher, son of his employer and heir to all these great estates, but once he had seen him spanked.

Perhaps Percy also remembered this. Perhaps he merely felt that Keggs was a faithful old servant and, as

such, entitled to thrust himself into the family affairs. Whatever his reasons, he now definitely lowered the

"Well," he said, with a glance at the door to make sure that there were no witnesses to an act of which the

"'Aving a natural interest, your lordship," he said, "we of the Servants' 'All generally manage to become

respectfully aware of whatever 'appens to be transpirin' above stairs. May I say that I became acquainted at an

early stage with the trouble which your lordship is unfortunately 'aving with a certain party?"

Lord Belpher, although his whole being revolted against what practically amounted to hobnobbing with a

butler, perceived that he had committed himself to the discussion. It revolted him to think that these delicate

family secrets were the subject of conversation in menial circles, but it was too late to do anything now. And

such was the wholeheartedness with which he had declared war upon George Bevan that, at this stage in the

proceedings, his chief emotion was a hope that Keggs might have something sensible to suggest.

"I think, begging your lordship's pardon for making the remark, that you are acting injudicious. I 'ave been in

service a great number of years, startin' as steward's room boy and rising to my present position, and I may

say I 'ave 'ad experience during those years of several cases where the daughter or son of the 'ouse

contemplated a misalliance, and all but one of the cases ended disastrously, your lordship, on account of the

family trying opposition. It is my experience that opposition in matters of the 'eart is useless, feedin', as it, so

to speak, does the flame. Young people, your lordship, if I may be pardoned for employing the expression in

the present case, are naturally romantic and if you keep 'em away from a thing they sit and pity themselves

and want it all the more. And in the end you may be sure they get it. There's no way of stoppin' them. I was

not on sufficiently easy terms with the late Lord Worlingham to give 'im the benefit of my experience on the

occasion when the Honourable Aubrey Pershore fell in love with the young person at the Gaiety Theatre.

Otherwise I could 'ave told 'im he was not acting judicious. His lordship opposed the match in every way, and

the young couple ran off and got married at a registrar's. It was the same when a young man who was tutor to

'er ladyship's brother attracted Lady Evelyn Walls, the only daughter of the Earl of Ackleton. In fact, your

lordship, the only entanglement of the kind that came to a satisfactory conclusion in the whole of my personal

experience was the affair of Lady Catherine Duseby, Lord Bridgefield's daughter, who injudiciously became

Lord Belpher had ceased to feel distantly superior to his companion. The butler's powerful personality

hypnotized him. Long ere the harangue was ended, he was as a little child drinking in the utterances of a

master. He bent forward eagerly. Keggs had broken off his remarks at the most interesting point.

"The young man," proceeded Keggs, "was a young man of considerable personal attractions, 'aving large

brown eyes and a athletic lissome figure, brought about by rollerskating. It was no wonder, in the opinion of

the Servants' 'All, that 'er ladyship should have found 'erself fascinated by him, particularly as I myself 'ad

'eard her observe at a full luncheontable that rollerskating was in her opinion the only thing except her toy

Pomeranian that made life worth living. But when she announced that she had become engaged to this young

man, there was the greatest consternation. I was not, of course, privileged to be a participant at the many

councils and discussions that ensued and took place, but I was aware that such transpired with great

frequency. Eventually 'is lordship took the shrewd step of assuming acquiescence and inviting the young man

to visit us in Scotland. And within ten days of his arrival, your lordship, the match was broken off. He went

back to 'is rollerskating, and 'er ladyship took up visiting the poor and eventually contracted an altogether

suitable alliance by marrying Lord Ronald Spofforth, the second son of his Grace the Duke of Gorbals and

"Seein' the young man in the surroundings of 'er own 'ome, 'er ladyship soon began to see that she had taken

too romantic a view of 'im previous, your lordship. 'E was one of the lower middle class, what is sometimes

termed the bourjoisy, and 'is 'abits were not the 'abits of the class to which 'er ladyship belonged. 'E 'ad

nothing in common with the rest of the 'ouseparty, and was injudicious in 'is choice of forks. The very first

night at dinner 'e took a steel knife to the ontray, and I see 'er ladyship look at him very sharp, as much as to

say that scales had fallen from 'er eyes. It didn't take 'er long after that to become convinced that 'er 'eart 'ad

"It is not for me to presume to offer anything but the most respectful advice, your lordship, but I should most

Lord Belpher reflected. Recent events had brought home to him the magnitude of the task he had assumed

when he had appointed himself the watcher of his sister's movements. The affair of the curate and the village

blacksmith had shaken him both physically and spiritually. His feet were still sore, and his confidence in

himself had waned considerably. The thought of having to continue his espionage indefinitely was not a

pleasant one. How much simpler and more effective it would be to adopt the suggestion which had been

"Young blighted Albert," said Keggs crisply, shortly after breakfast on the following morning, "you're to take

this note to Mr. Bevan at the cottage down by Platt's farm, and you're to deliver it without playing any of your

monkeytricks, and you're to wait for an answer, and you're to bring that answer back to me, too, and to Lord

Marshmoreton. And I may tell you, to save you the trouble of opening it with steam from the kitchen kettle,

that I 'ave already done so. It's an invitation to dine with us tonight. So now you know. Look slippy!"

Albert capitulated. For the first time in his life he felt humble. He perceived how misguided he had been ever

to suppose that he could pit his pigmy wits against this smoothfaced worker of wonders.

