No More Learning

CHAPTER XV
There had been a moment in Sprats's life when she had faced things—it was when she heard that Lucian and Haidee had made a runaway marriage. This escapade had been effected very suddenly; no one had known that these two young people were contemplating so remarkable a step. It was supposed that Miss Brinklow was fully alive to the blessings and advantages attendant upon a marriage with Mr. Eustace Darlington, who, as head of a private banking firm which carried out financial operations of vast magnitude, was a prize of much consequence in the matrimonial market: no one ever imagined that she would throw away such a chance for mere sentiment. But Haidee, shallow as she was, had a certain vein of romance in her composition; and when Lucian, in all the first flush of manhood and the joyous confidence of youth, burst upon her, she fell in love with him in a fashion calculated to last for at least a fortnight. He, too, fell madly in love with the girl's physical charms: as to her mental qualities, he never gave them a thought. She was Aphrodite, warm, rosy- tinted, and enticing; he neither ate, slept, nor drank until she was in his arms. He was a masterful lover; his passion swept Haidee out of herself, and before either knew what was really happening, they were married. They lived on each other's hearts for at least a week, but their appetites were normal again within the month, and there being no lack of money and each having a keen perception of the joie de vivre, they settled down very comfortably.
Sprats had never heard of Haidee from the time of the latter' s visit to Simonstower until she received the news of her marriage to Lucian. The tidings came to her with a curious heaviness. She had never disguised from herself the fact that she herself loved Lucian : now that
136
stances, he never
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
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she knew he was married to another woman she set her- self the task of distinguishing between the love that she might have given him and the love which she could give him. Upon one thing she decided at once: since Lucian had elected Haidee as his life's partner, Haidee must be Sprats's friend too, even if the friendship were all on one side. She would love Haidee—for Lucian 's
sake, primarily: for her own if possible. But when events brought the three together in London, Sprats was somewhat puzzled. Lucian as a husband was the must curious and whimsical of men. He appeared to be absolutely incapable of jealousy, and would watch his
wife flirting under his eyes with appreciative amuse-
ment. He himself made love to every girl who aroused
any interest or curiosity in him—to women who bored
him he was cold as ice, and indifferent to the verge of
rudeness. He let Haidee do exactly as she pleased;
with his own liberty in anything, and under any circum-
Darlington.
Mr. Darlington had taken his pill with equanimity,
permitted interference. Sprats was never able to decide upon his precise feelings for his wife or his attitude towards her—they got on very smoothly, but each went his or her own way. And after a time Haidee's way appeared to run in parallel lines with the way of her jilted lover, Eustace
and had not even made a wry face over it. He had gone so far as to send the bride a wedding present, and had let people see that he was kindly disposed to her. When the runaways came back to town and
Lucian began the meteor-like career which brought his name so prominently before the world, Darlington saw no reason why he should keep aloof. He soon made Lucian's acquaintance, became his friend, and visited the house at regular intervals. Some people, who knew
the financier rather well, marvelled at the kindness which he showed to these young people—he entertained them on his yacht and at his place in Scotland, and Mrs. Damerel was seen
constantly, sometimes attended
by
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LUCIAN THE DREAMER
Lucian and sometimes not, in his box at the opera. At
the end of two years Darlington was regarded as Haidee's particular cavaUer, and one half their world said unkind things which, naturally, never reached Lucian 's ears. He was too fond of smoothness in life to say No to anything, and so long as he himself could tread the primrose path unchecked and untroubled, he did not care to interfere in anybody's arrangements— not even in Haidee's. It seemed to him quite an ordi- nary thing, an everyday occurrence, that he and she and Darlington should be close friends, and he went in and
out of Darlington's house just as Darlington went in
and out of his.
