CHAPTER III It was to be in three volumes. She saw her way pretty clearly to the end of the first. She had ideas for the second. The third must take care of itself until she reached it. Hero and heroine, ready to her hand, subordinate characters vaguely floating in the background. After an hour or two of meditation she sat down and dashed at CHAPTER I. Long before the end of the year it ought to be finished. But in August came her baby's first illness. For nearly a fortnight she was away from home and on her return, though no anxiety remained, she found it difficult to resume work. The few chapters completed had a sorry look. They did not read well, not at all like writing destined to be read in print. After a week's disheartening, she made a new beginning. At the end of September, baby again alarmed her. A trivial ailment as before, but she could not leave the child until all was well. Again she reviewed her work, and with more repugnance than after the previous interruption. But go on with it, she must and would. The distasteful labor, slow, worrisome, often performed without pretense of hope, went on until October. Then she broke down. Mary Woodruff found her crying by the fireside, feverish and unnerved. I can't sleep, she said. I hear the clock strike every hour, night after night. But she would not confess the cause. In writing her poor novel she had lived again through the story enacted at Tynmouth, and her heart failed beneath its burden of hopeless longing. Her husband had forsaken her. Even if she saw him again, what solace could be found in the mere proximity of a man who did not love her, who had never loved her? The child was not enough. Its fatherless estate enhanced the misery of her own solitude. When the leaves fell and the sky darkened, and the long London winter gloomed before her, she sank with a moan of despair. True strength and tenderness were now invaluable. By sheer force of will she overcame the malady and its physical effects, and did wonders in the assailing of its moral source. Her appeal now was formerly, was to the nobler pride, always struggling for control in Nancy's character. A few days of combat with the besieging melancholy that threatened disaster, and Nancy could meet her friend's look with a smile. She put away and turned the key upon her feudal scribbling. No more of that. Novel writing was not her vocation. She must seek again. Early in the afternoon she made ready to go forth on the only business which now took her from home. It was nearly a week since she had seen her boy. In the front door she came unexpectedly under two pairs of eyes. Face to face with her stood Samuel Barnby, his hand raised to signal at the knocker, just withdrawn from him. And behind Barnby was a postman, holding a letter, which in another moment would have dropped into the box. Samuel performed the civil salute. Ah! How do you do, Miss Lord? You're going out, I'm afraid. Yes, I'm going out. She replied mechanically, and in speaking took the letter held out to her. A glance at it sent all her blood rushing upon the heart. I want to see you particularly, said Samuel. Could I call again this afternoon? Nancy gazed at him, but did not hear. He saw the sudden pallor of her cheeks, and thought he understood it. As she stood like a statue, he spoke again. It is very particular business. If you could give me an appointment. Business? Oh, come in if you like. She drew back to admit him, but in the passage stood looking at her letter. Barnby was perplexed and embarrassed. You would rather I called again. Called again? Just as you like. Oh, then I will stay, said Samuel bluntly. For he had things in mind which disposed him to resent this lagerent discourtesy. His voice awakened Nancy. She opened the door of the dining-room. Will you sit down, Mr. Barnby, and excuse me for a few minutes. Certainly.  At another time Nancy would have remarked something very unusual in his way of speaking, especially in the utterance of her name. But for the letter in her hand she must have noticed with uneasiness a certain severity of countenance, which had taken the place of Barnby's wanted smile. As it was, she scarcely realized his presence, and closing the door of the room he had entered, she forthwith forgot that such a man existed. Her letter. His handwriting at last. And he was in England. She flew up to her bedroom, and tore open the envelope. He was in London. Great called it straight. S.W. A short letter, soon read. Dearest Nancy, I am ashamed to write, yet right I must. All your letters reached me. There was no reason for my silence, but the unwillingness to keep sending bad news. I have still nothing good to tell you. But here I am, in London again, and you must know of it. When I posted my last letter to you from New York, I meant to come back as soon as I could get money enough to pay my passage. Since then I have gone through a miserable time. Idle, for the most part. Ill for a few weeks, and occasionally trying to write something that editors would pay for. But after all, I had to borrow. It has brought me home, steerage, if you know what that means, and now I must earn more. If we were to meet, I might be able to say something else. I can't write it. Let me hear from you if you think me worth a letter. Yours ever, dear girl. L. For a quarter of an hour, she stood, with his sheet open, as though still reading. Her face was void of emotion. She had a vacant look, cheerless, but with no more decided significance. Then she remembered that Samuel Barnby was waiting for her downstairs. He might have something to say which really concerned her. Better see him at once, and get rid of him. With slow step, she descended to the dining-room. The letter, folded and rolled, she carried in her hand. L. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Barnby. Don't mention it. Will you sit down? Yes, of course. She spoke abstractly, and took a seat not far from him. I was just going out, but there's no hurry. I hardly know how to begin. Perhaps I better prepare you by saying that I have received very strange information. His air was magisterial. He subdued his voice to a note of profound solemnity. L. What sort of information? Asked Nancy vaguely. Her brows knitted, in a look rather of annoyance than apprehension. L. Very strange indeed. You have said that already. Her temper was failing. She felt a nervous impulse to behave rudely. To declare the contempt it was always difficult to disguise when talking with Barnby. L. I repeated, because you seem to have no idea what I'm going to speak of. I'm the last person of fine pleasure in such a disagreeable duty, as is now laid upon me. In that respect, I believe you will do me justice. L. Will you speak plainly? This roundabout talk is intolerable. L. Samuel drew himself up and regarded her with offended dignity. He had promised himself no small satisfaction from this interview, had foreseen its salient points. His mere aspect would be enough to subdue Nancy, and when he began to speak she would tremble before him. Such a moment would repay him for the enforced humility of yours. Perhaps she would weep. She might even implore him to be merciful. How to act in that event he had quite made up his mind. But all such anticipations were confused by Nancy's singular behavior. She seemed in truth not to understand the hints which should have overwhelmed her.  L. Miss Lord, I will still address you by that name, though for very long time I have regarded you as a person worthy of all admiration and have sincerely humbled myself before you. I cannot help thinking that a certain respect is due to me. Even though I find that you have deceived me as to your position, the old feelings are still so strong in me that I could not bear to give you needless pain. Instead of announcing to my father and to other people the strange facts which I have learned, I come here as a friend. I speak with all possible forbearance. I do my utmost to spare you. I am not justified in expecting at least courteous treatment. A pause of awful impressiveness. The listener, fully conscious at length of the situation she had to face, fell into a calmer mood. All was over. Suspense and the burden of falsehood had no longer to be endured. Her part now, for this hour at all events, was merely to stand by whilst fate unfolded itself. Please say, whatever you have to say, Mr. Barnby. She replied with quiet civility. I believe your intention was good. You may be nervous. That was all. Pray forgive me. Perhaps we'll be best if I ask you a simple question. You will see that the position I hold under your father's will leaves me no choice but to ask it. Is it true that you are married? I will answer if you tell me how you came to think that I was married. I have been incredibly informed. By whom? You must forgive me. I can't tell you the name. Then I can't answer your question. Samuel mused. He was unwilling to break a distinct promise. No doubts, and Nancy, you have undertaken not to mention the person. I have. If it is someone who used to be a friend of mine, you didn't have any scruples. She is good as told me what she meant to do. Of course, it is Miss Morgan. As you have yourself spoken the name. Very well. She isn't in her senses, and I wonder she's kept the secret so long.  I am married. She made the avowal in a tone very like that in which to be a trasprench, she had affirmed the contrary. And your true name is Mrs. Terrant. That is my name. The crudely masculine, in Barbie, prompted one more question, but some other motive checked him. He let his eyes wander slowly about the room. Even yet there was a chance of playing off certain effects which he had rehearsed with gusto.  If you mean that you still had the hopes expressed in your letter some time ago, I can only say, in my defence, that I gave you an honest answer. Yes, you said you could ever marry me, but of course I couldn't understand it in this sense. It is a blow. I find it very hard to bear. He rose and went to the window as if ashamed of the emotion he could not command. Nancy, too much occupied with her own troubles, to ask or care whether his distress was genuine, laid Terrance Letter upon a side table, and began to draw for the loves. Then she had buttoned her jacket. These out of door garments oppressed her.  