"And there's one more thing, young feller me lad," added Keggs earnestly, "don't you ever grow up to be such

Life is like some crazy machine that is always going either too slow or too fast. From the cradle to the grave

we alternate between the Sargasso Sea and the rapidsforever either becalmed or stormtossed. It seemed to

Maud, as she looked across the dinnertable in order to make sure for the twentieth time that it really was

George Bevan who sat opposite her, that, after months in which nothing whatever had happened, she was

now living through a period when everything was happening at once. Life, from being a brokendown

To the orderly routine that stretched back to the time when she had been hurried home in disgrace from

Wales there had succeeded a mad whirl of events, to which the miracle of tonight had come as a fitting

climax. She had not begun to dress for dinner till somewhat late, and had consequently entered the

drawingroom just as Keggs was announcing that the meal was ready. She had received her first shock when

the lovesick Plummer, emerging from a mixed crowd of relatives and friends, had informed her that he was

to take her in. She had not expected Plummer to be there, though he lived in the neighbourhood. Plummer, at

their last meeting, had stated his intention of going abroad for a bit to mend his bruised heart: and it was a

little disconcerting to a sensitive girl to find her victim popping up again like this. She did not know that, as

far as Plummer was concerned, the whole affair was to be considered opened again. To Plummer, analysing

the girl's motives in refusing him, there had come the idea that there was Another, and that this other must be

Reggie Byng. From the first he had always looked upon Reggie as his worst rival. And now Reggie had

bolted with the Faraday girl, leaving Maud in excellent condition, so it seemed to Plummer, to console herself

with a worthier man. Plummer knew all about the Rebound and the part it plays in the affairs of the heart. His

own breachofpromise case two years earlier had been entirely due to the fact that the refusal of the

youngest Devenish girl to marry him had caused him to rebound into the dangerous society of the second girl

from the O.P. end of the first row in the "Summertime is Kissingtime" number in the Alhambra revue. He

Maud's second shock eclipsed the first entirely. No notification had been given to her either by her father or

by Percy of the proposed extension of the hand of hospitality to George, and the sight of him standing there

talking to her aunt Caroline made her momentarily dizzy. Life, which for several days had had all the

properties now of a dream, now of a nightmare, became more unreal than ever. She could conceive no

explanation of George's presence. He could not be therethat was all there was to it; yet there undoubtedly

he was. Her manner, as she accompanied Plummer down the stairs, took on such a dazed sweetness that her

escort felt that in coming there that night he had done the wisest act of a lifetime studded but sparsely with

wise acts. It seemed to Plummer that this girl had softened towards him. Certainly something had changed

George, meanwhile, across the table, was also having a little difficulty in adjusting his faculties to the

progress of events. He had given up trying to imagine why he had been invited to this dinner, and was now

endeavouring to find some theory which would square with the fact of Billie Dore being at the castle. At

precisely this hour Billie, by rights, should have been putting the finishing touches on her makeup in a

secondfloor dressingroom at the Regal. Yet there she sat, very much at her ease in this aristocratic

company, so quietly and unobtrusively dressed in some black stuff that at first he had scarcely recognized

George could not have explained why this reminder of the butler's presence should have made him feel better,

but it did. There was something solid and tranquilizing about Keggs. He had noticed it before. For the first

time the sensation of having been smitten over the head with some blunt instrument began to abate. It was as

if Keggs by the mere intonation of his voice had said, "All this no doubt seems very strange and unusual to

George began to sit up and take notice. A cloud seemed to have cleared from his brain. He found himself

looking on his fellowdiners as individuals rather than as a confused mass. The prophet Daniel, after the

initial embarrassment of finding himself in the society of the lions had passed away, must have experienced a

He began to sort these people out and label them. There had been introductions in the drawingroom, but

they had left him with a bewildered sense of having heard somebody recite a page from Burke's peerage. Not

since that day in the free library in London, when he had dived into that fascinating volume in order to

discover Maud's identity, had he undergone such a rain of titles. He now took stock, to ascertain how many of

The stocktaking was an absolute failure. Of all those present the only individuals he could swear to were his

own personal little playmates with whom he had sported in other surroundings. There was Lord Belpher, for

instance, eyeing him with a hostility that could hardly be called veiled. There was Lord Marshmoreton at the

head of the table, listening glumly to the conversation of a stout woman with a pearl necklace, but who was

that woman? Was it Lady Jane Allenby or Lady Edith WadeBeverly or Lady Patricia Fowles? And who,

He sought assistance from the girl he had taken in to dinner. She appeared, as far as he could ascertain from a

short acquaintance, to be an amiable little thing. She was small and young and fluffy, and he had caught

enough of her name at the moment of introduction to gather that she was plain "Miss" Somethinga fact

"I wish you would tell me who some of these people are," he said, as she turned from talking to the man on

"The one talking to Lady Maud. The fellow whose face ought to be shuffled and dealt again."

"It was the light that deceived me. Now that I look again, I see that his face has great charm."

"Who are some of the others? I didn't get your name, for instance. They shot it at me so quick that it had

George was electrified. He looked across the table with more vivid interest. The amorous Plummer had been

"I know Lord Marshmoreton. And Lady Maud. And, of course, Lord Belpher." He caught Percy's eye as it

surveyed him coldly from the other side of the table, and nodded cheerfully. "Great pal of mine, Lord

"Yes, of course, that's how he strikes people at first. The first time I met him, I thought he was an awful stiff.

But you should see him in his moments of relaxation. He's one of those fellows you have to get to know. He

"Yes, but look at that affair with the policeman in London. Everybody in the county is talking about it."

"My brother, I mean. Look at the way he keeps staring Maud. Edwin's awfully in love with Maud," she

rattled on with engaging frankness. "At least, he thinks he is. He's been in love with a different girl every

season since I came out. And now that Reggie Byng has gone and married Alice Faraday, he thinks he has a

"Of course, Edwin's wasting his time, really. I happen to know"Miss Plummer sank her voice to a

whisper"I happen to know that Maud's awfully in love with some man she met in Wales last year, but the

"Nobody knows who he is, but everybody in the county knows all about it. Those things get about, you know.

Of course, out of the question. Maud will have to marry somebody awfully rich or with a title. Her family's

"Well, what I mean to say is," said Miss Plummer, with silvery echo of Reggie Byng, "he made his money in

Miss Plummer looked puzzled. "I see what you mean," she said a little vaguely. "Lord Marshmoreton is so

"Not unless he and Maud elope like Reggie Byng and Alice. Wasn't that exciting? Who would ever have

suspected Reggie had the dash to do a thing like that? Lord Marshmoreton's new secretary is very pretty,

"Yes. She's an American girl. I think she's much nicer than Alice Faraday. I was talking to her before dinner.

