Then, of course, he will be vastly surprised to find that such
treatment
could be meted out to him.
Fletcher - Lucian the Dreamer
Perpetua's, his own old college.
The only person who was full of fears was Sprats. She had been Lucian's other self for six years, and she, more than any one else, knew his need of constant help and friendship. He was full of simplicity; he credited everybody with the possession of qualities and sym-
which few people possess; he lived in a world of dreams rather than of stern facts. He was obstinate, wayward, impulsive; much too affectionate, and much too lovable; he Hved for the moment, and only regarded the future as one continual procession of rosy hours. Sprats, with feminine intuition, feared the moment when he would come into collision with stem experience of the world and the worldly —she longed to be with him when that moment came, as she had been with him when the frailty and coquetry of the Dolly kid nearly broke his child's heart. And so during the last few days of his stay at Simonstower she hovered about him as a faithful mother does about a sailor son, and she gave him much excellent advice and many counsels of perfection.
' You know you are a baby,' she said, when Lucian laughed at her. ' You have been so coddled all your life that you will cry if a pin pricks you. And there will be no Sprats to tie a rag round the wound. '
' It would certainly be better if Sprats were going too,' he said thoughtfully, and his face clouded. ' But then,' he continued, flashing into a smile, ' after all, Oxford is only two hundred miles from Simonstower, and there are trains which carry one over two hundred miles in a very short time. If I should chance to fall
unlikely
pathies
departed
»J1>1>> LUCIAN THE DREAMER loi
and bump my nose I shall take a ticket by the next train and come to Sprats to be patched up. '
' I shall keep a stock of ointments and lotions and
bandages in perpetual readiness/ she said. ' But it must be distinctly understood, Lucian, that I have the
monopoly of curing you — I have a sort of notion, you know, that it is my chief mission in life to be your nurse. '
' The concession is yours,' he answered, with mock
gravity.
It was with this understanding that they parted.
There came a day when all the good-byes had been said, the blessings and admonitions received, and Lucian
from the village with a pocket full of money
there through the fooHsh feminine of Miss Pepperdine and Miss Judith, who had womanly fears as to the horrible situations in which
he might be placed if he were bereft of ready cash) and a light and a sanguine heart. Mr. Chilverstone went with him to Oxford to see his protege settled and have a brief holiday of his own; on their departure Sprats drove them to the station at Wellsby. She waved her handkerchief until the train had disappeared; she was conscious when she turned away that her heart had gone with Lucian.
(largely placed indulgence
CHAPTER XII
About the middle of a May afternoon, seven years later, a young man turned out of the Strand into a quiet street in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden and began look- ing about him as if endeavouring to locate the where- abouts of some particular place. Catching sight of the name William Robertson on a neighbouring window,
it, he turned into the door of the establishment thus designated, and encountering an office-boy who was busily engaged in
reading a comic journal inside a small pen labelled
' Inquiries,'
with the word Publisher underneath
he asked with great politeness if Mr. Robertson was at that moment disengaged. The office- boy in his own good time condescended to examine the personal appearance of the inquirer, and having assured himself that the gentleman was worthy his attention he asked in sharp tones if he had an appointment with Mr. Robertson. To this the stranger replied that he believed he was expected by Mr. Robertson during the afternoon, but not at any particular hour, and produced a card from which the office-boy learned that he was confront- ing the Viscount Saxonstowe. He forthwith disappeared into some inner region and came back a moment later with a young gentleman who cultivated long hair and an aesthetic style of necktie, and bowed Lord Saxonstowe through various doors into a pleasant ante-room, where
he accommodated his lordship with a chair and the Times, and informed him that Mr. Robertson would be at liberty in a few moments. Lord Saxonstowe remarked that he was in no hurry at all, and would wait Mr. Robertson's convenience. The young gentleman with the luxuriant locks replied politely that he was quite sure Mr. Robertson would not keep his lordship waiting long, and added that they were experiencing
quite summer-like weather. Lord Saxonstowe agreed Z02
LUC:r». N THE DREAMER 103
to this proposition, and opensd the Times. His host or keeper for the time being seated himself at a desk, one half of which was shared by a lady typist who had affected great interest in her work since Lord Saxon- stowe's entrance, and who now stole surreptitious glances at him as he scanned the newspaper. The clerk scribbled a line or two on a scrap of paper 'and passed it across to her. She untwisted it and read : This is the chap that did that tremendous exploration in the North
Asia: a real live lord, you know. ' She scribbled an
of line: ' course I know — do you think I answering Of
didn't recognise the name? ' and passed it over with a
The clerk indited another epistle Don't look as if he'd seen much of anything, does he? '
show of indignation. '
:^
The clerk sighed, caressed a few sprouts on his
top-lip, and remarking to his own soul that these toffs
always catch the girls' eyes, fell to doing nothing in
a practised way.