Lucian, all unconsciously, had developed
He watched himself playing
with as much interest as the lover of dramatic art will
egoist.
into an his part in hfe
of a great actor. He seemed to his own thinking a bright and suimy figure,
show in studying the performance
and he arranged everything on his own stage so that it formed a background against which that figure moved or stood with striking force. He was young; he was a success; people loved to have him in their houses; his photograph sold by the thousands in the shop windows; a stroll along Bond Street or Piccadilly was in the nature
of a triumphal procession; hostesses almost went down on their knees to get him to their various functions;
he might have dined out every night, if he had liked. He very often did like—popularity and admiration and flattery and homage were as incense to his nostrils, and
he accepted every gift poured at his shrine as if nothing could be too good for him. And yet no one could call him conceited, or vain, or unduly exalted : he was trans-
parently simple, ingenuous, and childhke; he took everything as a handsome child takes the gifts showered upon him by admiring seniors. He had a rare gift of making himself attractive to everybody—he would be frivolous and gay with the young, old-fashioned and grave with the elderly. He was a butterfly and a man of fashion; there was no better dressed man in town,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
139
nor a handsomer; but he was also a scholar and a student, and in whatever idle fashion he spent most of his time, there were so many hours in each day which he devoted to hard, systematic reading and to his own work. It was the only matter in which he was practi- cal; in all other moods he was a gaily painted, light- winged thing that danced and fluttered in the sun- beams. He was careless, thoughtless, light-hearted,
sanguine, and he never stopped to think of consequences or results. But through ever3rthing that critical part of him kept an interested and often amused eye on the other parts.
Sprats at this stage watched him carefully. She had soon discovered that he and Haidee were mere children in many things, and wholly incapable of management or forethought. It had been their ill-fortune to have all they wanted all their Uves, and they lived as if heaven had made a contract with them to furnish their table with manna and their wardrobes with fine linen, and keep no account of the supply. She was of a practical
mind, and had old-fashioned country notions about saving up in view of contingencies, and she expounded them at certain seasons with force and vigour to both Lucian and Haidee. But as Lucian cherished an ineradicable belief in his own star, and had never been obliged to earn his dinner before he could eat there was no impression to be made upon him; and Haidee, having always lived in the softest comer of luxury's lap, could conceive of no other state of being, and was merci-
fully spared the power of imagining one.
it,
CHAPTER XVI
In spite of Sprats's sermon in the little cafe-restaurant, Lucian made no effort to follow her advice. He was at work on a new tragedy which was to be produced at the Athenaeum in the following autumn, and had there- fore no time to give to considerations of economy, and when he was not at work he was at play, and play with Lucian was a matter of as much importance, so far as strenuous devotion to it was concerned, as work was. But there came a morning and an occurrence which for an hour at least made him recall Sprats's counsel and
ponder rather deeply on certain things which he had never pondered before.
It was ten o'clock, and Lucian and Haidee were breakfasting. They invariably spent a good hour over this meal, for both were possessed of hearty appetites, and Lucian always read his letters and his newspapers while he ate and drank. He was alternately devoting, himself to his plate and to a leading article in the Times, when the footman entered and announced that Mr. Pepperdine wished to see him. Lucian choked down a mouthful, uttered a joyous exclamation, and rushed into the hall. Mr. Pepperdine, in all the glories of a particu- larly horsy suit of clothes, was gazing about him as if he had got into a museum. He had visited Lucian's house before, and always went about in it with his mouth wide open and an air of expectancy —there was usually something fresh to see, and he never quite knew where he might come across it.
' My dear uncle ! ' cried Lucian, seizing him in his arms and dragging him into the dining-room, ' why didn't you let me know you were coming? Have you breakfasted? Have some more, any way—get into that chair. '
Mr. Pepperdine solemnly shook hands with Haidee, 140
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
141
who liked him because he betrayed such ardent and whole-souled admiration of her and had once bought her a pair of wonderful ponies, assured himself by a careful inspection that she was as pretty as ever, and took a chair, but not at the table. He had breakfasted, he' said, at his hotel, two hours earher.