Her name is Dore. Her father was a captain in the American army, who died without leaving her a penny. He

was the younger son of a very distinguished family, but his family disowned him because he married against

"Something ought to be done to stop these families," said George. "They're always up to something."

"So Miss Dore had to go out and earn her own living. It must have been awful for her, mustn't it, having to

"Oh, yes. She used to go everywhere in New York before her father died. I think American girls are

George at the moment was thinking that it was in imagination that they excelled.

"I wish I could go out and earn my living," said Miss Plummer. "But the family won't dream of it."

"Perhaps you prefer musical pieces? I saw an awfully good musical comedy before I left town. It's called

"But the music's lovely," gasped little Miss Plummer, as if the fact made his claim ridiculous. "I've been

"But" Miss Plummer's voice almost failed here"But I've been dancing to your music for years! I've got

George blushed. However successful a man may be he can never get used to Fame at close range.

"Why, that tricky thingyou know, in the second actis the darlingest thing I ever heard. I'm mad about

"No the one that goes tarumtytumtum, tarumtytum. You know! The one about Granny dancing the

"I'm not responsible for the words, you know," urged George hastily. "Those are wished on me by the lyrist."

"I think the words are splendid. Although poor popper thinks its improper, Granny's always doing it and

nobody can stop her! I loved it." Miss Plummer leaned forward excitedly. She was an impulsive girl. "Lady

Everybody was listening now. George huddled pinkly in his chair. He had not foreseen this ballyhooing.

Shadrach, Meschach and Abednego combined had never felt a tithe of the warmth that consumed him. He

"THE Mr. Bevan?" echoed Lady Caroline coldly. It was painful to her to have to recognize George's

existence on the same planet as herself. To admire him, as Miss Plummer apparently expected her to do, was

a loathsome task. She cast one glance, fresh from the refrigerator, at the shrinking George, and elevated her

Miss Plummer was not damped. She was at the heroworshipping age, and George shared with the Messrs.

Fairbanks, Francis X. Bushman, and one or two tennis champions an imposing pedestal in her Hall of Fame.

Lady Caroline showed no signs of thawing. She had not heard of 'Follow the Girl'. Her attitude suggested

that, while she admitted the possibility of George having disgraced himself in the manner indicated, it was

"And all those other things," pursued Miss Plummer indefatigably. "You must have heard his music on the

It was not Lady Caroline who spoke, but a man further down the table. He spoke with enthusiasm.

"Of course, by Jove!" he said. "The Schenectady Shimmy, by Jove, and all that! Ripping!"

Everybody seemed pleased and interested. Everybody, that is to say, except Lady Caroline and Lord Belpher.

Percy was feeling that he had been tricked. He cursed the imbecility of Keggs in suggesting that this man

should be invited to dinner. Everything had gone wrong. George was an undoubted success. The majority of

the company were solid for him. As far as exposing his unworthiness in the eyes of Maud was concerned, the

dinner had been a ghastly failure. Much better to have left him to lurk in his infernal cottage. Lord Belpher

But his discomfort at that moment was as nothing to the agony which rent his tortured soul a moment later.

Lord Marshmoreton, who had been listening with growing excitement to the chorus of approval, rose from

his seat. He cleared his throat. It was plain that Lord Marshmoreton had something on his mind.

The clatter of conversation ceased once morestunned, as it always is at dinner parties when one of the

gathering is seen to have assumed an upright position. Lord Marshmoreton cleared his throat again. His

tanned face had taken on a deeper hue, and there was a look in his eyes which seemed to suggest that he was

defying something or somebody. It was the look which Ajax had in his eyes when he defied the lightning, the

look which nervous husbands have when they announce their intention of going round the corner to bowl a

few games with the boys. One could not say definitely that Lord Marshmoreton looked popeyed. On the

other hand, one could not assert truthfully that he did not. At any rate, he was manifestly embarrassed. He had

made up his mind to a certain course of action on the spur of the moment, taking advantage, as others have

done, of the trend of popular enthusiasm: and his state of mind was nervous but resolute, like that of a soldier

going over the top. He cleared his throat for the third time, took one swift glance at his sister Caroline, then

"Take this opportunity," he said rapidly, clutching at the tablecloth for support, "take this opportunity of

announcing the engagement of my daughter Maud to Mr. Bevan. And," he concluded with a rush, pouring

There was a silence that hurt. It was broken by two sounds, occurring simultaneously in different parts of the

For the first time in a long unblemished career Keggs the butler had dropped a tray.

Out on the terrace the night was very still. From a steelblue sky the stars looked down as calmly as they had

looked on the night of the ball, when George had waited by the shrubbery listening to the wailing of the

music and thinking long thoughts. From the dark meadows by the brook came the cry of a corncrake, its

"What shall we do?" said Maud. She was sitting on the stone seat where Reggie Byng had sat and meditated

on his love for Alice Faraday and his unfortunate habit of slicing his approachshots. To George, as he stood

Nor did he. Like Lady Caroline and Lord Belpher and Keggs, the butler, he had been completely

overwhelmed by Lord Marshmoreton's dramatic announcement. The situation had come upon him

A choking sound suddenly proceeded from the whiteness that was Maud. In the stillness it sounded like some

"There's nothing to cry about, really! If we think long enough, we shall find some way out all right. Please

"I'm not crying!" The choking sound became an unmistakable ripple of mirth. "It's so absurd! Poor father

"It haunts me still," said George. "I shall never forget it. Your brother didn't seem any too pleased, either."