There are things that might be said, but I will not say them. Most men in my position would yield to the temptation of revenge. But for many years I have kept in view a moral ideal. And now I have the satisfaction of conquering my lower self. You shall not hear one word of reproach for my lips. He waited for the reply, the expected murmur of gratitude. Nancy said nothing. Mrs. Terrant, he stood before her. What do you suppose must be the result of this? There can only be one. You mean the ruin of your prospects. But do you forget that all the money you've received since Mr. Lord's death has been obtained by false pretenses? Are you not aware that this is a criminal offense? Nancy raised her eyes and looked steadily at him. Then I must bear the punishment. For a minute, Barbie enjoyed her suffering. Of his foreseen effects, this one had come nearest to succeeding. But who's unsatisfied? He hoped she would beseech his clemency. The punishment might be very serious. I really can't say what view my father may take of this deception. Is there any use in talking about it? I am penniless. That's all you have to tell me. What else I have to bear? I shall know soon enough. One thing I must ask. Isn't your husband in a position to support you? I can't answer that. Please to say nothing about my husband. Barbie caught it hope. It might be true as Jessica Morgan believed that Nancy was forsaken. The man Terrant might be wealthy enough to disregard her prospects. In that case, an assiduous lover, one who by the exercise of a prudent generosity had obtained power over the girl, could yet hope for reward. Samuel had as little of the villain in his composition as any camberwell householder. He cherished no dark designs. But after the manner of his kind, he was in love with Nancy. And even the long pursuit of a lofty ideal does not render a man proof against the elementary forces of human nature. We will suppose, then, he said, with a certain cheerfulness, that you have nothing whatever to depend upon, but your father's will. What is before you? How can you live? That is my own affair. It was not said offensively, but in a tone of bitter resignation. Barbie sat down opposite to her and leaned forward. Do you think, for one moment, his voice was softly melodious, that I, I would have loved you for years, could let you suffer for want of money? He had not skill to read her countenance. Trouble he discerned and shame. But the half veiled eyes, the quivering nostril, the hard, cold lips, spoke a language beyond Samuel's interpretation. Even had he known of the outrages previously inflicted upon her pride, and that this new attack came in a moment when her courage was baffled, her heart cruelly wounded, he would just as little of comprehended the spirit, which now kept her mute. He imagined her overcome by his generosity. Another of his great effects had come off with a tolerable success. Put your mind at rest. He pursued, malifluously.  I answer for it. Still mute and her head bowed low, such as the power of nobility displayed before an Aryan soul. You have never done me justice. Confess that you haven't. To this remarkable appeal Nancy Perforis replied, I never thought ill of you. When she had spoken, color came into her cheeks. Observing it, Samuel was strangely moved. How do you impress her even more profoundly than he had hoped to do? Jessica Morgan's undisguised subjugation had flattered him into credulity, respecting his influence over the female mind. But you didn't think me capable of anything extraordinary. Even in her torment Nancy marveled at this revelation of fatuity. She did not understand the pranks of such a mind as Barbies when its balance is disturbed by exciting circumstance. What are you offering me? she asked, in a low voice. How could I take money from you? I didn't mean that you should. Your secret has been betrayed to me. Suppose I refuse to know anything about it and leave things as they were. Nancy kept her eyes down. Suppose I say, duty bids me injure this woman who has injured me. But no, I will not. Suppose I say, I can make her regret bitterly that she married that other man. But no, I will not. Suppose instead of making your secret known, I do my utmost to guard it. What would be your opinion of this behavior? I should think it was kindly meant, but useless. Useless? Why? Because it isn't in your power to guard the secret. Jessica Morgan won't leave her work half done. If that's all I say again that you can put your mind at rest. I answer for Miss Morgan. With her my will is law. Samuel smiled, a smile ineffable, the smile of a suburban deity. Why should you take any trouble about me, said Nancy? I could do nothing for you in return. You can. She looked anxiously at him, for his voice sounded ominous. What? You can acknowledge that you never did me justice. It's true that I didn't, she answered languidly, speaking as though the concession mattered little. Barmy brightened. His hands were upon his knees. He raised his chin and smiled at vacancy. You thought me unworthy of you. You can confess to me that you were mistaken. I didn't know you as I do now. Felt from the expressionless lips. Thank you for saying that. Well then, your anxiety is at an end. You are not in the hands of a mercenary enemy, but if a man whose principles forbid him to do anything ignoble, who has an ideal of life, the result of much study and thought. You've never heard me speak about religion, but you would be gravely mistaken if you thought I had no religious convictions. Someday I shall treat that subject before our society. It is probable that my views will give rise to a good deal of discussion. I have formed a religion for myself. When I write my essay, I think I shall call it the religion of a man of business. One of the great evils of the day is the vulgar supposition that commerce has nothing to do with religious faith. I shall show how utterly wrong that is. It would take too long to explain to you my mature views of Christianity. I'm not sure that I recognize any of the ordinary dogmas. I think I have progressed beyond them. However, we shall have many opportunities of talking about these things. Nancy uttered a mere, yes, she was looking at Terence's letter on the side table and wishing to be alone that she might read it again. In the meantime, Samuel pursued, whatever difficulty arises, confided to me, probably you will wish to tell me more before long.  And so little shake hands and sign of genuine friendship. Nancy gave her fingers, which felt very cold upon Barbie's warm moist palm. This conversation has been trying to you, he said. But relief of mine will soon follow. If anything occurs to me that may help to soothe you, I will write. Thank you. At the beginning of our interview, you didn't think it would end like this. There was something of the boy in Samuel, perhaps the wholesomeest part of him. Having manifested his admirable qualities, he felt a lighthearted pleasure in asking for renewed assurance of the good opinion he had earned. I hardly cared, said Nancy, as she rose with a sigh of weariness. But you have gone over that. You will be quite cheerful now. In time, no doubt. I shall call again. Let us stay on Wednesday evening. By that time I shall be able to put you entirely at ease with regard to Miss Morgan. Nancy made no reply. In shaking hands she regarded the radiant Samuel with a dreamy interest. And when he had left her, she still gazed for a few moments at the door. End Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Part 5 Compassed Round of In the Year of Jubilee by George Kissing The sleeper-box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 4 The habit of confidence prompted Nancy to seek Mary Woodruff and show her the long expected letter. But for Barmy's visit she would have done so. As it was, her mind solemnly resisted the natural impulse. Forlorn misery, intensified by successive humiliations, whereof the latest was the bitterest. Hardened her even against the one, the indubitable friend, to whom she had never looked in vain for help and solace. Of course it was not necessary to let Mary know with what heartbreaking coldness Tarrant had communicated the fact of his return. But she preferred to keep silence altogether. Having sunk so low as to accept, with semblance of gratitude, pompous favors, dishonoring connivance, at the hands of Samuel Barmy, she would now stand alone in her uttermost degradation. Half in what might, she would act and suffer in solitude. Something she had in mind to do which Mary, if told of it, would regard with disapproval. Mary was not a deserted and insulted wife. She could reason and counsel with the calmness of one who sympathized, but had nothing worse to endure. Even Mary's sympathy was necessarily imperfect. Since she knew not and should never know what had passed in the crucial interviews with Beatrice French, with Jessica Morgan and with Samuel Barmy, bent on indulging in her passionate sense of injury, hungry for a taste of revenge, however poor, Nancy executed with brief delay, a project which had come into her head during the hour of torture, just elapsed. She took a sheet of note paper and upon it wrote half a dozen lines, thus, As your reward for marrying me is still a long way off. And as you tell me that you were in want, I send you as much as I can spare at present. Next month you shall hear from me again. Within the paper she folded a five pound note and placed both in an envelope, which she addressed to Lionel Terrant, Esquire, at his lodgings in Westminster. Having posted this at the first pillar box she walked on, her only object was to combat mental anguish by bodily exercise, to distract if possible the thoughts which hammered upon her brain by moving amid the life of the streets. In Camberwell Road she passed the place of business and scribed with the names Lord and Barmy. It made her think, not of the man who, from being an object of her good-natured contempt, was now become a hated enemy, but of her father, and she mourned for him with profounder feeling than when her tears flowed over his new-made grave. But for headstrong