Viscount Saxonstowe, quite unconscious of the interest he was exciting, stared about him after a time and began to wonder if the two young people at the desk usually worked with closed windows. The atmosphere was heavy, and there was a concentrated smell of paper, and ink, and paste. He thought of the wind-swept plains and steppes on which he had spent long months —
there, but
The girl perused this, scribbled back : '
His eyes and moustache are real jam! ' and fell to work at her machine
again.
he had gone through some stiff experiences
he confessed to himself that he would prefer a bitter cold night in winter in similar solitudes to a summer's day in that ante-room. His own healthy tan and the clear- ness of his eyes, his alert look and the easy swing with which he walked, would never have been developed amidst such surroundings, and the consciousness of his own rude health made him feel sorry for the two white slaves before him. He felt that if he could have his own way he would cut the young gentleman's hair, put him
into a flannel shirt and trot him round; as for the young lady, he would certainly send her into the country for
104
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
a holiday. And while he thus indulged his fancies a door opened and he heard voices, and two men stepped into the ante-room.
He instinctively recognised one as the publisher whom he had come to see; at the other, a much younger man, he found himself staring with some sense of recognition which was as yet vague and unformed. He felt sure that he had met him before, and under some unusual circumstances, but he could not remember the occa- sion, nor assure his mind that the face on which he looked was really familiar—it was more suggestive of something that had been familiar than famihar in itself. He concluded that he must have seen a photograph of it in some illustrated paper; the man was in all likeH- hood a popular author. Saxonstowe carefully looked him over as he stood exchanging a last word with the publisher on the threshold of the latter's room. He noted the gracefulness of the slim figure in the perfectly fashioned clothes, and again he became conscious that his memory was being stirred. The man under obser- vation was swinging a light walking-cane as he chatted; he made a sudden movement with it to emphasise a point, and Saxonstowe 's memory cleared itself. His thoughts flew back ten years : he saw two boys, one the
very image of incarnate Wrath, the other an equally faithful impersonation of Amazement, facing each other in an antique hall, with rapiers in hand and a sense of battle writ large upon their faces and figures.
'And I can't remember the chap's name ! ' he thought. ' But this is he. '
He looked at his old antagonist more closely, and with a keener interest. Lucina was now twenty-five; he had developed into a tall, well-knit man of graceful and sinuous figure; he was dressed with great care and with
fashion, but with a close study of his own particular requirements;
strict attention to the height of the prevalent
his appearance was distinguished and notable, and Saxonstowe, little given to sentiment as regards manly beauty, confessed to himself that the face on which he
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 105
looked might have been moulded by Nature from a canvas or marble of the Renaissance. It was a face for which some women would forget everything, —Saxon- stowe, with this thought half-formed in his mind, caught sight of the anaemic typist, who, oblivious of anything else in the room, had fixed all her attention on Lucian. Her hands rested, motionless, on the keys of the machine before her; her head was slightly tilted back, her eyes
a faint flush of colour had stolen into her cheeks, and for the moment
shone, her lips were sHghtly parted;
she was a pretty girl. Saxonstowe smiled —it seemed to him that he had been privileged to peep into the secret chamber of a girlish soul. ' She would give something to kiss his hand,' he thought.