"It's an awful position," she said soberly. "The announcement will be in the Morning Post the day after

tomorrow. And then the letters of congratulation will begin to pour in. And after that the presents. And I

simply can't see how we can convince them all that there has been a mistake." Another aspect of the matter

"Don't think about me," urged George. "Heaven knows I'd give the whole world if we could just let the thing

go on, but there's no use discussing impossibilities." He lowered his voice. "There's no use, either, in my

pretending that I'm not going to have a pretty bad time. But we won't discuss that. It was my own fault. I

came butting in on your life of my own free will, and, whatever happens, it's been worth it to have known you

"The best and kindest friend any girl ever had. I wish . . ." She broke off. "Oh, well. . ."

There was a silence. In the castle somebody had begun to play the piano. Then a man's voice began to sing.

George laughed. Somehow the intrusion of Plummer had removed the tension. Plummer, whether designedly

and as a sombre commentary on the situation or because he was the sort of man who does sing that particular

song, was chanting Tosti's "Goodbye". He was giving to its never very cheery notes a wailing melancholy

all his own. A dog in the stables began to howl in sympathy, and with the sound came a curious soothing of

George's nerves. He might feel brokenhearted later, but for the moment, with this double accompaniment, it

was impossible for a man with humour in his soul to dwell on the deeper emotions. Plummer and his canine

"We'd better talk the whole thing over quietly," he said. "There's certain to be some solution. At the worst

you can always go to Lord Marshmoreton and tell him that he spoke without a sufficient grasp of his subject."

"I could," said Maud, "but, just at present, I feel as if I'd rather do anything else in the world. You don't

realize what it must have cost father to defy Aunt Caroline openly like that. Ever since I was old enough to

notice anything, I've seen how she dominated him. It was Aunt Caroline who really caused all this trouble. If

it had only been father, I could have coaxed him to let me marry anyone I pleased. I wish, if you possibly can,

"I haven't had an opportunity of telling you," said George, "that I called at Belgrave Square, as you asked me

"He will. Don't worry about that. Well, as I was saying, I called at Belgrave Square, and found the house shut

up. I couldn't get any answer to the bell, though I kept my thumb on it for minutes at a time. I think they must

"No, it wasn't that. I had a letter from Geoffrey this morning. His uncle died of apoplexy, while they were in

Manchester on a business trip." She paused. "He left Geoffrey all his money," she went on. "Every penny."

The silence seemed to stretch out interminably. The music from the castle had ceased. The quiet of the

summer night was unbroken. To George the stillness had a touch of the sinister. It was the ghastly silence of

the end of the world. With a shock he realized that even now he had been permitting himself to hope, futile as

he recognized the hope to be. Maud had told him she loved another man. That should have been final. And

yet somehow his indomitable subconscious self had refused to accept it as final. But this news ended

everything. The only obstacle that had held Maud and this man apart was removed. There was nothing to

prevent them marrying. George was conscious of a vast depression. The last strand of the rope had parted,

"Oh!" he said, and was surprised that his voice sounded very much the same as usual. Speech was so difficult

that it seemed strange that it should show no signs of effort. "That alters everything, doesn't it."

"He said in his letter that he wanted me to meet him in London andtalk things over, I suppose."

"There's nothing now to prevent your going. I mean, now that your father has made this announcement, you

"If you are thinking of me," said George, "please don't. I know exactly what you mean. You are hating the

thought of hurting my feelings. I wish you would look on me as having no feelings. All I want is to see you

happy. As I said just now, it's enough for me to know that I've helped you. Do be reasonable about it. The fact

that our engagement has been officially announced makes no difference in our relations to each other. As far

as we two are concerned, we are exactly where we were the last time we met. It's no worse for me now than it

was then to know that I'm not the man you love, and that there's somebody else you loved before you ever

knew of my existence. For goodness' sake, a girl like you must be used to having men tell her that they love

"Well, you've never known anybody quite like Plummer, I should imagine. But the thought of his sufferings

"I've known a million men exactly like Edwin Plummer," said Maud emphatically. "All the men I ever have

known have been like himquite nice and pleasant and negative. It never seemed to matter refusing them.

One knew that they would be just a little bit piqued for a week or two and then wander off and fall in love

"That is where we disagree. My argument is that, where your happiness is concerned, I don't matter."

"You ought to have been my brother instead of Percy," she said at last. "What chums we should have been!

"The best thing for you to do is to regard me as an honorary brother. That will make everything simple."

"It's easy to talk like that . . . No, it isn't. It's horribly hard. I know exactly how difficult it is for you to talk as

you have been doingto try to make me feel better by pretending the whole trouble is just a trifle . . . It's

strange . . . We have only met really for a few minutes at a time, and three weeks ago I didn't know there was

such a person as you, but somehow I seem to know everything you're thinking. I've never felt like that before

"I'll tell you in two words what to do. The whole thing is absurdly simple. You love this man and he loves

you, and all that kept you apart before was the fact that he could not afford to marry you. Now that he is rich,

there is no obstacle at all. I simply won't let you look on me and my feelings as an obstacle. Rule me out

altogether. Your father's mistake has made the situation a little more complicated than it need have been, but

that can easily be remedied. Imitate the excellent example of Reggie Byng. He was in a position where it

would have been embarrassing to announce what he intended to do, so he very sensibly went quietly off and

did it and left everybody to find out after it was done. I'm bound to say I never looked on Reggie as a master

mind, but, when it came to find a way out of embarrassing situations, one has to admit he had the right idea.

Maud started. She half rose from the stone seat. George could hear the quick intake of her breath.

An automobile swung round the corner of the castle from the direction of the garage, and drew up, purring, at

the steps. There was a flood of light and the sound of voices, as the great door opened. Maud rose.

"People are leaving," she said. "I didn't know it was so late." She stood irresolutely. "I suppose I ought to go

More automobiles arrived. The quiet of the night was shattered by the noise of their engines. Maud sat down

The automobiles snorted, tooted, backfired, and passed away. Their clamour died in the distance, leaving

the night a thing of peace and magic once more. The door of the castle closed with a bang.

