arked Mrs. Fyne after a short sile

as he called them; or else the fear of a softer emotion weakening his defiant attitude; perhaps, even, it was a self-denying ordinance, in order to

delicacy. Of that she was certain. Mrs. Fyne could not undertake to give me an idea of their abominable vulgarity. Flora used to tell her something of her life in that h

stared at her, and they gave parties to other beings like themselves at which they exhibited her with ignoble self-satisfaction. She did not know how to defend herself from their importunities, insolence and exigencies. She lived amongst them, a passive victim, quivering in every nerve, as if she were flayed. After the trial her position became still worse. On the least occasion and even on no occasions at all she was scolded, or else taunted with her dependence. The pious girl lectured her on her defects, the romping girl teased her with contemptuous references to her accomplishments, and was always trying to pick insensate quarrels with her about some "fellow" or other. The mother backed up her girls invariably, adding her own silly, wounding remarks. I must say they were probably not aware of the ugliness of their conduct. They were nasty amongst themselves as a matter of course; their disputes were nauseating in origin, in manner, in the spirit of mean selfishness. These women, too, seemed to e

to dinner," said the anxio

racting attention. The servants had been frightened by the invasion of that wild girl in a muddy skirt and with wisps of

p away from her guests

r head resting on the cot of the youngest of my girls. The e

r. Fyne's little dressing-room on the other side of the landing, to a fire by wh

y both went up and interviewed the girl. She jumped up at their entrance. S

y retreating to the marital bedroom. Mrs. Fyne pacified the girl, and, fort

e do after all!" c

y of the problem and the readiness (at any rate) of good i

. From what Flora herself related to Mrs. Fyne, it seems that without being very perceptibly less "odious" than his family he had in a rather mysterious fashion interposed his authority for the protection

er-the "odious person," who had bustled in with hardly a greeting, looking from Fyne to Mrs. Fyne as though he were inwardly amused at something he knew of them; and then beginning ironically his discourse. He did not apologize for disturbing Fyne and his "good lady" at breakfast, because he knew they did not want (w

. Mrs. Fyne confessed to me that they had remained all three silent and inanimate. He turned to the girl: "What's this game, Florrie? You had better give it up

mings. Yes, these very words! So at least the girl had told Mrs. Fyne the evening before. The word tiff in connection with her tale had a peculiar savour, a paralysing effect. Nobody made a sound. The relative of de Barral

rvading the room he addressed himsel

he puts on her grand airs. She won't take a bit of a joke from people as good as he

e been enough to daunt a tiger, that unabashed manufacturer from the East End fastened his fangs, figuratively speaking, into the poor girl and prep

rooping horse looked as though it had been fished out, half unconscious, from a pond. Mrs. Fyne found some relief in looking at that miserable sight, away from the room in which the voi

rt of homily. Ingratitude was condemned in it, the sinfulness of pride was pointed out-together with the proverbial fact that it "goes before a fall." There were also some sound remarks as to the danger of nonsensical notions and the disadvantages of a quick temper. It sets one's best friends against one. "And if anybody ever wanted friends in the world it's you, my girl.

vile than mere cruelty. She glanced quickly over her shoulder and saw the girl raise her two hands to her head, then let them fall again on her lap. Fyne in front of the fire was like the victim of an unholy spe

ur board and lodging you had better say so. I don't want to interfere in a bargain I know nothing of. Bu

her own. She also felt as though she would have liked to put her fingers in her ears. She restrained h

my girl, to think if by any chance you throwing us over like this

as no accidental meeting of fugitive glances. It was a deliberate communication. To my question as to its nature Mrs. Fyne said she did not know. "Was it appealing?" I suggested. "No," she said. "Was it frightened, angry, crushed, resigned?" "No! No! Nothing of these." B

moods, then?" I as

xpression of women. Mrs. Fyne was trying honestly to give me some idea, as much perhaps to satisfy her own uneasiness as my curiosity. She was frowning in the effort as you see sometimes a child do (what is delightful in women is that they so