Then have a drink,'' said Lucian, and rang the bell for whisky and soda. How is everybody at Simons- tower? '
* All well,' answered Mr. Pepperdine, ' very well indeed, except that Keziah has begun to suffer a good deal from rheimiatism. It's a family complaint. I'm glad to see you both well and hearty—you keep the roses in your cheeks, ma'am, and the Hght in your eyes, something wonderful, considering that you are a town- bird, as one may say. There are country maidens with less colour and brightness, so there are ! '
' You said that so prettily that I shall allow you to smoke a cigar, if you like,' said Haidee. ' Lucian, your case. '
Mr. Pepperdine shook his head knowingly as he lighted a cigar and sipped his whisky and soda. He knew a pretty woman when he saw her, he said to him- self, and it was his opinion that Mrs. Lucian Damerel was uncommonly pretty. Whenever he came to see her he could never look at her enough, and Haidee, who accepted admiration on principle, used to smile at him and air her best behaviour. She was sufficiently woman of the world to overlook the fact that Mr. Pepperdine was a tenant-farmer and used the language of the people —he was a handsome man and a dandy in his way, and he was by no means backward, in spite of his confirmed bachelorhood, of letting a pretty woman see that he had an eye for beauty. So she made herself very agreeable to Mr. Pepperdine and told him stories of the ponies, and Lucian chatted of various things, and Mr. Pepperdine, taking in the general air of comfort and luxury which surrounded these young people, felt that his nephew had begun life in fine style and was uncommonly clever.
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LUCIAN THE DREAMER
They went into Lucian's study when breakfast was over, and Lucian lighted a pipe and began to chat carelessly of Simonstower and old times there. Mr. Pepperdine, however, changed the subject somewhat
abruptly. said, ' I'll tell you what , s ' Lucian, my boy,' he
brought me here: I want you to lend me a thousand pounds for a twelvemonth. Will you do that? '
' Why, of course! ' exclaimed Lucian. ' I shall be only too pleased—for as long as ever you like. '
' A year will do for me,' answered Mr. Pepperdine. ' I'll explain matters,' and he went on to tell Lucian the story of the Bransby defalcations, and his own loss,
and of the late Lord Simonstower's generosity. ' He was very good about it, was the old lord,' he said: ' it made things easy for me while he lived, but now he's dead, and I can't expect the new lord to be as con- siderate. I've had a tightish time lately, Lucian, my boy, and money's been scarce; but you can have your thousand pounds back at the twelvemonth end — I'm a man of my word in all matters. ' Lucian, ' there must be
* My dear uncle ! ' exclaimed
no talk of that sort between us. Of course you shall have the money at once—that is as' soon as we can get to the bank. Or will a cheque do?
' Aught that's of the value of a thousand pounds'll do for me,' replied Mr. Pepperdine. ' I want to complete a certain transaction with the money this afternoon, and if you give me a cheque I can call in at your bank. '
Lucian produced his cheque-book and wrote out a
for the amount which his uncle wished to borrow. Mr. Pepperdine insisted upon drawing up a formal memorandum of its receipt, and admonished his nephew to put it carefully away with his other business papers. But Lucian never kept any business papers—
his usual practice was to tear everything up that looked like a business document and throw the fragments into the waste-paper basket. He would treasure the most
cheque
obscure second-hand bookseller's catalogue
as if it had
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
143
been a gilt-edged secnril^y, but bills and receipts and business letters annoyed him, and Mr. Pepperdine's carefully scrawled sheet of notepaper went into the usual receptacle as soon as its writer had left the room. And as he crumpled it up and threw it into the basket, laugh- ing at the old-fashioned habits of his uncle, Lucian also threw off all recollection of the incident and became absorbed in his new tragedy.