"I suppose so. And I ought to be there, too, politely making my farewells. But something seems to tell me that

Lady Caroline and your brother will be quite ready to dispense with the formalities. I shall go home."

"Would you really do that?" asked Maud. "Run away, I mean, and get married in London."

"At a registrar's? Nothing simpler. You should have seen Reggie Byng's wedding. It was over before one

realized it had started. A snuffy little man in a black coat with a cold in his head asked a few questions, wrote

"Of course, one ought to be sensible. It is just the same as a regular wedding."

They moved up the terrace together. On the gravel drive by the steps they paused.

George had to make an effort before he could reply. For all his sane and convincing arguments, he could not

check a pang at this definite acceptance of them. He had begun to appreciate now the strain under which he

"No, I hardly think I could do that. I shall go back to London tomorrow, and stay at the Carlton for a few

days. Then I shall sail for America. There are a couple of pieces I've got to do for the Fall. I ought to be

"You've been very wonderful... Right from the beginning . . . You've been . . . oh, what's the use of me saying

She had been saying the same thing and many other things for the past five minutes. Until the departure of the

last guest she had kept an icy command of herself and shown an unruffled front to the world. She had even

contrived to smile. But now, with the final automobile whirring homewards, she had thrown off the mask.

The very furniture of Lord Marshmoreton's study seemed to shrink, seared by the flame of her wrath. As for

It had not been an easy matter to bring her erring brother to bay. The hunt had been in progress full ten

minutes before she and Lord Belpher finally cornered the poor wretch. His plea, through the keyhole of the

locked door, that he was working on the family history and could not be disturbed, was ignored; and now he

"I cannot understand it," continued Lady Caroline. "You know that for months we have all been straining

every nerve to break off this horrible entanglement, and, just as we had begun to hope that something might

be done, you announce the engagement in the most public manner. I think you must be out of your mind. I

can hardly believe even now that this appalling thing has happened. I am hoping that I shall wake up and find

it is all a nightmare. How you can have done such a thing, I cannot understand."

If Lady Caroline was upset, there are no words in the language that will adequately describe the emotions of

From the very start of this lamentable episode in high life, Percy had been in the forefront of the battle. It was

Percy who had had his best hat smitten from his head in the full view of all Piccadilly. It was Percy who had

suffered arrest and imprisonment in the cause. It was Percy who had been crippled for days owing to his zeal

in tracking Maud across country. And now all his sufferings were in vain. He had been betrayed by his own

There was, so the historians of the Middle West tell us, a man of Chicago named Young, who once, when his

nerves were unstrung, put his mother (unseen) in the choppingmachine, and canned her and labelled her

"Tongue". It is enough to say that the glance of disapproval which Percy cast upon his father at this juncture

would have been unduly severe if cast by the Young offspring upon their parent at the moment of confession.

Lord Marshmoreton had rallied from his initial panic. The spirit of revolt began to burn again in his bosom.

Once the die is cast for revolution, there can be no looking back. One must defy, not apologize. Perhaps the

inherited tendencies of a line of ancestors who, whatever their shortcomings, had at least known how to treat

their women folk, came to his aid. Possibly there stood by his side in this crisis ghosts of dead and buried

Marshmoretons, whispering spectral encouragement in his earthe ghosts, let us suppose, of that earl who,

in the days of the seventh Henry, had stabbed his wife with a dagger to cure her tendency to lecture him at

night; or of that other earl who, at a previous date in the annals of the family, had caused two aunts and a

sister to be poisoned apparently from a mere whim. At any rate, Lord Marshmoreton produced from some

"Silly nonsense!" he grunted. "Don't see what you're making all this fuss about. Maud loves the fellow. I like

the fellow. Perfectly decent fellow. Nothing to make a fuss about. Why shouldn't I announce the

"You must be mad!" cried Lady Caroline. "Your only daughter and a man nobody knows anything about!"

"That's where you're wrong. I know all about him. He's a very rich man. You heard the way all those people

at dinner behaved when they heard his name. Very celebrated man! Makes thousands of pounds a year.

"It is not a suitable match," said Lady Caroline vehemently. "I don't care whether this Mr. Bevan makes

thousands of pounds a year or twopenceha'penny. The match is not suitable. Money is not everything."

She broke off. A knock had come on the door. The door opened, and Billie Dore came in. A kindhearted

girl, she had foreseen that Lord Marshmoreton might be glad of a change of subject at about this time.

"Would you like me to help you tonight?" she asked brightly. "I thought I would ask if there was anything

Lady Caroline snatched hurriedly at her aristocratic calm. She resented the interruption acutely, but her

"Lord Marshmoreton will not require your help tonight," she said. "He will not be working."

"Money," resumed Lady Caroline, "is immaterial. Maud is in no position to be obliged to marry a rich man.

What makes the thing impossible is that Mr. Bevan is nobody. He comes from nowhere. He has no social

"Don't see it," said Lord Marshmoreton. "The fellow's a thoroughly decent fellow. That's all that matters."

"How can you be so pigheaded! You are talking like an imbecile. Your secretary, Miss Dore, is a nice girl.

But how would you feel if Percy were to come to you and say that he was engaged to be married to her?"