folly, incredible in the retrospect, that father would have been her dear and honoured companion, her friend in every best sense of the word, her guide and protector. Many and many a time had he invited her affection, her trust. For long years it was in her power to make him happy, and in doing so, to enrich her own life, to discipline her mind, as no study of books, even had it been genuine, ever could. Oh, to have the time back again, the despised privilege, the thwarted, embittered love. She was beginning to understand her father, to surmise with mature intelligence the causes of this seeming harshness. To her own boy, when he was old enough, she would talk of him and praise him. Perhaps even thus late, his spirit of stern truthfulness might bear fruit in her life and in her sons. The tender memory and pure resolve did not long possess her. They soon yielded before the potency of present evil, and for an hour or more she walked along the sordid highway, nursing passions, which struck their venom into her heart. It was one of those cold, dry, clouded evenings of autumn, when London streets affect the imagination with a peculiar suggestiveness. New lit lamps, sickly yellow under the dying day, stretch in immense vistas, unobscured by fog, but exhibit no detail of the track they will presently allume. One by one the shopfronts grow radiant, on deepening gloom, and show in silhouette the figures numberless that are hurrying past, by accentuating a pause between the life of daytime and that which will begin after dark, this gray hour excites to an unwanted perception of the city's vastness and of its multifarious labor. Melancholy, yet not dismal, the brooding twilight seems to be token, nature's compassion for myriad mortals, exiled from her beauty and her solace. Noise as far and near blend into a muffled murmur, sounds equivalent of the impression received by the eye. It seems to utter the weariness of unending, ineffectual toil. Nancy and Elwagd, as far as Newington, a district of unfamiliar to her, and repulsive, by the elephant and castle, she stood watching the tumultuous traffic, which rules and roars at this confluence of six highways. She had neither a mind to go on, nor yet to return. The conductor of an omnibus, close at hand, kept bellowing, London Bridge, and her thoughts wandered to that day of meeting with Luckworth Crue when he took her up the monument. She never felt more than an idle interest in Crue, and whenever she remembered him nowadays, it was only to reflect with bitterness that he doubtless knew a part of her secret, the part that was known to Beatrice French. And on that account had ceased to urge his suit. Yet at this moment she wished that she had pledged herself to him in good faith. His behavior argued the steadfast devotion of an honest man, however lacking in refinement. Their long engagement would have been brightened with many hopes. In the end she might have learned to love him, and prosperity would have opened to her a world of satisfactions, for which she could no longer hope. It grew cold. She allowed the movements of a group of people to direct her steps, and went eastward along New Kent Road. But when the shops were passed and only a jury prospective, featureless dwellings lay before her. She felt her heart sink, and paused and vacillating wretchedness. From house nearby sounded a piano, a foolish jingle, but it smote her with a longing for companionship, for a friendly, cheerful talk. And then of a sudden she determined that this life of intolerable isolation should come to an end. Her efforts to find employment that would bring her among people had failed simply because she had applied to strangers, who knew nothing of her capabilities, and cared nothing for her needs. But a way offered itself if she could overcome the poor lingering vestiges of pride and shame, which hitherto had seemed to render it impossible. In this hour her desolate spirit rejected everything but the thought of relief to be found in new occupation, fresh society. She had endured to the limit of strength, under the falling night, before the gray vision of a city, which, by its alien business and pleasure, made her a mere outcast. She all at once found hope in a resource which till now had signified despair. Summoning the first empty cab, she gave an address known to her only by hearsay, that of the South London Fashionable Dress Supply Association. M was driven thither, in about a quarter of an hour. The shop, with its windows cunnily laid out to lure the female eye, spread a brilliant frontage between too much duller places of business. At the doorway stood a commissionaire, distributing some newly printed advertisements to the persons who entered, or who paused and passing. Nancy accepted a paper without thinking about it, and went through the swing doors held open for her by a stripling in buttons. She approached the young woman at the nearest counter, and in a low voice, asked whether Miss French was on the premises. I'm not sure, madam, I will inquire at once. She calls me madam, said Nancy to herself, whilst waiting. So do shopkeepers generally, I suppose I look old. The young person, she hunnied a cockney twang, speedily came back to report that Miss French had left about half an hour ago, and was not likely to return. Can you give me her private address? Not having seen Miss French, since the latter's unwelcome call in Grove Lane, she only knew that Beatrice had left to Crespany Park, to inhabit a flat somewhere or other. I wish to see her particularly, on business. Excuse me a moment, madam. I'm returning, the young person requested Nancy to follow up the shop, and led into a glass partitioned office, where at a table covered with fashion plates, sat a middle-aged man with a bald head of peculiar luster. He rose and bowed, Nancy repeated her request. Could I dispatch a message for you, madam? My business is private. The bald-headed man coughed her vainly, and begged to know her name. Miss Lorde of Grove Lane. Immediately his countenance changed from deprecating solemnity to a broad smile of recognition. Miss Lorde, oh, to be sure, I will give you the address at once. Pray part of my questions, we have to be so very careful. So many people desire private interviews with Miss French. I will jot down the address. He did so in the back of an advertisement, and added verbal directions. Nancy hurried away. Another cab conveyed her to Brixton, and set her down before a block of recently built flats. She ascended to the second floor, pressed the button of a bell, and was speedily confronted by a girl of the nady, parlor-made species. This time she began by giving her name, and had only a moment to wait, before she was admitted to a small drawing room, furnished with semblance of luxury. A glowing fire, and the light of an ambivalent lamp, showed as much fashionable upholstery and brick-a-brack as could be squeezed into the narrow space. Something else was perceptible, which might perhaps have been dispensed with. To wit, the odor of a very savory meal. A meal in which fried onions had no insignificant part. But before the visitor could comment to herself upon this disadvantage attaching to flats, Beatrice joined her. I could hardly believe it, so you have really looked me up. Awfully jolly of you. I'm quite alone. We'll have a bit of dinner together. Miss French was in her most expansive mood. She understood the call as one of simple friendliness. I wasn't sure that you knew the address. Got it at the shop. They don't go telling everybody, I hope. Someone there seemed to know my name, said Nancy, whom the warmth and light and cheery welcome encouraged in this step she had taken, and she explained. Ah, Mr. Clotworthy, rum-old cove, when you get to know him. Yes, yes, no doubt he has heard me speak of you. In a general way, you know.  The snooze corner, commonly called a bedroom, lacked one detail of comfort, pure air. The odor of dinner blending with toilet perfumes made an atmosphere decidedly oppressive. Beatrice remarked on the smallness of the chamber, adding archly, but I sleep single. What your brother doing, she asked, while helping to remove Nancy's jacket, I passed him in Oxford Street the other day, and he either didn't see me or didn't want to. Thought he looked rather dissipated. I know very little about him, answered the visitor, who spoke and acted without reflection, conscious chiefly at this moment of faintness induced by fatigue and hunger. Fanny's in Paris, pursued Miss French, writes as if she was amusing herself. I think I shall run over and have a look at her. Seen Ada?  They had to chuck her out of the house. Of course she cares no more about the child than I do, it's only despite her husband. She's going to law with him, she says.  Nancy tried to laugh. The effort and its semi-success indicated surrender to her companion spirit rather than any attention to the subject spoken of. They returned to the drawing room, but had not time to begin a conversation before the servant summoned them to dinner. A very satisfying meal approved, not badly cooked, as cooking is understood in Brixton. And served with more of ceremony than the guests expected. Fried scallops, rump steaks, mothered onions, an apple tart, and very sound, stilted cheese. Such fair a testify to the virile qualities of Beatrice's mind. She was above the feminine folly of neglecting honest fixtures. Moreover there appeared two wines, sherry and claret. Did you ever try this kind of thing? Said the hostess finally, reaching a box of cigarettes. I, of course not, Nancy replied with a laugh. It's expected of a sensible woman nowadays. I've got to like it. Better try, no need to make yourself uncomfortable.  I buy these in the hay market, special brand for women.  