Coming in from the theatre that night he found a little pile of letters waiting for him on the hall table, and he took them into his study and opened them care- lessly. There was a long epistle from Mrs. Berenson — he read half of it and threw that and the remaining sheets away with an exclamation of impatience. There was a note from the great actor-manager who was going to produce the new tragedy—he laid that open on his desk and put a paper-weight upon it. The rest of his letters were invitations, requests for autographs, gushing epistles from admiring readers, and so on—he soon bundled them all together and laid them aside. But there was one which he had kept to the last — a formal- looking affair with the name of his bank engraved on the flap of the envelope, and he opened it with some curi- osity. The letter which it enclosed was short and formal, but when Lucian had read it he recognised in some vague and not very definite fashion that it con- stituted an epoch. He read it again and yet again, with knitted brows and puzzled eyes, and then he put it on his desk and sat staring at it as if he did not understand the news which it was meant to convey to him.
It was a very commonplace communication this, but Lucian had never seen anything of its sort before. It was just a brief, politely worded note from his bankers, informing him that they had that day paid a cheque for one thousand pounds, drawn by him in favour of Simpson Pepperdine, Esquire, and that his account was now overdrawn by the sum of £187, los. od. That was all—there was not even a delicately expressed request to him to put the account in credit.
144
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
Lucian could not quite realise what this letter meant; he said nothing to Haidee of it, but after breakfast next morning he drove to the bank and asked to see the
Once closeted with that gentleman in his private room he drew out the letter and laid it on the desk at which the manager sat.
The manager smiled.
' It seems quite plain, I think,' he said pleasantly.
' It means that your account is overdrawn to the amount of £187, los. od. '
manager.
' I don't quite understand this letter,' he said. * Would you mind explaining it to me? '
Lucian sat down and stared at him.
* Does that mean that I have exhausted all the money
I placed in your hands, and have drawn on you for £187, los. od. in addition? ' he asked.
' Precisely, Mr. Damerel,' answered the manager. ' Your balance yesterday morning was about £820, and you drew a cheque in favour of Mr. Pepperdine for
That, of course, puts you in our debt. ' Lucian stared harder than ever.
' You're quite sure there is no mistake? ' he said. The manager smiled.
£1000.
' Quite sure I ' he replied. ' But surely you have had your pass-book? '
Lucian had dim notions that a small book bound in parchment had upon occasions been handed to him over the counter of the bank, and on others had been posted by him to the bank at some clerk's request; he also remembered that he had once opened it and found it full of figures, at the sight of which he had hastily closed it again.
* I suppose I have,' he answered.
* I believe it is in our possession just now,' said the manager. * If you will excuse me one moment I will fetch it. '
He came back with the pass-book in his hand and offered it to Lucian.
* It is posted up to date,' he said.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
145
Lucian took the book and turned its pages over.
' Yes, but—' he said. * I—do I understand that all the money that has been paid in to my account here is now spent? You have received royalties on my behalf
from Mr. Robertson and from Mr. Harcourt of the Athenaeum? '
* You will find them all specified in the pass-book, Mr. Damerel,' said the manager. * There will, I pre- sume, be further payments to come from the same sources? '
* Of course there will be the royalties from Mr. Robertson every half-year,' answered Lucian, turning the pages of his pass-book. ' And Mr. Harcourt pro- duces my new tragedy at the Athenaeum in December. '
' That, ' said the manager, with a polite bow, ' is sure to 'be successful. ' '
But,' said Lucian, with a childlike candour, what am I to do if you have no money of mine left? I can't go on without money. '
The manager laughed.
* We shall be pleased to allow you an overdraft,' he said. ' Give us some security, or get a friend of stability to act as guarantor for you—that's all that's necessary. I suppose the new tragedy will bring you a small fortune? You did very well out of your first play, if I remember rightly. '
* I can easily procure a guarantor,' answered Lucian. His thoughts had immediately flown to Darlington. ' Yes,' he continued, ' I think we shall have a long run —longer, perhaps, than before. '
Then he went away, announcing that he would make the necessary arrangements. When he had gone, the manager, to satisfy a momentary curiosity of his own, made a brief inspection of Lucian's account. He smiled a little as he totalled it up. Mr. and Mrs. Lucian Damerel had gone through seventeen thousand pounds in four years, and of that amount twelve thousand repre- sented capital.