Lord Marshmoreton rose and moved to the door. He did it with a certain dignity, but there was a strange

Lord Marshmoreton had reached the door, and was standing holding the handle. He seemed to gather strength

"About Miss Dore. I married her myself last Wednesday," said Lord Marshmoreton, and disappeared like a

At a quarter past four in the afternoon, two days after the memorable dinnerparty at which Lord

Marshmoreton had behaved with so notable a lack of judgment, Maud sat in Ye Cosy Nooke, waiting for

Geoffrey Raymond. He had said in his telegram that he would meet her there at fourthirty: but eagerness

had brought Maud to the tryst a quarter of an hour ahead of time: and already the sadness of her surroundings

was causing her to regret this impulsiveness. Depression had settled upon her spirit. She was aware of

Ye Cosy Nooke, as its name will immediately suggest to those who know their London, is a teashop in

Bond Street, conducted by distressed gentlewomen. In London, when a gentlewoman becomes

distressedwhich she seems to do on the slightest provocationshe collects about her two or three other

distressed gentlewomen, forming a quorum, and starts a teashop in the WestEnd, which she calls Ye Oak

Leaf; Ye Olde WillowPattern, Ye LindenTree, or Ye Snug Harbour, according to personal taste. There,

dressed in Tyrolese, Japanese, Norwegian, or some other exotic costume, she and her associates administer

refreshments of an afternoon with a proud languor calculated to knock the nonsense out of the cheeriest

customer. Here you will find none of the coarse bustle and efficiency of the rival establishments of Lyons and

Co., nor the glitter and gaiety of Rumpelmayer's. These places have an atmosphere of their own. They rely

for their effect on an insufficiency of light, an almost total lack of ventilation, a property chocolate cake

which you are not supposed to cut, and the sad aloofness of their ministering angels. It is to be doubted

whether there is anything in the world more damping to the spirit than a London teashop of this kind, unless

Maud sat and waited. Somewhere out of sight a kettle bubbled in an undertone, like a whispering pessimist.

Across the room two distressed gentlewomen in fancy dress leaned against the wall. They, too, were

whispering. Their expressions suggested that they looked on life as low and wished they were well out of it,

like the body upstairs. One assumed that there was a body upstairs. One cannot help it at these places. One's

first thought on entering is that the lady assistant will approach one and ask in a hushed voice "Tea or

Maud looked at her watch. It was twenty past four. She could scarcely believe that she had only been there

five minutes, but the ticking of the watch assured her that it had not stopped. Her depression deepened. Why

had Geoffrey told her to meet him in a cavern of gloom like this instead of at the Savoy? She would have

enjoyed the Savoy. But here she seemed to have lost beyond recovery the first gay eagerness with which she

Suddenly she began to feel frightened. Some evil spirit, possibly the kettle, seemed to whisper to her that she

had been foolish in coming here, to cast doubts on what she had hitherto regarded as the one rocksolid fact

in the world, her love for Geoffrey. Could she have changed since those days in Wales? Life had been so

confusing of late. In the vividness of recent happenings those days in Wales seemed a long way off, and she

herself different from the girl of a year ago. She found herself thinking about George Bevan.

It was a curious fact that, the moment she began to think of George Bevan, she felt better. It was as if she had

lost her way in a wilderness and had met a friend. There was something so capable, so soothing about

George. And how well he had behaved at that last interview. George seemed somehow to be part of her life.

She could not imagine a life in which he had no share. And he was at this moment, probably, packing to

return to America, and she would never see him again. Something stabbed at her heart. It was as if she were

She tried to rid herself of the ache at her heart by thinking of Wales. She closed her eyes, and found that that

helped her to remember. With her eyes shut, she could bring it all backthat rainy day, the graceful, supple

figure that had come to her out of the mist, those walks over the hills . . . If only Geoffrey would come! It was

Maud opened her eyes with a start. The voice had sounded like Geoffrey's. But it was a stranger who stood by

the table. And not a particularly prepossessing stranger. In the dim light of Ye Cosy Nooke, to which her

opening eyes had not yet grown accustomed, all she could see of the man was that he was remarkably stout.

She stiffened defensively. This was what a girl who sat about in tearooms alone had to expect.

"Hope I'm not late," said the stranger, sitting down and breathing heavily. "I thought a little exercise would

Every nerve in Maud's body seemed to come to life simultaneously. She tingled from head to foot. It was

He was looking over his shoulder and endeavouring by snapping his fingers to attract the attention of the

nearest distressed gentlewoman: and this gave Maud time to recover from the frightful shock she had

received. Her dizziness left her: and, leaving, was succeeded by a panic dismay. This couldn't be Geoffrey! It

was outrageous that it should be Geoffrey! And yet it undeniably was Geoffrey. For a year she had prayed

that Geoffrey might be given back to her, and the gods had heard her prayer. They had given her back

Geoffrey, and with a careless generosity they had given her twice as much of him as she had expected. She

had asked for the slim Apollo whom she had loved in Wales, and this colossal changeling had arrived in his

We all of us have our prejudices. Maud had a prejudice against fat men. It may have been the spectacle of her

Percy, bulging more and more every year she had that had caused this kink in her character. At any rate, and

she gazed in sickened silence at Geoffrey. He had turned again now, and she was enabled to get a full and

complete view of him. He was not merely stout. He was gross. The figure which had haunted her for a year

had spread into a sea of waistcoat. The keen lines of his face had disappeared altogether. His cheeks were

One of the distressed gentlewomen had approached with a slow disdain, and was standing by the table,

"Chocolate for me," said Geoffrey briskly, with the air of one discoursing on a congenial topic. "I'd like

"And bring some fancy cakesI like the ones with icing on themand some teacake and buttered toast.

Maud shivered. This man before her was a man in whose lexicon there should have been no such word as

butter, a man who should have called for the police had some enemy endeavoured to thrust butter upon him.

"Well," said Geoffrey leaning forward, as the haughty ministrant drifted away, "you haven't changed a bit. To

"You're just the same. I think I"he squinted down at his waistcoat"have put on a little weight. I don't

Maud shivered again. He thought he had put on a little weight, and didn't know if she had noticed it! She was

oppressed by the eternal melancholy miracle of the fat man who does not realize that he has become fat.

"It was living on the yacht that put me a little out of condition," said Geoffrey. "I was on the yacht nearly all

the time since I saw you last. The old boy had a Japanese cook and lived pretty high. It was apoplexy that got

him. We had a great time touring about. We were on the Mediterranean all last winter, mostly at Nice."