Like this, but not always alone. Someone or other drops in. Luckworth Crue was here yesterday. Speaking, she watched Nancy, who bore the regard with carelessness and replied lightly. It's an independent sort of life at all events. Just the kind of life that suits me. I'm my own mistress. There was a suggested illusion in the slight tone of the last phrase, but Nancy, thinking her own thoughts, did not perceive it. As the servant had left them alone, they could now talk freely. Beatrice, by her frequent glance of curiosity, seemed to await some explanation of a visit so unlooked for. How are things going with you? She asked at length, tapping the ash of her cigarette over a plate. I want something to do, was the blunt reply. Too much alone, isn't that it? Yes. Just what I thought. You don't see him often. Nancy had seized her pretense of smoking and leaned back. A flush on her face and something unwanted in the expression of her eyes, something like a smile yet touched with apathy. Told of physical influences, which assisted her resolve to have done with scruple and delicacy. She handled her wine glass, which was half full, and before answering, raised it to her lips. No, I don't see him often. Well, I told you to come to me if I could be any use. What's your idea? Do you know of anything I could do? It isn't so much to earn money as to be occupied and escape from loneliness. But I must have two afternoons in the week to myself. Beatrice nodded and smiled. No, not for that, Nancy added hastily, to see my boy. The other appeared to accept this correction. All right, I think I can find you something. We're opening a branch. She mentioned the locality. There'll be a club room, like at headquarters, and we shall want someone ladylike to sit there and answer questions. You wouldn't be likely to see anyone that knows you, and you'd get a good deal of fun out of it. Hours from ten to five, but Saturday afternoon off, and Wednesday after three, if that would do. Yes, that would do very well. Any payment at first? I don't know. Yes, that would do very well. Any payment at first? Oh, we wouldn't be so mean as all that. Say, ten chelons a week till Christmas, and afterwards we could see, she laughed, whether you're worth more. I know nothing about fashions. You can learn all you need to know in an hour. It's the ladylike appearance and talk more than anything else. Nancy sipped again from her wine-glass. When could I begin? The place will be ready on Monday week. Next week you might put in a few hours with us. Just sit and watch and listen, that's all, to get the hang of the thing. Thank you for being so ready to help me. Not a bit of it. I haven't done yet. There's a condition.   You can guess what it is. I quite believe what you told me some time ago, but I shouldn't feel quite easy until I know. She finished the sentence with a look. Nancy's eyes fell. Curiosity, nothing else, added the other. Just to make quite sure it isn't anybody I thought of. There was a long silence. Leaning forward upon the table, Nancy turned her wine-glass about and about. She now had a very high color and breathed quickly. Is it often, said Beatrice, in an indifferent tone. Thereupon Nancy disclosed the name of her husband, her lover, as Miss French thought him. Applied with further questions, she told where he was living, but gave no account of the circumstances that had estranged them. Abundantly satisfied, Beatrice grew almost affectionate and talked wearily. Nancy wished to ask whether Luckworth Crue had any knowledge of her position. It was long before her lips could utter the words, but in length they were spoken. And Beatrice assured her that Crue, good silly fellow, did not even suspect the truth. End Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Part 5 Compass Round of In the Year of Jubilee by George Kissing This Leopard Fox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 5 For a man, said Terrant, who can pay no more than twelve and six pence a week, it's the best accommodation to be found in London. There's an air of civilization about the house. Look, a bath and a little bookcase and an easy chair, such as can be used by a man who respects himself. You feel you are among people who tub the mornings and know the meaning of leisure. Then the view. He was talking to his friend Harvey Munden, the journalist. The room in which they stood might with advantage have been larger, but as a bedchamber it served well enough. And only the poverty of its occupant, who put it to the additional use of sitting room and study, made the lack of space particularly noticeable. The window afforded a prospect pleasant enough to eyes such as theirs. Above the lower houses, on the opposite side of the way, appeared tall trees in the sear garb of later autumn, growing by old Westminster school. And beyond them, grey and twilight, rose the towers of the Abbey. From this point of view, novice image of modern brickwork spoiled their charm. The time-worn monitors stood alone against a sky of ready smoke-drift and purple cloud. The old Adam is stronger than ever in me, he pursued. If I were condemned for life to the United States, I should go mad and perish in an attempt to swim the Atlantic. Then why did you stay so long? I could have stayed with advantage even longer. It's something to study with tolerable thoroughness, the most hateful form of society yet developed. I saw it at first as a man does who is living at his ease. At last, as a poor devil who is thankful for the institution of free lunches. I went first class and I came back as a steward's passenger. It has been a year well spent. It had made him an aspect more than a twelve-month-older. His longing attitude, the spirit of his talk, showed that he was unchanged in bodily and mental habits, but certain lines knew graven upon his visage and an austerity that had taken the place of youthful self-consciousness signified a more than normal progress and experience. Do you know, said Mundan Siley, that you have brought back a transatlantic accent? Accent? The devil. I don't believe it. Intonation at all events. Taran professed a serious annoyance. If that's true, I'll go and live for a month in Limerick. It would be cheaper to join a socialist club in the East End. But just tell me how you stand. How long can you hold out in these aristocratic lodgings? Till Christmas. I'm ashamed to say how I've got the money, so don't ask. I reached London with empty pockets. And I'll tell you one thing. I have learnt, Mundan. There's no villainy, no scoundrelism, no baseness, conceivable. That is an excuse by want of money. I understand the whole social question. The man who's never felt the perspiration come out on his forehead and asking himself how he's going to keep body and soul together has no right to an opinion on the greatest question of the day. What particular scoundrelism or baseness have you committed? Ask the other. Tarrant averted his eyes. I said I could understand such things. One sees that you have been breathed upon by democracy. I love the word and the thing even more than I did, which is saying a good deal. Be it so, you say you're going to work. Yes, I have come back to work. Even now it's difficult to realize that I must work or starve. I understand how fellows who have unexpectedly lost their income go through life sponging on relatives and friends. I understand how an educated man goes sinking through all the social grades down to the common lodging house and the infirmary. And I honestly believe there's only one thing that saves me from doing likewise. And what's that? I can't tell you. Not yet in all events. I always thought you were a very fine specimen of the man born to do nothing, said Mundan, with that smile which permitted him the surprising candor in conversation. And you were quite right. Return, Tarrant, with a laugh. I'm a born artist in indolence. It's the pity of pitties that circumstances will frustrate nature's purpose. You think you can support yourself by journalism? I must try. Run your eye over that. He took from the table a slip of manuscript headed a reverie in Wall Street. Mundan read it, sat thoughtful for a moment, and laughed. Double-ish savage. Did you write it after a free lunch? Wrote it this morning. Shall I try one of the evening papers with it? Or one of the weeklies? Mundan suggested a few alterations and mentioned the journal which he thought might possibly find room for such a bit of satire. Done anything else? Here's a half-finished paper. The commercial prospects of the Bahamas. Let me look. After reading a page or two with critically wrinkled forehead, Mundan laid it down. Seems pretty solid. Libelous, too, I should say. You've more stuff in you than I thought. All right, go ahead. Come and dine with me tomorrow to meet a man who may be useful. Tomorrow I can't. I dine at Lady Pollard's. Who is she? Didn't you know Pollard of Trinity?  Next day, then. Can't. I dine with some people at Bedford Park. I can't. I dine with some people at Bedford Park. Mundan lifted his eyebrows. At this rate, he may live pretty well in a dress suit. Any more engagements? None that I know of. But I shall accept all that offer. I'm hungry for the society of decent English people. I used to neglect my acquaintances. I know better now.  