Lucian carried the mystifying pass-book to his club K
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LUCIAN THE DREAMER
and began to study the rows of figures. They made his head ache and his eyes burn, and the only conclusion he came to was that a few thousands of pounds are soon spent, and that Haidee of late had been pretty prodigal with her cheques. One fact was absolutely certain : his ten thousand, and her two thousand, and the five thousand which he had earned, were all gone, never to return. He felt somewhat depressed at this thought, but recovered his spirits when he remembered the value of his pictures, his books, and his other possessions, and the prospects of increased royalties in the golden days to be. He went off to seek out Darlington in the city as joyously as if he had been embarking on a voyage
to the Hesperides.
Darlington was somewhat surprised
to see Lucian in Lombard Street. He knew all the details of Lucian's business within ten minutes, and had made up his mind
within two more.
' Of course, I'll do it with pleasure, old chap,' he said,
with great heartiness. ' But I think I can suggest some- thing far preferable. These people don't seem to have
given you any particular advantages, and there \yas no need for them to bother you with a letter reminding you that you owed them a miserable couple of hundred. Look here: you had better open two accounts with us; one for yourself and one for Mrs. Damerel, and keep them distinct— after all, you know, women rather mix things up. Give Robertson and Harcourt instructions to pay your royalties into your own account here, and pay your household expenses and bills out of it. Mrs. Damerel' s account won't be a serious matter —mere pin-
money, you know—and we can balance it out of yours at periodic intervals. That's a much more convenient and far simpler thing than giving the other people a guarantee for an overdraft. '
' Thanks, very many.
And what am I to do in arranging this? '
* It seems to be so, certainly,' said Lucian.
' At present,' answered Darlington, * you are to run away as quickly as possible, for I'm over the ears in
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
147
work. Come in this afternoon at three o'clock, and we will settle the whole thing. '
Lucian went out into the crowded streets, light- hearted and joyous as ever. The slight depression of the morning had worn off; all the world was gold again. A whim seized him: he would spend the three hours between twelve and three in wandering about the city— it was an almost unknown region to him. He had read much of it, but rarely seen it, and the prospect of an
with it was alluring. So he wandered hither and thither, his taste for the antique leading him into many a quaint old court and quiet alley, and he was fortunate enough to find an old-fashioned tavern waiter, and there he lunched and enjoyed himself and went back to Darlington's office in
excellent spirits and ready to do anything.
There was Httle to do. Lucian left the private bank- ing establishment of Darlington and Darlington a few
minutes after he had entered it, and he then carried with him two cheque-books, one for himself and one for Haidee, and a request that Mrs. Damerel should call at the office and append her signature to the book wherein the autographs of customers were preserved. He went home and found Haidee just returned from lunching with Lady Firmanence : Lucian conducted her into his study with some importance.
acquaintance
and an old-world
* Look here, Haidee,' he said, * I've been making some new business arrangements. We're going to bank at Darlington's in future—it's much the wiser plan; and you are to have a separate account. That's your
I say—we've rather gone it lately, you know. Don't you think we might economise a little? '
cheque-book.
Haidee stared, grew perplexed, and frowned.
' I think I'm awfully careful,' she said. ' If you
'
them.
* Yes, yes,' he said hurriedly, * I know, of course,
that you are. We've had such a lot of absolutely neces-
think
Lucian saw signs of trouble and hastened to dispel
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LUCIAN THE DREAMER
sary expense, haven't we? Well, there's your cheque- book, and the account is your own, you know. '
Haidee asked no questions, and carried the cheque- book away. When she had gone, Lucian wrote out a
for £187, los. and forwarded it to his former bankers, with a covering letter in which he explained that it was intended to balance his account and that he
wished to close the latter. That done, he put all thoughts of money out of his mind with a mighty sigh of rehef. In his own opinion he had accomplished a hard day's work and acquitted himself with great credit. Everything, he thought, had been quite simple, quite easy. And in thinking so he was right—nothing
cheque
easier, could be imagined than the operation which had put Lucian and Haidee in funds
once more. It had simply consisted of a brief order, given by Eustace Darlington to his manager, to the effect
that all cheques bearing the signatures of Mr. and Mrs. Damerel were to be honoured on presentation, and that there was to be no limit to their credit.