"I should like to go to Nice," said Maud, for something to say. She was feeling that it was not only externally

that Geoffrey had changed. Or had he in reality always been like this, commonplace and prosaic, and was it

"If you ever go," said Geoffrey, earnestly, "don't fail to lunch at the Hotel Cote d'Azur. They give you the

most amazing selection of hors d'oeuvres you ever saw. Crayfish as big as baby lobsters! And there's a

fishI've forgotten it's name, it'll come back to methat's just like the Florida pompano. Be careful to have

it broiled, not fried. Otherwise you lose the flavour. Tell the waiter you must have it broiled, with melted

butter and a little parsley and some plain boiled potatoes. It's really astonishing. It's best to stick to fish on the

Continent. People can say what they like, but I maintain that the French don't really understand steaks or any

sort of red meat. The veal isn't bad, though I prefer our way of serving it. Of course, what the French are real

geniuses at is the omelet. I remember, when we put in at Toulon for coal, I went ashore for a stroll, and had

the most delicious omelet with chicken livers beautifully cooked, at quite a small, unpretentious place near

The mourner returned, bearing a laden tray, from which she removed the funeral bakemeats and placed them

"I particularly asked for plenty of butter on my toast!" he said. "I hate buttered toast if there isn't lots of

butter. It isn't worth eating. Get me a couple of pats, will you, and I'll spread it myself. Do hurry, please,

before the toast gets cold. It's no good if the toast gets cold. They don't understand tea as a meal at these

places," he said to Maud, as the mourner withdrew. "You have to go to the country to appreciate the real

thing. I remember we lay off Lyme Regis down Devonshire way, for a few days, and I went and had tea at a

farmhouse there. It was quite amazing! Thick Devonshire cream and homemade jam and cakes of every

kind. This sort of thing here is just a farce. I do wish that woman would make haste with that butter. It'll be

Maud sipped her tea in silence. Her heart was like lead within her. The recurrence of the butter theme as a

sort of leit motif in her companion's conversation was fraying her nerves till she felt she could endure little

more. She cast her mind's eye back over the horrid months and had a horrid vision of Geoffrey steadily

absorbing butter, day after day, week after weekever becoming more and more of a human keg. She

Indignation at the injustice of Fate in causing her to give her heart to a man and then changing him into

another and quite different man fought with a cold terror, which grew as she realized more and more clearly

the magnitude of the mistake she had made. She felt that she must escape. And yet how could she escape?

She had definitely pledged herself to this man. ("Ah!" cried Geoffrey gaily, as the pats of butter arrived.

"That's more like it!" He began to smear the toast. Maud averted her eyes.) She had told him that she loved

him, that he was the whole world to her, that there never would be anyone else. He had come to claim her.

Geoffrey finished his meal. He took out a cigarette. ("No smoking, please!" said the distressed gentlewoman.)

He put the cigarette back in its case. There was a new expression in his eyes now, a tender expression. For the

first time since they had met Maud seemed to catch a faroff glimpse of the man she had loved in Wales.

"I don't mean that. I am referring to your engagement. I saw the announcement in the Morning Post. Well, I

hope you will let me offer you my best wishes. This Mr. George Bevan, whoever he is, is lucky."

Maud had opened her mouth to explain, to say that it was all a mistake. She closed it again without speaking.

"So you couldn't wait!" proceeded Geoffrey with gentle regret. "Well, I suppose I ought not to blame you.

You are at an age when it is easy to forget. I had no right to hope that you would be proof against a few

months' separation. I expected too much. But it is ironical, isn't it! There was I, thinking always of those days

last summer when we were everything to each other, while you had forgotten meForgotten me!" sighed

Geoffrey. He picked a fragment of cake absently off the tablecloth and inserted it in his mouth.

The unfairness of the attack stung Maud to speech. She looked back over the months, thought of all she had

"Yes. It would take too long to explain, but . . ." She stopped. It had come to her suddenly, in a flash of clear

vision, that the mistake was one which she had no desire to correct. She felt like one who, lost in a jungle,

comes out after long wandering into the open air. For days she had been thinking confusedly, unable to

interpret her own emotions: and now everything had abruptly become clarified. It was as if the sight of

Geoffrey had been the key to a cipher. She loved George Bevan, the man she had sent out of her life for ever.

She knew it now, and the shock of realization made her feel faint and helpless. And, mingled with the shock

of realization, there came to her the mortification of knowing that her aunt, Lady Caroline, and her brother,

Percy, had been right after all. What she had mistaken for the love of a lifetime had been, as they had so often

insisted, a mere infatuation, unable to survive the spectacle of a Geoffrey who had been eating too much

Maud avoided his eye. She was aware that the crisis had arrived, and that her whole future hung on her next

And then Fate came to her rescue. Before she could speak, there was an interruption.

So intent had Maud and her companion been on their own affairs that neither of them observed the entrance

of a third party. This was a young man with mousecoloured hair and a freckled, badlyshaven face which

seemed undecided whether to be furtive or impudent. He had small eyes, and his costume was a blend of the

flashy and the shabby. He wore a bowler hat, tilted a little rakishly to one side, and carried a small bag, which

"Sorry to intrude, miss." He bowed gallantly to Maud, "but I want to have a few words with Mr. Spenser

Maud, looking across at Geoffrey, was surprised to see that his florid face had lost much of its colour. His

"I think you have made a mistake," she said coldly. She disliked the young man at sight. "This is Mr.

"Of course I'm Mr. Raymond!" he cried angrily. "What do you mean by coming and annoying us like this?"

The young man was not discomposed. He appeared to be used to being unpopular. He proceeded as though

"Glance at that," he said. "Messrs. Willoughby and Son, Solicitors. I'm son. The guv'nor put this little matter

into my hands. I've been looking for you for days, Mr. Gray, to hand you this paper." He opened the bag like

a conjurer performing a trick, and brought out a stiff document of legal aspect. "You're a witness, miss, that

I've served the papers. You know what this is, of course?" he said to Geoffrey. "Action for breach of promise

of marriage. Our client, Miss Yvonne Sinclair, of the Regal Theatre, is suing you for ten thousand pounds.