To enable his friend to read, Taryn had already lit a lamp. Mundan, glancing about the room, said canvassly, to still possess the furniture of the old place. No. Was the answer, given with annoyance. Bodry had it sold for me. Pictures, books, and all the knick-knacks. Everything. Of course I'm sorry for it, but I thought at the time I shouldn't return to England for some years. You never said anything of that kind to me? No, I didn't. The other replied gloomily. And all at once he fell into sotaceturnamood that his companion, after a few more remarks and inquiries, rose from his chair to leave. From seven to nine, Taryn sat resolutely at his table and covered a few pages with a kind of composition which now came easily to him. A somewhat virulent sarcasm. He found pleasure in the work, but after nine o'clock his thoughts strayed to matters of personal interest and got beyond control. With the last post of the evening bring him an answer to a letter he had dispatched this morning. At length he laid down his pen and listened nervously for that knock, which, at one time or another, was all men a heart-shaking sound. It came with the street door and was quickly followed by a tap at his own. Nancy had lost no time in replying. What her letter might contain he found it impossible to conjecture. For poaches joyous welcome wrath, forgiveness he knew her so imperfectly that he could not feel sure even as to the probabilities of the case. And his suspense was abundantly justified. Her answer came upon him with a force of a shock totally unexpected. He read the lines again and again. He stared at the banknote. His first sensation was one a painful surprise. Thereupon succeeded fire resentment. Reason put in a modest word, hinting that he had deserved no better. But he refused to listen. Nothing could excuse so gross an insult. He had not thought Nancy capable of this behavior. Tested, she betrayed the vice of birth. Her invitation upon his motive in marrying her was sure vulgar abuse. Possible, only on vulgar lips. Well and good. Now he knew her. All the torment of conscience he had suffered was needless. And for the moment he experienced a great relief. In less than ten minutes letter and banknote were enclosed in a new envelope and addressed back again to the sender. With no word of comment she must interpret him as she could and would. He went out and threw the offensive packet into the nearest receptacle for such things. Work was over for tonight. After pacing in the obscurity of Dean's yard until his pulse had recovered a normal beat he issued into the people's ways and turned towards Westminster Bridge. Despite his neglect of Nancy he never ceased to think of her with a tenderness which in his own judgment signified something more than the simple fidelity of a married man. Faithful, in the technical sense he had not been. But the casual amours of a young man caused him no self-approach. Nancy's image remained without rival in his mind. He continued to acknowledge her claims upon him and from time to time to think of her with a lover's longing. As he only wrote when prompted by such a mood his letters, however unsatisfying were sincere. Various influences conflicted with this amiable and honourable sentiment. The desire of independence which had speeded him away from England still accompanied him on his return. He never ceased to regret his marriage and it seemed to him that without this legal bondage it would have been much easier to play a manly part at the time of Nancy's becoming a mother. Were she frankly his mistress he would not be keeping thus far away when most she needed the permission of his presence. The secret marriage condemned him to a course of shame and the more he thought of it the more he marveled at his deliberate complicity in such a fraud. When poverty began to make itself felt when he was actually hampered in his movements by want of money this form of indignity more than any galling to his pride intensified the impatience with which he remembered that he could no longer roam the world as an adventurer. Any day some trivial accident might oppress him with the burden of a wife and child who looked to him for their support. Tarrant, the married man unless he were content to turn simple rogue and vagabond must make for himself a place in the money-earning world. His indolence had no small part in his revolt against the stress of such a consideration. The climate of the Bahamas by no means tended to invigorate him and in the United States he found so much to observe even to enjoy that the necessity of effort was kept out of sight as long as by one expedient and another he succeeded in procuring means to live upon without working. During the homeward voyage a trial such as he had never known well it discomforts which enraged even more than they discussed to him. His heart softened in anticipation of a meeting with Nancy and of the sight of his trial. Apart from his fellow travelers in whom he could perceive nothing but coarseness and vileness he spent the hours and longing for England and for the home he would make there in castigating the flagrant faults of his character including his ambitions and endeavoring to find a way out of the numerous grave difficulties with which his future was beset. Landon he rather forgot than discarded these wholesome meditations what he had first to do was so very unpleasant and tacked so rudely his self-respect that he insensibly fell back again into the rebellious temper. Twice there was none even with a few shillings in his pocket of necessity he repaired forthwith to Mr. Vajra's office in the city and made note the straits into which he had fallen. Now, my dear fellow, send Mr. Vajra with his usual good humor. How much have you had of me since you started for the Bahamas? That is hardly a fair question, Tarant replied endeavoring not to hang his head like an everyday beggar. I went out on a commission true, but after you ceased to be a commissioner you have lent me seventy pounds living in the states is expensive. When I got from my furniture is gone as well yet I certainly haven't been extravagant and for the last month or two I have lived like a tramp. We make my debt to you around hundred it shall be repaid though I may be a year or two about it the loan was granted but together with a great deal of unpalatable counsel having found his lodging Tarant at once invested ten pounds and provided himself with a dress suit and improving his ordinary attire he had sold every garment he could spare in New York for the dress suit he had an immediate use on the very platform of Euston station at his arrival a chance meeting with one of his old college friends resulted in an invitation to dine and even had not policy urged him to make the most of such acquaintances he was in no mood for rejecting the summons back into the world of civilization postponing the purpose letter to Nancy which had he written it sooner would have been very unlike the letter he subsequently sent he equipped himself once more as a gentleman and spent several very enjoyable hours and looking upon the members of his formal circle who do urinals and others only the Harvey Mundan did he confide something of the anxieties which lay beneath his assumed lightheartedness Mundan was almost the only man he knew for whom he had a genuine respect renewal of intercourse with people of good social standing made him more than ever fretful in the thought that he had clogged himself with marriage whatever Nancy's reply to his announcement that he was home again he would have read it with discontent to have the fact forced upon him a fact he seriously believed it that his wife could not be depended upon even for elementary generosity of thought was at this moment especially disastrous it weighed the balance against his feelings of justice and humanity hitherto no matter how he acted always preponderant over the baser issues of character and circumstance he stood leaning upon the parapet of Westminster Bridge his eyes scanning the dark façade of the houses of parliament how would the strong unscrupulous really ambitious man act in such a case what was to prevent him from ignoring the fact that he was married and directing his course precisely would have done if poverty had come upon him before his act of supreme foolishness journalism must have been his refuge then as now but society would have held out to him the hope of every adventurer a marriage with some woman whose wealth and connections would clear an upward path in whatever line he chose to follow why not abandon to Nancy the inheritance it would degrade him to share and so purchase back his freedom the bargain might be made a strong man would carry it through and ultimately triumph by daring all risks having run himself to this point of incestate revolt he quitted his musing station on the bridge and walked away Nancy did not ride again there passed four or five days in Tarrant working hard as well as enjoying the pleasures of society made up his mind not to see her he would leave events to take their course a heaviness of heart often troubled him but he resisted it and told himself that he was becoming stronger after a long day of riding he dressed a packet to a certain periodical and went out to post it no sooner had he left the house than a woman who had been about to pass him on the pavement abruptly turned round and hurriedly walked away but for this action he would not have noticed her as it was he recognized the figure and an impulse which allowed of no reflection brought him in a moment to her side in the ill-lighted street a face could with difficulty be observed but Nancy's features were unmistakable to the eye that now fell upon them stop and let me speak to you he exclaimed he walked only the more quickly and he was obliged to take her by the arm what do you want she spoke as if to an insolent stranger and shook off his grasp if you have nothing to say to me why are you here here I suppose the streets are free to me nothing would bring you to great college street if you didn't know that I was living here now that we have met we must talk I have nothing at all to say to you well then I will talk come this way there's a quiet place where no one will notice us Nancy kept her eyes resolutely averted from him he the while searched her face with eagerness as well as the faint rays of the nearest lamp allowed it if you have anything to say you must say it here it's no use then go your way come on he turned and walked slowly in the direction of Dean's yard there was a sound of a step behind him and when he had come into the dark quiet square Nancy was there too better to be reasonable said Terrent approaching her again I want to ask you why you answered a well meant letter with vulgar insult the insult came from you she answered in a shaking voice what did you say that gave you offence how can you ask such a question to write in that way after never answering my letter for months leaving me without a word at such a time making me think either that you were dead or that you would never let me hear of you again I told you it was a mere note just to let you know I was back I said you should hear more when we met very well we have met what have you to say for yourself first of all this that you were mistaken in supposing I should ever consent to share your money the thought was natural to you no doubt but I see things from a different point of view his cold anger completely disguised the emotion stirred in him by Nancy's presence had he not spoken thus he might have given way to joy and