Lucian turned away from the publisher with a nod; his eye caught Saxonstowe's and held it. A puzzled look came into his face; he paused and involuntarily stretched out his hand, staring at Saxonstowe search- ingly. Saxonstowe smiled and gave his hand in return.
' We have met somewhere, ' said Lucian wonderingly , * I cannot think where. '
' Nor can I remember your name,' answered Saxon- stowe. ' But—we met in the Stone Hall at Simons-
tower. '
Lucian 's face lighted with the smile which had become
famous for its sweetness. — ' And with rapiers ! ' he exclaimed. ' I remember
I remember! You are Dickie —Dickie Feversham. '
He began to laugh. * How quaint that scene was ! ' he said. ' I have often thought that it had the very essence of the dramatic in it. Let me see—what did we fight about? Was it Haidee? How amusing —because Haidee and I are married. ' '
' That,' said Saxonstowe, seems a happy ending to the affair. But I think it ended happily at the time. And even yet I cannot remember your name. *
Mr. Robertson stepped forward before Lucian could reply. He introduced the young men to each other in due form. Then Saxonstowe knew that his old enemy
io6 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
was one of the great literary lions of the day; and Lucian recognised Saxonstowe as the mighty traveller of whose deeds most people were talking. They looked at each other with interest, and Mr. Robertson felt a glow of pride when he remembered that his was the only imprint which had ever appeared on a title-page of Lucian Damerel's, and that he was shortly to publish the two massive volumes in which Viscount Saxonstowe had given to the world an account of his wondrous wanderings. He rubbed his hands as he regarded these two splendid young men; it did him good to be near them.
Lucian was worshipping Saxonstowe with the guileless adoration of a child that looks on a man who has seen great things and done great things. It was a trick of his: he had once been known to stand motionless for an hour, gazing in silence at a man who had performed a deed of desperate valour, had suffered the loss of his legs in doing and had been obliged to exhibit himself with placard round his neck in order to scrape living
Lucian was now conjuring up vision of the steppes and plains over which Saxonstowe had travelled with his life in his hands.
'When will you dine with us? ' he said, suddenly bursting into speech. To-night —to-morrow? —the day after—when? Come before everybody snaps you up—you will have no peace for your soul or rest for your body after your book out. '
Then shall run away to certain regions where one can easily find both,' answered Saxonstowe laughingly. assure you have no intention of wasting either
body or soul in London. '
Then they arranged that the new lion was to dine with
Mr. and Mrs. Lucian Damerel on the following day, and Lucian departed, while Saxonstowe followed Mr. Robertson into his private room.
Your lordship has met Mr. Damerel before? ' said the publisher, who had something of liking for gossip about his pet authors.
together.
a
I' ''
I I
it,
' is
a
a
a
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
107
' Once,' answered Saxonstowe. ' We were boys at the time. I had no idea that he was the poet of whose work I have heard so much since coming home. '
' He has had an extraordinarily successful career,' said Mr. Robertson, glancing complacently at a little row of thin volumes bound in dark green cloth which figured in a miniature book-case above his desk. * I have pub- lished all his work—he leaped into fame with his first book, which I produced when he was at Oxford, and since then he has held a recognised place. Yes, one may say that Damerel is one of fortune's spoiled dar- lings — everything that he has done has turned out a great success. He has the grand manner in poetry. I don't know whether your lordship has read his great
tragedy, Domitia, which was staged so magnificently' at the Athenaeum, and proved the sensation of the year?