And, if you ask me," said the young man with genial candour, dropping the professional manner, "I don't

mind telling you, I think it's a walkover! It's the best little action for breach we've handled for years." He

became professional again. "Your lawyers will no doubt communicate with us in due course. And, if you take

my advice," he concluded, with another of his swift changes of manner, "you'll get 'em to settle out of court,

"What the devil do you mean by this?" he demanded. "Can't you see you've made a mistake? My name is not

"Makes it all the worse for you," said the young man imperturbably, "making advances to our client under an

assumed name. We've got letters and witnesses and the whole bag of tricks. And how about this photo?" He

Maud looked at the photograph. It was unmistakably Geoffrey. And it had evidently been taken recently, for

it showed the later Geoffrey, the man of substance. It was a fulllength photograph and across the stout legs

was written in a flowing hand the legend, "To Babe from her little Pootles". Maud gave a shudder and handed

it back to the young man, just as Geoffrey, reaching across the table, made a grab for it.

He bowed again in his courtly way, tilted the hat a little more to the left, and, having greeted one of the

distressed gentlewomen who loitered limply in his path with a polite "If you please, Mabel!" which drew

upon him a freezing stare of which he seemed oblivious, he passed out, leaving behind him strained silence.

"Be reasonable!" pleaded Geoffrey. "Men aren't saints! It was nothing! . . . Are you going to end . . .

Maud looked at him with a smile. She was conscious of an overwhelming relief. The dim interior of Ye Cosy

Nooke no longer seemed depressing. She could have kissed this unknown "Babe" whose businesslike action

had enabled her to close a regrettable chapter in her life with a clear conscience.

"But you haven't only lost your head, Geoffrey," she said. "You've lost your figure as well."

She went out quickly. With a convulsive bound Geoffrey started to follow her, but was checked before he had

The lady whom Mr. Willoughby had addressed as Mabelerroneously, for her name was Ernestinewas

For a moment this appalling statement drew the unhappy man's mind from the main issue.

"Six and twopence for a cup of chocolate and a few cakes?" he cried, aghast. "It's robbery!"

"Six and twopence, please!" said the queen of the bandits with undisturbed calm. She had been through this

sort of thing before. Ye Cosy Nooke did not get many customers; but it made the most of those it did get.

The distressed brigand showed no gratification. She had the air of one who is aloof from worldly things. All

she wanted was rest and leisureleisure to meditate upon the body upstairs. All flesh is as grass. We are

Geoffrey dashed from the room. He heaved his body through the door. He lumbered down the stairs.

Out in Bond Street the traffic moved up and the traffic moved down. Strollers strolled upon the sidewalks.

IN his bedroom at the Carlton Hotel George Bevan was packing. That is to say, he had begun packing; but for

the last twenty minutes he had been sitting on the side of the bed, staring into a future which became bleaker

and bleaker the more he examined it. In the last two days he had been no stranger to these grey moods, and

they had become harder and harder to dispel. Now, with the steamertrunk before him gaping to receive its

Somehow the steamertrunk, with all that it implied of partings and voyagings, seemed to emphasize the fact

that he was going out alone into an empty world. Soon he would be on board the liner, every revolution of

whose engines would be taking him farther away from where his heart would always be. There were

It was incredible that three short weeks ago he had been a happy man. Lonely, perhaps, but only in a vague,

impersonal way. Not lonely with this aching loneliness that tortured him now. What was there left for him?

As regards any triumphs which the future might bring in connection with his work, he was, as Mac the

stagedoor keeper had said, "blarzy". Any success he might have would be but a stale repetition of other

successes which he had achieved. He would go on working, of course, but. The ringing of the telephone

bell across the room jerked him back to the present. He got up with a muttered malediction. Someone calling

up again from the theatre probably. They had been doing it all the time since he had announced his intention

"Is that George?" asked a voice. It seemed familiar, but all female voices sound the same over the telephone.

"Well, you had better run through the list of your feminine friends till you reach me."

"How clever of you to guess. George, I want to ask you one or two things. In the first place, are you fond of

George blinked. This was not a dream. He had just still hurt most convincingly. He needed the evidence to

"Oh, well, if you don't even know what butter means, I expect it's all right. What is your weight, George?"

"Wait a minute." There was a silence at the other end of the wire. "About thirteen stone," said Maud's voice.

The voice at the other end of the wire purred with approval. "I never heard anything so splendid. The last man

who mentioned pompano to me became absolutely lyrical about sprigs of parsley and melted butter. Well,

George pressed his unoccupied hand against his forehead. This conversation was unnerving him.

"I mean, I didn't quite catch what you said that time. It sounded to me like 'What about wallpaper?"

"Your den. You must have a den. Where do you suppose you're going to work, if you don't? Now, my idea

would be some nice quiet grasscloth. And, of course, you would have lots of pictures and books. And a

photograph of me. I'll go and be taken specially. Then there would be a piano for you to work on, and two or

three really comfortable chairs. Andwell, that would be about all, wouldn't it?"

"What you've been sayingabout butter and pompanos and wallpaper and my den and all that? I don't

"How stupid of you! I was asking you what sort of wallpaper you would like in your den after we were

George dropped the receiver. It clashed against the side of the table. He groped for it blindly.

"Well, aren't we going to get married? Our engagement is announced in the Morning Post."

"George!" Maud's voice shook. "Don't tell me you are going to jilt me!" she said tragically. "Because, if you

are, let me know in time, as I shall want to bring an action for breach of promise. I've just met such a capable

young man who will look after the whole thing for me. He wears a bowler hat on the side of his head and

"I said Gosh! And listen to me, when I say Gosh, I mean Gosh! Where are you? I must see you. Where can

we meet? I want to see you! For Heaven's sake, tell me where you are. I want to see you! Where are you?

He hung up the receiver, and bounded across the room to where his coat hung over the back of a chair. The

"Well," said George to the steamertrunk, "and what are you butting in for? Who wants you, I should like to