ribly merry

ied by my sudden gravity because sh

no longer. "I see. It would have

ude back to folded arms was meant to check a shudder. "But it was

nted. "And then she had to go away ultima

old one of the maids to go and bring the hat

the condemned, I believe, is offered a breakfast, Mrs. Fyne, anxious that the white-faced girl should swallow something warm (if she could) before leaving her house for an interminable drive through raw cold air in a damp four-wh

n doubtful company. He accepted ungraciously the cup handed to him by Mrs. Fyne, took an unwilling sip or two and put it down as if there were some moral contamination in the coffee of these "swells." Between whiles he directed

this lady's kind offer I may just as well take

was putting on her hat and jacket, the Fynes without movi

shing impression of the miserable dependence of girls-of women. This was an extreme case. But a youn

s. Fyne's tirade was my profound surprise at the fact of that respectable citizen being so willing to keep in his home the poor girl for whom it seemed there was no place in the world.

n't understand his m

een us which permitted her in this discussion to refer to her husband as John. "You know he had not opened his lips all that time," she

onclusion. And may I ask at what conclusion he had managed to arrive? On what ground did he cease to w

of that sort (religious fears or the vanity of righteousness put aside) money-not great wealth, but money, just a little money-is the measure of virtue, of expediency, of wisdom-of pretty well everything. But the girl was absolutely destitute. The father was in prison after the most terribly co

s cousin with de Barral's daughter. It was still in the dining-room, very near the time for him to go forth affronting the elements in order to put

de Barral has got some p

had been known to have taken such a precaution. It was possible in de Barral's case. Fyne

s selfish and pitiless in his stupidity, but he had clearly conceived the notion of making a claim on de Barral when de Barral came out of prison on the strength of having "

ation of her soul to trust and to love. It would have been enough to drive a fine nature into the madness of universal suspicion-into any sort of madness. I don't know how far a sense of humour will stand by one. To the foot of the gallows, perhaps. But from my recollection of Flora de

little Fyne out in the porch with the dog. (They kept amazingly quiet there. Could they have gone to sleep?) What I felt was that either my sagacity or my conscience would come out dama

away with that re

as the captive of the meanest conceivable fate. And she wasn't mean enough for it. It is to be remarked that a good many people are born curiously unfitted for the fate awaiting them on this earth. As I don't want you to think that I am unduly partial to the girl we shall say t

with her hat on; for she was about to go out to hear a new pianist (a girl) in a friend's house. The youth addressing Mrs. Fyne easily begged her not to let "that silly thing go back to us any more." There had been, he said, nothing but "ructions" at home about her for the last three weeks

nt for that afternoon with a certain young lady. The lady he was engaged to. But he meant to dash back and try for a sight of her

ad been too much taken aback even to gasp freely. But she had the presence of mind to grab the girl's arm just as she,

e," I said. "I presume she meant to get away.

use some force

hen these two appeared. So that, when that unpleasant young man ran off, I found myself alone with Flora

. I really can't help it. And the vision of Mrs. Fyne dressed for a rather special afternoon func

!" I mu

ne. She compressed her lips for a moment and then added

navoidable conditions of which one of the first is the instinct of self-preservation and the egoism of every living creature. "The fact

with almost comic exasperation. "Are you

magine) was to be on guard against impulse. Always! But I had not been there to see the face of Flora at the time. If I had it would be ha

haunt you, Mrs

hat I think she was playing a comedy then, because after struggling at first she ended by remaining. She gave up ve

shut," I completed th

," Mrs. Fyne lowered an

ely an interesting young pianist (a girl) who, since, had become one of the recognized performers. Mrs. Fyne did not dare leave her house. As to the feelings of little Fyne when he came home from the office, via his club

*

outlook, liking for novelty, readiness for experiment. The old lady was very much interested: "Do let me see the poor thing!" She was accordingly allowed to see Flora de Barral in Mrs. Fyne's drawing-room on a day when there was no one else there, a