' I am afraid,' replied Saxonstowe, * that I have had few opportunities of reading anything at all for the past five years. I think Mr. Damerel' s first volume had just appeared when I left England, and books, you know, are not easily obtainable in the wilds of Central Asia. Now that I have better chances, I must not neglect them. '
' You have a great treat in store, my lord,' said the publisher. He nodded his head several times, as if to emphasise the remark. ' Yes,' he continued, ' Damerel has certainly been favoured by fortune. Everything has conspired to increase the sum of his fame. His romantic marriage, of course, was a great advertisement. '
* An advertisement ! '
* I mean, of course, from my standpoint,' said Mr. Robertson hastily. ' He ran away with a very beautiful girl who was on the very eve of contracting a most advantageous marriage from a worldly point of view, and the affair was much talked about.
There was a great rush on Damerel's books during the next few weeks—it is wonderful how a little sensation like that
helps the sale of a book. I remember that Lord Pintle- ford pubUshed a novel with me some years ago which
io8 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
we could not sell at all. He shot his coachman in a fit of anger—that sold the book like hot cakes. '
' I trust the unfortunate coachman was not seriously injured,' said Saxonstowe, who was much amused by these revelations. ' It is, I confess, an unusual method of advertising a book, and one which I should not care
to *adopt. ' ' Oh, we can spare your lordship the trouble !
said Mr. Robertson. ' There'll be no need to employ any
unusual methods in making your lordship's book known. I have already subscribed two large edit:<ons of it. '
With this gratifying announcement Mr. Robertson plunged into the business which had brought Lord Saxonstowe to his office, and for that time no more was said of Lucian Damerel and his great fame. But that night Saxonstowe dined with his aunt. Lady Firmanence, a childless widow who lived on past scandals and present gossip, and chancing to remark that he had encountered Lucian and renewed a very small acquaintance with him, was greeted with a sniff which plainly indicated that Lady Firmanence had something to say.
* And where, pray, did you meet Lucian Damerel at any time? ' she inquired. ' He was unknown, or just beginning to be known, when you left England. '
* It is ten years since I met him,' answered Saxon- stowe. * It was when I was staying at Saxonstowe with my uncle. I met Damerel at Simonstower, and the circumstances were rather amusing. '
He gave an account of the duel, which afforded Lady Firmanence much amusement, and he showed her the scar on his hand, and laughed as he related the story of Lucian's terrible earnestness.
' But I have never forgotten,' he concluded, ' how readily and sincerely he asked my forgiveness when he found that he had been in the wrong—it rather knocked me over, you know, because I didn't quite understand that he really felt the thing—we were both such boys, and the girl was a child. '
' Oh, Lucian
Damerel has good feeling,' said Lady
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 109
Firmanence. ' You wouldn't understand the Italian strain in him. But it is amusing that you should have fought over Haidee Brinklow, who is now Mrs. Lucian.
I'm glad he married her, and that you didn't. '
' Considering that I am to dine with Mr. and Mrs.
Lucian Damerel?
to-morrow, ' said Saxonstowe, ' it
Lucian Damerel
bit odd that don't know any more of them than this. She, remember, was some connection of Lord Simons- tower's; but who he? '
Oh, he was the son of Cyprian Damerel, an Italian artist who married the daughter of one of Simonstower's tenants. Simonstower was at all times greatly interested in him, and has always been my firm impression that was he who sent the boy to Oxford. At any rate, when he died, which was just before Lucian Damerel came of age, Simonstower left
him ten thousand pounds. '
That was good,' said Saxonstowe.