tenderness for Nancy seemed more beautiful than the memory he had retained of her and even at such a juncture she was far from exhibiting the gross characteristics attributed to her by his rebellious imagination then I don't understand were her next words while you wrote to me again and all there are many things in me that you don't understand and can't understand yes I think so that's why I see no use in our talking Tarrant was ashamed of what he had said a meaningless retort which covered his inability to speak as his heart prompted at all events I wanted to see you and as fortunate you passed just as I was coming out Nancy would not accept the conciliatory phrase I hadn't the least intention of seeing you as you replied it was a curiosity to know where you lived nothing else I should never forgive you for the way in which you have behaved to me so you needn't try to explain yourself here and now I should certainly not try the only thing I will say about myself is that I very much regret not having made known that you were married to me when plain honesty required it now I look upon it as something over and done with as far as I am concerned I shall never benefit by the deception she interrupted him how do you know that I shall benefit by it how can you tell what has been happening that you have heard from me in America I have taken it for granted that things were the same then you didn't even take measures to have news of me from anyone else what need I should always have received any letter you sent you thought it likely that I should appeal to you if I were in difficulties he stood silent glad of the obscurity which made it needless for him what is the simple fact has your secret been discovered or not how does it concern you only in this way that if you are to be dependent upon anyone it must be upon me Nancy gave a scornful laugh that's very generous considering your position but happily you can't force me to accept your generosity any more than I can compel you to take a share of my money without the drive at my poverty Terence said that is a sufficient answer as we can't even pretend to be friendly with each other I'm very glad there need be no talk of our future relations you are provided for and no doubt will take care not to lose the provision if ever you prefer to forget that we are legally bound I shall be no obstacle I have thought of that replied Nancy after a pause perhaps we should do better to make the understanding at once you were quite free I should never acknowledge you as my husband you seriously mean it do I seem to be joking very well I won't say that I should never acknowledge you as my wife so far from that I hold myself responsible whenever you choose to make any kind of claim upon me but I shall not dream of interfering with your liberty if ever you wish to write to me you may safely address to the house of champion Hill I remember always he added sternly that it was not I who made such a party necessary Nancy returned his look through the gloom and said in like tone I should do my best never to think of it at all fortunately my time and my thoughts are occupied how? Tarrant could not help asking as she turned away for her tone implied some special significance in the words you have no right to ask anything whatever about me came from Nancy who was already moving away he allowed her to go so it is to be as I wished he said to himself with mock courage so much the better I am to a night of misery End Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Part 5 Compassed Round Of In The Year Of Dupole by George Cassine The sleeper-box recording is in the public domain Chapter 6 Not long after the disappearance of Fanny French Mrs. Damrell called one day upon luck with crew at his office in Farringdon Street crew seldom had business with ladies and few things could have surprised him more than a visit from this lady in particular whom he knew so well by name and regarded with such special interest she introduced herself as a person wishing to find a good investment for a small capital but the half-hours conversation which followed became in the end almost a confidential chat Mrs. Damrell spoke of her nephew Horace Lord with whom she understood Mr. Crew was on terms of intimacy She professed a grave solicitude on his account related frankly the unhappy circumstances which had estranged the young man from her and ultimately asked whether Crew could not make it worth his own while to save Horace from the shoals of idleness and pilot him into some safe commercial haven This meeting was the first of many between the fashionable lady and the keen man of affairs Without a suspicion of how it would come about Horace Lord presently found himself an informal partner in Crew's business He invested only a nominal sum which might be looked upon as a premium of apprenticeship but there was an understanding that at the close of the term of tutelage imposed by his father's will he should have the offer of a genuine partnership on very inviting terms Horace was not sorry to enter again upon regular occupation He had considerably damaged his health and the effort to live up to his ideal of thwarted passion and could no longer entertain a hope that Fanny's escapade was consistent with innocence Having learnt how many slips through the fingers of a gentleman with fastidious taste he welcomed a prospect of increased resources and applied himself with some energy to learning his new business But with Mrs. Damrell he utterly refused to be reconciled and of his sister he saw very little Nancy however approved the step he had taken and said she would be content to know that all was well with him Upon a Sunday morning when the church bells had ceased to cling Luckworth Crew not altogether a disease of flagrant respectability sat by the fireside of a pleasant little room conversing with Mrs. Damrell Their subject, as usual at the beginning of talk was Horace Lord He won't speak of you at all said Crew in a voice singularly subdued sympathetic, respectful I've done all I could short of telling him that I know you he's very touchy still how would you like it asked the lady if you told him that we are acquaintances impossible to say perhaps it would make no difference one way or another Mrs. Damrell was strikingly yet becoming arrayed the past year had dealt no less gently with her than its predecessors if anything her complexion had gained in brilliancy perhaps a consequence of chronic precautions due to her fear of becoming stout a stranger even a specialist in the matter might have doubted whether the fourth decade lay more than a month or two behind her so far from seeking to impress her visitor with a pose of social superiority she behaved him as those presents honored as much as it delighted her luck, tone, bearing each was a flattery which no obtuseness could fail to apprehend and cruise countenance proved him anything but inappreciative hitherto she had spoken and listened with her head drooping in gentle melancholy now with a sudden change intended to signify the native buoyancy of her disposition she uttered a rippling laugh which showed her excellent teeth and said prettily poor boy I must suffer the penalty of having tried to save him from one of my own sex not, she added that I foresaw how that poor silly girl would justify my worst fears of her perhaps her head drooping again I had to approach myself with what happened I don't see that at all replied crew whose eyes lost nothing of the exhibition addressed to them even if you had been the cause of it which of course you weren't I should have said you had done the right thing everyone knew what Fanny French must come to isn't it sad a pretty girl but so ill brought up I fear can you give me any news of her sister the one who came here and frightened me so oh, she's going on as usual crew checked himself and showed hesitation she almost threatened me Mrs. Damrell pursued with timid sweetness do you think she is the kind of person to plot any harm against one she better not try it on said crew in his natural voice then as if recollecting himself he pursued more softly but I was going to speak of her you haven't heard that Miss Lord has taken a position in the new branch of that dress supply association Mrs. Damrell I'm kept in astonished silence there can't be any doubt of it I've been told on the best authority she's in what they call the club room a superintendent it's a queer thing what kind of letter to it I must make inquiries said Mrs. Damrell with an air of concern how sad it is Mr. Crew that these young relatives of mine almost the only relatives I have trust me their confidence and their affection pray does Horace know of what a sister is doing I thought I wouldn't speak to him about it until I had seen you how very kind how grateful I am to you for your constant thoughtfulness why crew should have practiced such reticence why it signified kindness and thoughtfulness to Mrs. Damrell neither he nor she could easily have explained but their eyes met with different admiration on the one side and touching amiability on the other then they discussed Nancy's inexplicable behavior from every point of view or rather Mrs. Damrell discussed it and her companion made a pretense of doing so Crew's manner had become patently artificial he either expressed himself in trivial phrases which merely avoided silence or betrayed an embarrassment an abstraction which causely to observe him with all the acuteness at her command you haven't seen her lately she asked when Crew had been staring at the window for a minute or two seen her? no not for a long time I think you told me you haven't called there since Mr. Lord's death I never was there at all he answered abruptly oh I remember you were saying so of course there's no reason why she shouldn't go into business if time is heavy on her hands as I dare say it may be so many ladies prefer to have an occupation of that kind nowadays it's a sign of progress we are getting more sensible society used to have such silly prejudices even within my recollection how quickly things change a lady would have dreamt of permitting her daughter to take an engagement in a shop or any such place now we have women