simpler, nothing
CHAPTER XVII
In spite of the amusing defection of his host, Saxon- stowe had fully enjoyed the short time he had spent under the Damerels' roof. Mrs. Berenson had amused him almost as much as if she had been a professional comedian brought there to divert the company; Darling- ton had interested him as a specimen of the rather reserved, purposeful sort of man who might possibly do things; and Haidee had made him wonder how it is that some women possess great beauty and very little mind. But the recollection which remained most firmly fixed in him was of Sprats, and on the first afternoon he had at liberty he set out to find the Children's' Hospital which she had invited him to visit.
He found the hospital with ease—an ordinary house in Bayswater Square, with nothing to distinguish it from its neighbours but a large brass plate on the door, which announced that it was a Private Nursing Home for Children. A trim maid-servant, who stared at him with reverent awe after she had glanced at his card, showed him into a small waiting-room adorned with steel engravings of Biblical subjects, and there Sprats shortly discovered him inspecting a representation of the animals leaving the ark. It struck him as he shook hands with her that she looked better in her nurse's uniform than in the dinner-gown which she had worn a few nights earlier —there was something businesslike and strong about her in her cap and cuffs and apron and streamers : it was like seeing a soldier in fighting trim.
' I am glad that you have come just now,' she said. ' I have a whole hour to spare, and I can show you all over the place. But first come into my parlour and have some tea. '
She led him into another room, where Biblical prints 149
150
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
were not in evidence—if they had ever decorated the walls they were now replaced by Sprats 's own posses- sions. He recognised several water-colour drawings of Simonstower, and one of his own house and park at Saxonstowe. —
' These are the work of Cyprian Damerel Lucian's father, you know,' said Sprats, as he uttered an ex- clamation of pleasure at the sight of familiar things. ' Lucian gave them to me. I like that one of Saxon- stowe Park — I have so often seen that curious atmo- spheric effect amongst the trees in early autumn. I am very fond of my pictures and my household gods — they bring Simonstower closer to me. '
* But why, if you are so fond of did you leave it? ' he asked, as he took the chair which she pointed out to him.
Oh, because wanted to work very hard she said, busying herself with the tea-cups. You see, my father married Lucian Damerel' aunt— very dear, nice, pretty woman—and knew she would take such great
care of him that nursing, having
could be spared. So went in for natural bent that way, and after three came here; and here am, absolute
or four years of
she-dragon of the establishment. '
Is very hard work? ' he asked, as he took cup of tea from her hands.
Well, doesn't seem to affect me very much, does it? ' she answered. Oh yes, sometimes is, but that's good for one. You must have worked hard yourself, Lord Saxonstowe. '
Saxonstowe blushed under his tan.
look all right too, don't I? ' he said, laughing.
agree with you that it's good for one, though. I've thought since came back that He paused and did not finish the sentence.
That would do lot of people whom you've met lot of good they had little hardship and privation to go through,' she said, finishing for him. That's
it, isn't it? '
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LUCIAN THE DREAMER
151
' I wouldn't let them off with a little,' he said. ' I'd give them—some of them, at any rate—a good deal. Perhaps I'm not quite used to but can't stand this sort of life— should go all soft and queer under it. '
Well, you're not obhged to endure at all,' said Sprats. You can clear out of town whenever you please and go to Saxonstowe — lovely in summer. '
Yes,' he answered, I'm going there soon. — don't think town life quite appeals to me. '
suppose that you will go off to some waste place of the earth again, sooner or later, won't you? ' she said.
should think that one once tastes that sort of thing one can't very well resist the temptation. What made you wish to explore? '
Oh, don't know,' he answered. always wanted to travel when was boy, but never got any chance. Then the title came to me rather unexpectedly, you know, and when found that could indulge my tastes —well, indulged them. '
And you prefer the desert to the drawing-room? ' she said, watching him.