don't know,' said Lady Firmanence. has always seemed to me from what have seen of him— and keep my eyes open on most things — that would have been far better for that young man fortune had dealt him few sound kicks instead of so many half-
Saxonstowe, it's bad thing for man, and especially for man of that temperament,
to be pampered too much. Now, Lucian Damerel has been pampered all his life— know good deal about him, because was constantly down at Saxonstowe during the last two or three years of your uncle's Hfe, and Saxonstowe, as you may remember, close to Simonstower. know how Lucian was petted and pampered by his own people, and by the parson and his daughter, and by the old lord. His way has always been made smooth for him— would have done him good to find few rough places here and there. He had far too much flattery poured upon him when his success came, and he has got used to expecting though
indeed,' concluded the old lady, laughing, Heaven knows I'm wrong in saying " got used," for Damerel's
pence. Depend upon
' it,
it
' It
a
I
a I
I is
I it
is
if a
aII''*
I
it, a
it
I
a it
is^ a
no LUCIAN THE DREAMER
one of the sort who take all the riches and luxuries of the worid as their just due. '
' He seemed to me to be very simple and unaffected,' said Saxonstowe.
Lady Firmanence nodded the ribbons of her cap.
' Yes,' she said, ' he's sadly too simple, and I wish— for I can't help hking him—that he was as affected as some of those young upstarts who cultivate long hair and velvet coats on the strength of a slim volume printed on one side of the paper only. No—Lucian Damerel hasn't a scrap of affectation about him, and he isn't a I wish he were affected and that he would pose
poseur.
—I do indeed, for his own sake. '
Saxonstowe knew that his aunt was a clever woman. He held his tongue, asking her by his eyes to explain this desire of hers, which seemed so much at variance with her well-known love of humbug and cant.
' Oh, of course I know you're wondering at that! ' she said. * Well, the explanation is simple enough. I wish Lucian Damerel were a poseur, I wish he were
affected, even to the insufferable stage, for the simple reason that if he were these things it would show that he was alive to the practical and business side of the matter. — What is he? A writer. He'll have to live by writing at the rate he and Haidee live they'll soon exhaust their resources — and he ought to be ahve to the £s, d. oi his trade, for it is a trade. As things are, he isn't alive. The difference between Lucian Damerel and some other men of equal eminence in his own craft is just this: they are for ever in an attitude, crying out, " Look at me—is it not wonderful that I am so clever? " Lucian, on the other hand, seems to suggest an attitude and air of " Wouldn't it be curious if I weren't? " '
* I think,' said Saxonstowe, * that there may be some affectation in that. '
' Affectation,' said Lady Firmanence, ' depends upon two things if it is to be successful : the power to deceive cleverly, and the abihty to deceive for ever. Lucian Damerel couldn't deceive anybody—he's a child, the
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
m
child who believes the world to be an illimitable nursery crammed with inexhaustible toys. '
* I mean that he plays in life,' said Lady Firmanence. ' He's still sporting on his mother's breast, and he'll go on sporting until somebody picks him up, smacks him
soundly, and throws him into a comer.
Then, of course, he will be vastly surprised to find that such treatment could be meted out to him. '
' Then let us hope that he will be able to live in his world of dreams for ever,' said Saxonstowe.
' So he might, if the State were to estabhsh an asylum for folk of his sort,' said Lady Firmanence. ' But he
' You mean that he plays at life? '
happens to be Brinklow. '
married, and married to Haidee
' My pubHsher, ' remarked Saxonstowe, ' gloated over the romantic circumstances of the marriage, and ap- peared to think that that sort of thing was good for trade —made books sell, you know. '
' I have no doubt that Damerel's marriage made his books sell, and kept Domitia running at the Athenaeum for at least three months longer,' replied Lady Firmanence.
* I dare say they appealed to the sensations, emotions, feelings, and notions of the British public,' said the old lady. ' Haidee Brinklow, after a campaign of two seasons, was about to marry a middle-aged person who had made much money in something or other, and was prepared to execute handsome settlements. It was all arranged when Lucian burst upon the scene, blazing with triumph, youth, and good looks. He was the comet of that season, and Haidee was attracted by the glitter of his tail. I suppose he and she were madly in love with each other for quite a month —unfortunately, during that month they committed the indiscretion of marriage. '
'' A runaway marriage, was it not? '
* Under the very noses of the mamma and the bride- groom-elect. There was one happy result of the affair, '
' Were the circumstances, then, so very romantic? *
112 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
said Lady Firmanence musingly; ' it drove Mrs. Brinklow off to somewhere or other on the Continent, and there she has since remained —she took her defeat badly. Now the jilted gentleman took it in good part— it is said that he is quite a sort of grandpapa in the establishment, and has reahsed that there are compensa-
tions even in being jilted. '
Saxonstowe meditated upon these things in silence.