of title starting as milliners and modus and soon it will be quite a common thing to see one's friend behind the counter she gave a gay little laugh in which Crew joined a melodiously for he durst not be married in the note natural to him then raised her eyes and playful appeal if ever I should fall into misfortune Mr. Crew would you put me in the way of earning my living you couldn't you're above all that kind of thing it's for the rough and mighty sort of women and I can't say I have much opinion of them that's a very nice little compliment but at the same time it's rather severe on the women who are practical tell me frankly is my my niece one of the people you haven't much opinion of Crew shuffled his feet I wasn't thinking of Miss Lord but what is really your opinion of her Mrs. Damrell very softly Crew looked up and down smiled in a vagant way and appeared very uncomfortable may I guess the truth said his playful companion no I'll tell you I wanted to marry her and did my best to get her to promise I thought so she paused on the note of arch satisfaction and amused how nice of you to confess and that's all past and forgotten is it a never man more unlike himself than the bold advertising agent in this colloquy he was subdued and shy his usual racy and verile talk had given place to an incipid mildness he seemed then on showing that the graces of polite society were not so strange to him as one might suppose but under Mrs. Damrell's interrogation a restiveness began to appear in him and at length he answered in his natural blunt voice yes it's all over and for a good reason the lady's curiosity was still more provoked no she exclaimed laughingly I am not going to ask the reason that would be presuming too far on friendship crew fixed his eyes on a corner of the room and seemed to look there for a solution of some difficulty when the silence had lasted more than a minute he began to speak slowly and awkwardly I have half a mind to in fact I have been thinking that you ought to know for a reason yes you're the only one that could stand in the place of a mother to her and I don't think she ought to be living alone like she is with no way to advise and help her I have felt that very strongly said Mrs. Damrell the old servant who is with her can't be at all a suitable companion that is to be treated on equal terms a very strange arrangement indeed but you don't mean that you thought less well of her because she is living in that way of course not it's something a good deal more serious than that Mrs. Damrell became suddenly grave then I certainly ought to know you ought I think it very likely she would have been glad enough to make a friend of you if it hadn't been for this this affair which stood in the way there can't be any harm in telling you as you couldn't wish anything but are good that surely you may take for granted well then I have an idea that she's trying to earn money because someone is getting all he can out of her leaving her very little for herself and if so it's time you interfered the listener was so startled that she changed color you mean that some man has earned his power if I'm not mistaken it comes to that but for her father's will she would have been married long ago and she ought to be having blurted out these words crew felt much more at ease as Mrs. Damrell's eyes fell the sense of sexual predominance awoke in him and he was no longer so prostrate before the lady's natural and artificial graces how do you know this she asked in an undertone from someone who had it from his lord herself are you quite sure that it isn't a malicious falsehood as sure as I am that I sit here I know the man's name and where he lives and all about him and I know where the child is at nurse the child never a genuine agitation possessed her she had a frightened pain-stricken look and moved as if she must act without delay it's nearly six months old crew continued of course that's why she was away so long but why hadn't you told me this before it was your duty to tell me you were playing duty how long have you known I heard of it first of all about three months ago but it was only the other day that I was told the man's name and other things about him is it known to many people is the poor girl talked about no no crew replied with confidence the person who told me is the only one who has found it out you may depend upon that it must be a woman said mrs. damrel sharply yes it's a woman someone I know very well she told me just because she thought I was still hoping to marry this Lord and well the truth is though we're good friends she has a little spite against me and I suppose it amused her to tell me something disagreeable I have no doubt said mrs. damrel that the secret has been betrayed to a dozen people all go mail it hasn't return crew following into his vernacular I can hardly believe it at all I should never have dreamt that such a thing was possible what is the man's name what is his position Tarrant is his name and he's related somehow to a Mr. Vajri well known in the city who has a big house over at champion hill I have no notion how they came together or how long it was going on but this Mr. Tarrant has been in America for a year I understand has only just come back and now he's living in poorish lodgings great college street westminster I've made a few inquiries about him but I can't get it very much a man who knows Vajri tells me that Tarrant has no means and that he's a loafing affected sort of chap if that's true and it seems likely from the way he's living of course we'll be ready enough to marry this Lord when the proper time has come I'm only afraid that's all he had in view from the first and I can't help suspecting as I said that she's supporting him now if not, why should she go and work in a shop at all events a decent man wouldn't allow her to do it a decent man said the listener would never have allowed her to fall into disgrace certainly not crew assented with energy and as for my keeping quiet about it, Miss Damrell you've only to think what an awkward affair it was to mention I'm quite sure you'll have a little feeling against me because I knew of it I beg you not to think that she returned to her manner of suave friendliness I shall owe you gratitude for telling me and nothing but gratitude you've behaved with very great delicacy I cannot say how highly I appreciate your feeling on those behalf if I can be of any use I am always at your service thank you dear Mr. Crew thank you and you I have found a real friend and how rarely they are met with of course I shall make inquiries at once my niece must be protected a helpless girl in that dreadful position may commit unheard of follies I fear you are right he is making her his victim with such a secret she's absolutely as mercy and it explains why she ashamed me oh do you think her brother knows it I'm quite sure he doesn't hasn't the least suspicion of course not but it's wonderful how she's escaped you inform it how did she find it out you say she had the story from the girl's own lips but why she must have shown that she knew something Crew imparted such details as had come to his knowledge they were meager and left many obscurities but Mrs. Damrell rewarded him with a few subgratitude and strengthened the spell which she had cast upon this night at Farringdon Street End Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Part 5 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Chapter 7 she had written him after the baby's birth, a letter he would have liked to read again, but for more. Must not the separation from her child be hard? If he saw the poor little mortal, how would the sight affect him? At moments he felt a longing perhaps definable as the instinct of paternity, but he was not the man to grow sentimental over babies, his own or other people's. Irony and sarcasm, very agreeable to a certain class of newspaper readers, were just now his stock and trade, and he could not afford to indulge any softer mode of meditation. His acquaintances agreed that the Year of Absence had not improved him. He was alarmingly clever, he talked well, but his amubility, the poetry of his mind, seemed to have been lost in America. He could no longer admire or praise. For his own part he did not clearly perceive this change. It struck him only that the old friends were less interesting than he had thought them, and he looked for reception in circles better able to appreciate his epigrams and paradoxes. A few weeks of such life broke him so completely to harness that he forgot the seasonable miseries which had been want to drive him from London at the approach of November. When the first fog blackened against his windows he merely lit the lamp and rode on, indifferent. Two years ago he had declared that a London November would fatally blight a soul, that he must flee to a land of sunshine or perish. There was little time now to think about his soul. One windy morning arrived a letter which surprised and disturbed him. It ran thus. Mrs. Eustatia Damrel presents her compliments to Mr. Terrant, and would take it as a great favour, if he could call upon her, either to-morrow or Tuesday, at any hour between three and seven. She particularly desires to see Mr. Terrant on a private matter of mutual interest. Now this could have but one meaning. Mrs. Eustatia Damrel was, of course, Nancy's relative. For Nancy herself or in some other way she must have learnt the fact of his marriage. Probably from Nancy, since she knew where he lived. He was summoned to a judicial interview. Happily attendance was not compulsory. Second thoughts advised him that he had better accept the invitation. He must know what measures were in progress against him. If Nancy had already broken her word she might be disposed to revenge herself in every way that would occur to an angry woman of small refinement. She might make life in London impossible for him. He sat down and penned a reply, saying that he would call upon Mrs. Damrel at five to-morrow. But he did not post this. After all, a day's delay would only irritate him. Better to go this afternoon, in which case it was not worthwhile sending an answer. It seemed to him very probable that Nancy would