Lots he said fervently. Lots Sprats smiled.
should advise you,' she said, to cut London the day your book appears. You'll be Hon, you know. '
Oh, but he exclaimed, you don't quite recognise what sort of book is. It's not an exciting narrative— no bears, or Indians, or scalpings, you know. It's— well, it's bit dry—scientific stuff, and so on. '
Sprats smiled the smile of the wise woman and shook
her head. — doesn't matter what
dry or delicious, dull or enlivening,' she remarked sagely, the people who'll lionise you won't read though they'll swear to your
face that they sat up all night with it. You'll see l5dng about, with the pages all cut and book-marker sticking out, but most of the people who'll rave to your face about wouldn't be able to answer any question that you asked them concerning it. Lionising an
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153
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
amusing feature of social life in England —if you don't like the prospect of it, run away. '
' I shall certainly run,' he answered. ' I will go soon. I think, perhaps, that you exaggerate my importance, but I don't want to incur any risk—it isn't pleasant to be stared at, and pointed out, and all that sort of— of '
' Of rot! ' she said. ' No—it isn't, to some people. To other people it seems quite a natural thing. It never seemed to bother Lucian Damerel, for example. You cannot realise the adulation which was showered upon him when he first flashed into the literary heavens. All the women were in love with him; all the girls love-sick because of his dark face and wondrous hair; he was stared at wherever he went; and he might have break- fasted, lunched, and dined at somebody else's expense every day. ' —
* And he liked that? ' asked Saxonstowe.
* It's a bit difficult,' answered Sprats, * to know what Lucian does like. He plays lion to perfection. Have you ever been to the Zoo and seen a real first-class, Ai diamond-of-the-first- water sort of lion in his cage? —
when he is filled with meat? Well, you'll have noticed that he gazes with solemn eyes above your head—he never sees you at all—you aren't worth it. If he should happen to look at you, he just wonders why the devil you stand there staring at him, and his eyes show a sort of cynical, idle contempt, and become solenm and ever-so-far-away again. Lucian plays lion in that way beautifully. He looks out of his cage with eyes that scorn the miserable wondering things gathered open-mouthed before him. '
' We all live in cages,' answered Sprats. ' You had better hang up a curtain in front of yours if you don't wish the crowd to stare at you. And now come—I will show you my children. '
Saxonstowe followed her all over the house with exemplary obedience, secretly admiring her mastery of
especially
' Does he Uve in a cage? ' asked Saxonstowe.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
153
detail, her quickness of perception, and the motherly
fashion in which she treated her charges. He had never I been in a children's hospital before, and he saw some
sights that sent him back to Sprats's parlour a somewhat sad man.
' I dare say you get used to it,' he said, ' but the sight of all that pain must be depressing. And the poor little mites seem to bear it well—bravely, at any rate. '
Sprats looked at him with the speculative expression which always came into her face when she was endeavouring to get at some other person's real self.
* So you, too, are fond of children? ' she said, and responded cordially to his suggestion that he might per- haps be permitted to come again. He went away with a cheering consciousness that he had had a gUmpse into a little world wherein good work was being done—it had seemed a far preferable world to that other world of fashion and small things which seethed all around it.
On the following day Saxonstowe spent the better part of the morning in a toy-shop. He proved a good cus- tomer, but a most particular one. He had counted heads at the children's hospital : there were twenty-seven in all, and he wanted twenty-seven toys for them. He insisted on a minute inspection of every one, even to the details of the dolls' clothing and the attainments of the mechanical froga, and the young lady who attended upon him decided that he was a nice gentleman and free-handed, but terribly exacting. His bill, however, yielded her a handsome commission, and when he gave her the address of the hospital she felt sure that she had spent two hours in conversation —on the merits of toys— with a young duke, and for the rest of the day she enter- tained her shopmates with reminiscences of the supposed ducal remarks, none of which, according to her, had been of a very profound nature.