' Mrs. Damerel was a pretty girl,' he said, after a
time. doll,' said Fir- ' Mrs. Damerel is a nice little Lady
manence, ' a very pretty toy indeed. Give her plenty of pretty things to wear and sweets to eat, and all the honey of life to sip at, and she'll do well and go far; but don't ask her to draw cheques against a mental balance which she never had, or you'll get them back— dishonoured. '
' Are there any children? ' Saxonstowe asked.
' Only themselves,' rephed his aunt, ' and quite plenty too, in one house. If it were not for MiUie Chilverstone, I don't know what they would do—she descends upon them now and then, straightens them up as far as she can, and sets the wheels working once more. She is good to them. '
' And who is she? I have some sort of recollection of ' her name,' said Saxonstowe. —
She is the daughter of the parson at Simonstower the man who tutored Lucian Damerel. '
' Ah, I remember —she was the girl who came with him to the Castle that day, and he called her Sprats. A lively, good-humoured girl, with a heap of freckles in 'a very bright face,' said Saxonstowe.
She is little altered,' remarked Lady Firmanence. ' Now, that was the girl for Lucian Damerel ! She would have taken care of his money, darned his socks, given him plain dinners, seen that the rent was paid,
and made a man of him. '
' Admirable qualifications,' laughed Saxonstowe.
' But one might reasonably suppose that a poet of
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
113
Damerel's quality needs others —some intellectual gifts, for example, in his helpmeet. '
' 'Stuff and nonsense! ' retorted Lady Firmanence.
He wants a good managing housekeeper with a keen eye for the butcher's bill and a genius for economy. As for intellect —pray, Saxonstowe, don't foster the foolish notion that poets are intellectual. Don't you know that all genius is lopsided? Your poet has all his brain- power in one little cell—there may be a gold-mine there, but the rest of him is usually weak even to childishness. And the great need of the weak man is the strong woman. '
Saxonstowe 's silence was a delicate and compliment to Lady Firmanence's perspicacity.
flattering
CHAPTER XIII
Lady Firmanence's observations upon the family
of Mr. and Mrs. Lucian Damerel sent Lord Saxonstowe to their house at seven o'clock the following evening with feelings of pleasant curiosity. He had been out of the world—as that phrase is known by people whose chief idea of life is to hve in social ant-heaps — long enough to enjoy a renewed acquaintance with and since his return to England had found hitherto untasted pleasure in studying the manners and customs of his fellow-subjects. He remembered Httle about them
as they had presented themselves to him before his
for the East, for he was then young and unlicked: the five years of comparative solitude which he had spent in the deserts and waste places of the earth, only enlivened by the doubtful company of Kirghese, Tartars, and children of nature, had lifted him upon an eminence from whence he might view civilised humanity with critical eye. So far everything had amused him— seemed to him that never had life seemed so small and ignoble, so mean and trifling, as here where the men and women were as puppets pulled by strings which fate had attached to most capricious fingers. Like all the men who come back from the deserts and the mountains, he gazed on the whirling life around him with feeling that was half pity, half contempt. The antics of the puppets made him wonder, and in the wonder he found amusement.