be with her aunt, to confront him. If so, if indeed she were going to act like any coarse woman, with no regard but for her own passions and interests, he would at least have the consolation of expelling from his mind at once and forever her haunting image. Mrs. Damrel, who during the past twelve months had changed her bone half a dozen times, now occupied private lodgings in Tibernia. On his admittance Terrence had alone for nearly five minutes in a pretentiously furnished room, just the room in which he had expected to find Nancy's relative. The delay and the surroundings exasperated his nervous mood, so that, when the lady entered, he behaved with slight or courtesy, then became his breeding. Nothing in her appearance surprised or interested him. There was a distant facial resemblance to Nancy, natural in her mother's sister. There was expensive, though not particularly tasteful dress, and a gait, a manner distinguishable readily enough from what they aimed to display, the grace of a woman born to social privilege. It would be a humiliating conversation. Terrence braced himself to go through with it. He stood stiffly, while his hostess regarded him with shrewd eyes. She had really bent her head. Will you sit down, Mr. Terrence? He took a chair without speaking. I think you know me by name. I have heard of Mrs. Damrel. Some time ago, I suppose, and in that you had the advantage of me. I heard your name yesterday for the first time. It was the sharper joinder of a woman of the world. Terrence began to perceive that he had to do with intelligence, and would not be allowed to perform a share of talking, de-o-tim-ba. In what can I be of service to you? he asked, with constrained civility. You can tell me, please, what sort of connection there is between you and my niece, Ms. Lorde. Mrs. Damrel was obviously annoyed by his demeanor, and made little effort to disguise her feeling. She gave him the look of one who does not mean to be trifled with. Really, answered the young man with a smile, I don't know what authority you have to make such inquiries. You are not, I believe, Ms. Lorde's guardian. No, but I am her only relative who can act on her behalf, where knowledge of the world is required. As a gentleman, you will bear this in mind. It's quite true that I can oblige you to tell me anything, but when I say that I haven't spoken even to my niece of what I have heard, and haven't communicated with the gentleman who are her guardians, I think you will see that I am not acting in a way you ought to resent. You mean, Mrs. Damrel, that what passes between us is in confidence. I only mean, Mr. Tarrant, that I am giving you an opportunity of explaining yourself, so that I can keep the matter private if your explanation is satisfactory. You have a charge of some kind to bring against me, said Tarrant, composedly. I must first of all hear what it is. The prisoner at the bar can't be prosecuting council at the same time. Do acknowledge that you are on intimate terms with Ms. Lorde. I have known her for a year or two. Tarrant began to exercise caution. Nancy had no hand in this matter. Someone had told tales about her. That was all. He must learn without committing himself exactly how much had been discovered. Are you engaged to her? Engaged to marry her? No. He saw in Mrs. Damrel's clear eye that she convicted him of ambiguities. You have not even made her a promise of marriage. How much simpler, if you would advance a clear charge, and will answer it honestly. Mrs. Damrel seemed to weigh the value of this undertaking. Tarrant met her gaze with steady indifference. It may only be a piece of scandal, a mistake, or a malicious invention. I have been told that, that you are in everything but law, my niece's husband. They regarded each other during a moment's silence. Tarrant's look indicated rapid and anxious thought. It seems, he said at length, that you have no great faith in the person who told you this. It is the easiest matter in the world to find out whether the story is true or not. Inquiries at Falmouth would be quite sufficient, I daresay. I give you the opportunity of keeping it quiet, that's all. You won't care to let me know who told you. There's no reason why I shouldn't. Said Mrs. Damrel, after reflection. Do you know Mr. Luckworth Crue? I don't think I ever heard the name. Indeed. He is well acquainted with Mrs. Lorde. Someone he wouldn't mention gave him all the particulars, having learnt them from Mrs. Lorde herself, and he thought of his duty to inform me of my niece's very painful position. Who is this man? Tarrant asked abruptly. I'm rather surprised you have never heard of him. He's a man of business. My nephew, Mr. Horace Lorde, is shortly to be in partnership with him. Crue. No, the name is quite strange to me. Tarrant's countenance darkened. He paused for an instant, then added impatiently. You say he had all the particulars. What were they, these particulars? Will one be enough? A child was born at Falmouth, and is now in a place just outside London, in the care of some stranger. The source of this information might, or might not, be Nancy herself. In either case, there was no further hope of secrecy. Tarrant abandoned his reserve, and spoke quietly, civilly. So far you have heard the truth. What have you to ask of me now? You've been abroad for a long time, I think. For about a year. Does that mean that you wish to see no more of her? Did I desert her to earn plain words? It meant nothing of the kind. You are aware, then, that she has taken a place in a house of business, just as if she thought it necessary to earn her own living. Tarrant displayed astonishment. I'm aware of no such thing. How long has that been going on? Then you don't see her. I have seen her, but she told me nothing of that. There's something very strange in this, Mr. Tarrant. You seem to me to be speaking the truth. No. Please don't take offense. Before I saw you, you were a total stranger to me, and after what I had heard, I couldn't think very well of you. I may as well confess that you seem a different kind of man from what I expected. I don't wish to offend you, far from it. If we can talk over this distressing affair in a friendly way, so much the better. I have nothing would ever envy you but to protect my niece, to do the best that can be done for her. That I have taken for granted, Tarrant replied. I understand that you expected to meet a scoundrel of a very recognizable type. Well, I'm not exactly that. But what particular act of riskality have you in mind? Something worse than mere seduction, of course. Will you answer a disagreeable question? Are you well to do anything but that? Indeed. And you can form no idea why Nancy has gone to work in a shop. Tarrant raised his eyebrows. I see, he said deliberately. You suspect that I have been taking money from her. I did suspect it. Now it seems to me more unlikely. Many thanks, he answered, with cold irony. So the situation was this. Miss Lord had been led astray by a rascally fellow, who not only left her to get on as best she could, but lived on her income, so that she had at length to earn money for her own needs. There's something very clear and round in, very dramatic about that. What I should like to know is whether Miss Lord tells a story in this way. I can't say that she does. I think it was Mr. Crew who explained things like that. I am obliged to Mr. Crew, but he may, after all, only repeat what he has heard. It's a pity we don't know Miss Lord's actual confidant. Of course you have not received assistance from her. Taran stared for a moment, then laughed, and pleasantly. I have no recollection of it. Another disagreeable question. Did you really go away and leave her to get on as best she could? He looked darkly at her. And if I did, wasn't it rather unaccountable behavior in a gentleman? Possibly. I can't believe it. There is something unexplained. Yes, there is something unexplained, Mrs. Damrell. I should have thought you would naturally speak first to your niece. Why did you send for me before doing so? To find out what sort of man you were, so that I should be able to form my own opinion of what Nancy chose to tell me. Perhaps she may refuse to tell me anything at all. We are not like ordinary relatives, I am sorry to say. But I dare say you know better than I do how she thinks of me. I have heard her speak of you only once or twice. At all events, now that you are prepared, you will go and see her. I must. It would be wrong to stand by and do nothing. And you will see her guardians? That must depend. I certainly shall, if she seems to be suffering hardships. I must know why she goes out to work, as if she were pinched for money. There is her child to support, of course, but that wouldn't make any difference to her. She is well provided for. Yes, there is no choice but to fall back upon the villain theory. He rose and took up his hat. You mustn't go yet, Mr. Tarrant, said his host is firmly. I have said that I can't believe such things of you. If you would only explain, that's just what I can't do. It's as much a mystery to me as to you, her wishing to earn money. I was going to say, if you would only explain your intentions as to the future, my intentions will depend entirely on what I hear from your niece. I shall see her as soon as possible. Perhaps you can tell me at what hour she returns from business. No, I can't. I wish she would talk a little longer. His eyes flashed angrily. Mrs. Damrell, I have said all that I am willing to say. What you have heard is partly true. You probably won't have to wait very long for the rest of the story. But I have no time and no inclination to tell it. Go and see your niece tomorrow by all means, or her guardians, if it seems necessary. I am very sorry we are parting in this way. You must remember how difficult it is to keep one's temper under certain kinds of accusation. I don't accuse you. Well then, to explain calmly that one couldn't commit this or that sort of riskality, it comes to the same thing. However, I am obliged to you for opening my eyes. I've gone into a very foolish position, and I promise you I will get out of it as quickly as may be. Whereupon he vowed his leave-taking and withdrew.