: "I do hope the child will manage to be cheerful. I can't ha

o be it was still worse. The old lady couldn't stand the strain of that. And then, to have the whole thing out, she could not bear to have for a companion anyone who did not love her. She was certain that Flora did not love her. Why? She couldn't say. Moreover, she had caught the girl looking at her in a peculiar way at times. Oh no!-it was not an evil look-it was an unusual

ndering to herself what was to be done with Flora next; but she was not very much surp

Flora, I understand, was very attentive to them. If she taught them anything it must have been by inspiration alone, for she certainly knew nothing of teaching. But it was mostly "conversation" which was demanded from her. Flora de Barral conversing with two small German boys, regularly, industriously, conscientiously, in order to keep herself alive in the world which held for her the past we know and the future of an even more undesirable quality-seems to me a very fantastic combination. But I believe it was not so bad. She was

incidentally, helping to supervise the beautifully stocked linen closets of that well-to-do German household, if the man of it had not developed in the intervals of his a

ked approaches. She did not see them, in fact. She thought him sympathetic-the first expressively sympathetic person she had ever met. She was so innocent that she could not understand the fury of the German woman. For, as you may imagine, the wifely penetration was not to be deceived for any great length of time-the more so that the wife was older than the husband. The man with the peculiar cowardice of respectability never said a word in Flora's defence. He stood by and heard her reviled in the most abusive terms, only nodding and frow

e guilt of her father, retorted fiercely, "Nevertheless I am as honourable as you are." And then

ave reached England. I can't tell if a straw ever saved a drowning man, but I know that a mere glance is enough to make despair pause. For in truth we who are creatures of impulse are not creatures of despair. Suicide, I suspect, is very often the outcome of mere mental weariness-not an act of savage energy but the final symptom of complete collapse. The quiet, matter-of-fact attentions of a ship's stewardess, who did not seem aware of other human agonies than sea-sickness, who talked of the probable weather of the passage-it would be a rough night, she thought-and who insisted in a professionally busy manner, "Let me make you comfortable down

*

view, poor Flora was far from being certain as to the true inwardness of her viol

en her on the point?

essities which ought not to be. Something had to be said, she murmured. She

she

isn't a goose," retor

marked with some bitterness. "Don't you

understood

quite feminine way. "It's all v

asked. It seemed natural

ot very great. I suppose you know he is a little younger than I am. He was a sensitive boy. He had the habit of brooding. It is no use concealing from you that neither of us was happy at home. You have heard, no doubt . . . Yes

ty upon the theory of poetical genius being allied to madness, which he got hold of in some idiotic book everybody was reading a few years ago. It struck him as being truth itself-illuminating like the sun. He adopted it devoutly. He bored me with it sometimes. Once, just to shut him up, I a

poet's late wife naturally addressed themselves to him in considerable concern, suggesting a friendly consultation as to the boy's future, the incensed (but always refined) poet wrote in answer a letter of mere polished badinage which offended mortal

should have liked him to have been distinguished-or at any rate to remain in the social sphere where we could have had common interests, acquaintances, thoughts. Don't think that I am

er out of the room to little Fyne who by leaving me alone with hi

that it would be reasonable under the circumsta

care of himself in a given instance." She hesitated in

ery susceptible," she ad

only increased the coldne

ar Mrs. Fyne, you had better give it up

e too. It is really our

iss de Barra

rable that this girl should be the occasi

cking up the book I had been reading in th

sphere had become hopeless for little Fyne's domestic peace. You may smile. Bu

eaning on his elbow and gazing over the fields presented a forlorn figure. He turned his head

him on the little bench. Then lowering my voice: "Tolerance is an extremely difficult