Saxonstowe wondered how soon he might call at the hospital again—at the end of a week he found himself kicking his heels once more in the room wherein Noah, his family, and his animals trooped gaily down the slopes
154
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
of Mount Ararat. When Sprats came in she greeted him
with an abrupt question.
' Was it you who sent a small cart-load of toys here
last week? ' she asked.
' I certainly did send some toys for the children,' he
answered.
' I thought it must be your
handiwork,' she said. ' Thank you. You will now receive a beautifully
written, politely worded letter of thanks, inscribed on thick, glossy paper by the secretary —do you mind? '
* Yes, I do mind! ' he exclaimed. ' Please don't tell the secretary —what has he or she to do with it ? '
' Very well, I won't,' she said. ' But I will give you a practical tip : when you feel impelled to buy toys for children in hospital, buy something breakable and cheap —it pleases the child just as much as an expensive play- thing. There was one toy too many,' she continued, laughing, ' so I annexed that for myself—a mechanical spider. I play with it in my room sometimes. I am not above being amused by small things. ' —
After this Saxonstowe became a regular visitor he was accepted by some of the patients as a friend ' and admitted to their confidences. They knew him as the Lord,' and announced that ' the Lord ' had said this, or done that, in a fashion which made other visitors, not in the secret, wonder if the children were delirious and had dreams of divine communications. He sent these new friends books, and fruit, and flowers, and the house was gayer and brighter that summer than it had ever been since the brass plate was placed on its door.
One afternoon Saxonstowe arrived with a weighty- looking parcel under his arm. Once within Sprats's parlour he laid it down on the table and began to untie the string. She shook her head.
* You have been spending money on one or other of my children again,' she said. * I shall have to stop it. ' ' No,' he said, with a very shy smile. ' This — is —
for you. '
' For me? ' Her eyes opened with something like
quick,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
155
incredulous wonder. * What an event ! * she said; * I so seldom have anything given to me. What is it? —
let me see—it looks like an enormous box of chocolate. '
* It's—it's the book,' he answered,' shamefaced as a schoolboy producing his first verses. There ! that's it,' and he placed two formidable-looking volumes, very new and very redolent of the bookbinder's establishment, in her hands. ' That's the very first copy,' he added. ' I wanted you to have it. '
Sprats sat down and turned the books over. He had written her name on the fly-leaf of the first volume, and his own underneath it. She glanced at the maps, the engravings, the diagrams, the scientific tables, and a sudden flush came across her face. She looked up at him.
' I should be proud if I had written a book like this ! ' she said. ' It means—such a lot of—well, of manliness, somehow. Thank you. And it is really pubHshed at last? '
* It is not supposed to be published until next Monday,' he answered. * The reviewers' copies have gone out to-day, but I insisted on having a copy sup- pHed to me belore any one handled another —I wanted you to have the very first. '
* Because I think you'll understand it,' he said; ' and you'll read it. '
' Why? ' she asked.
' Yes,' she answered, ' I shall read it, and I think I shall understand. And now all the lionising will begin. '
Saxonstowe shrugged his shoulders.
* If the people who really know about these things
think I have done well, I shall be satisfied,' he said. * I don't care a scrap about the reviews in the popular papers —I am looking forward with great anxiety to the
criticisms of two or three scientific periodicals. '
' You were going to run away from the lionising busi- ness/ she said. * When are you going? —there is
nothing to keep you, now that the book is out. '
156
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
Saxonstowe looked at her. He was standing at the
of the table on which she had placed the two volumes of his book; she was sitting in a low chair at its side. She looked up at him; she saw his face grow
edge
very grave.
' I didn't think anything would keep me,' he said,
' but I find that something is keeping me. It is you. Do you know that I love you?