. He mistrusted them. I lighted a cigarette, not that I wanted to smoke, but to give another moment to the considerat

ou left us. I suspected from the first. And now I am certain. What your

s. As against them there is no audacity of action your wife's mind refuses to sanction. The doctrine which I imagine she stuffs into the pretty heads of your girl-guests is almost vengeful. A sort of moral fire-and-sword doctrine.

nions very seriously,"

tolerant. In other words, that she can't forgive Miss de Barral for being a woman and behaving like a woman. And yet this is not only reasonable and natural, b

to extricate him from a difficult situation. I don't know how far credible this may sound, to less solemn marr

at happened to her brother," he said

impatient but with

rl? All the energy of her deeper feelings, which she would use up vainly in the danger and fatigue of a struggle with society may be turned into dev

at I should have said all this to his wife. It was a sensible enough remark. But I had given Mrs. Fyne

g to commit her arguments to paper. Fyne was to be primed with them. But he had

ss with a full conviction that s

d then I reflected that she was used t

ive way-do you?" asked Fyne in

was open to her-without shelter, without bread, without honour. The best she could have found in it would have been a precarious dole of pity diminishing as her years increased. The appeal of the abandoned child Flora to the sympathies of the Fynes had been irresistible. But now she had become a woman, and Mrs. Fyne was presenting an implacable front to a particularly feminine transaction. I may say triumphantly feminine. It is true that Mrs. Fyne did not want women to be women. Her theory was that they should turn themselves into unscrupulous sexless nuisances. An offended theorist dwelt in her bosom somewhere. In what way she expected Flora de Barral to set about saving herself from a most miserable existence I can't conceive; but I verify believe that she would have found it easier to forgive the girl an actual crime; say the rifling o

rl quite sufficiently plucky"-and snorted. He was still gazing at the distant quarry, and I think he was affected by that sight. I assured him that I was far from advising him to do anyt

ou mean? That I

ving in the efficacy of the interference, the whole question is reduced to your consenting to do what your wife wishes you to do. That would be acting like a gentleman, surely. And acti

with surprise and suspicion. "Y

sgust of his tone. "I must run up to town, to-morrow morning

a certain extent at the idea of a game. I told him that as I had

wilds of the East by improving

Eastern Hotel," he said, becoming sombre aga

mfortable conviction that you are doing what's right since i

arm to anybody?" he

with all possible emphasis which seemed only to

ndid proceeding I must first convince my wife that i

enly and bowed over it with deference. She walked down the path without a word; Fyne had preceded her and was waiting by the open gate. They passed out and walked up the road surrounded by a low cloud of dust raised by the dog gyrating madly about their two figures progressing side by side with rectitude and propriety, and (I don't know why) looking to me as if they had annexed the whole country-side. Perhaps it was that they had impressed me somehow with the sense of their superiority. What superiority? Perhaps it consisted just in their limitations. It was obvious th

destinely to London. It is true that the girl had written since, only Mrs. Fyne had been remarkably vague as to the contents. They were unsatisfactory. They did not positively announce imminent nuptials as far as I could make it out from her rather mysterious hints. But then her inexperience might have

temperament may be. And he was the son of a poet with an admirable gift of individualising, of etherealizing the comm

e! What could it matter to her one way or another-setting aside common humanity which would suggest at least a neutral attitud

finitely. She did not hope to stop anything. She had too much sense for that. Almost anyone out of an idiot asylum would have had enough sense for that. She wanted the protest to be made, emphatically, with Fyne's fullest concurrence in order to make all intercourse for the future impossible. Such an action would es

ore or less distant eventuality of her brother being persuaded to leave the sea, the friendly refuge of his unhappy youth, and to settle on shore, bringing to her very door this undesirable, this embarrassing

the common symptoms were there, rendered more impressive by his native solemnity which flapped about him like a disordered garment. Had he-I asked myself with interest-resisted his wife to the very last minute and then bolted up the road from the last conclusive argument, as though it had been a loaded gun suddenly produced? I opened the carriage door, and a vigorous porter shoved him in from behind just as t

" I said, very m