Mr. and Mrs. Lucian Damerel, as befitted young people untroubled by considerations of economy, resided in one of those smaller streets in Mayfair wherein one may find house large enough to turn round in without more than an occasional collision with the walls. Such
house not so comfortable as suburban residence at one-tenth the rent, but has the advantage of being
114
history
departure
it
a
a
is
a
a
it
a
a
it,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 115
in the middle of the known world, and if its frontage to the street is only one of six yards, its exterior may be made pretty and even taking by a judicious use of
flowering plants, bright paint,
The interior is usually suggestive of playing at doll's house; but the absence of even one baby makes a great difference, and in Lucian's establishment there were no children. Small as it was, the house was a veritable nest of comfort—Lucian and Haidee had the instinct of settling themselves amongst soft things, and surrounding their souls with an atmosphere of aesthetic delight, and one of them at least had the artist's eye for colour, and the true collector's contempt for the cheap and obvious. There was scarcely a chair or table in the rooms sacred to the householders and their friends which had not a history and a distinction : every picture was an education in art; the books were masterpieces of the binder's craft; the old china and old things generally were the despair
and a quaint knocker.
of many people who could have afforded to buy a ware- house full of the like had they only known where to find it. Lucian knew, and when he came into possession of Lord Simonstower's legacy he began to surround himself with the fruits of money and knowledge, and as riches came rolling in from royalties, he went on indulging his tastes until the house was full, and would hold no more examples of anything. But by that time it was a nest of luxury wherein even the light, real and arti- ficial, was graduated to a fine shade, where nothing crude in shape or colour interfered with the delicate suscepti- bilities of a poetic temperament.
When Lord Saxonstowe was shown into the small drawing-room of this small house he marvelled at the cleverness and delicacy of the taste which could make so much use of limited dimensions. It was the daintiest and prettiest room he had ever seen, and though he himself had small inclinations to ease and luxury of any sort, he drank in the pleasantness of his surroundings with a distinct sense of personal gratification. The room was empty of human life when he entered it, but the
ii6 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
was neither masculine nor feminine— was the personahty of neuter thing, and Saxonstowe dimly recognised that meant Art. He began to understand something of Lucian as he looked about him, and to con- ceive him as mind which dominated its enveloping body to love of beauty that might easily degenerate into slavedom to luxury. He began to wonder Lucian study or library, or wherever he worked, were similarly devoted to the worship of form and colour.
He was turning over the leaves of an Italian work, book sumptuous in form and wonderful in its vellum binding and gold scroll-work, when rustle of skirts
aroused him from the first stages of reverie. He turned, expecting to see his hostess—instead he saw young lady whom he instinctively recognised as Miss Chilverstone, the girl of the merry eyes and the innumer- able freckles of ten years earlier. He looked at her
marks of a personality were all over and the person-
ality
closely
as she approached
Good temper and good health appeared to radiate from Miss Chilver-
heart and purposeful temperament.
stone; the active girl of sixteen had developed into splendid woman, and Lord Saxonstowe, as she moved towards him, admired her with sudden recognition of her feminine strength —she was just the woman, he said to himself, who ought to be the mate of strong man,
man of action and purpose and determination.
She held out her hand to him with frank smile.
Do you remember me? ' she said. It quite ten years since that fateful afternoon at Simonstower. '
Yes, remember quite well. In those days you were called Sprats. '
Was fateful? ' he answered.
am still Sprats,' she answered, with laugh.
.
him, and he saw that the merry eyes had lost some of their roguery, but were still frank, clear, and kindly; some of the freckles had gone,
but good many were still there, adding piquancy to face that had no pretensions to beauty, but many to the charms which spring from the possession of kindly
a I' ' *
a a
a
a
'
it
's
a
*
aa 'a
it, it
a is
a
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a
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it a
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
117
shall always be Sprats. I am Sprats to Lucian and Haidee, and even to my children. '
' To your children? ' he said wonderingly.
I have twenty-five,' she replied, smiling at his ques- tioning look. ' But of course you do not know. I have a private orphanage, all of my own, in Bayswater —it is my hobby. If you are interested in babies and children, do come to see me there, and I will introduce
you to all my charges. '
' I will certainly do that/ he said. ' Isn't it hard
work ? '
' Isn't everything hard work that is worth doing? ' she
answered. ' Yes, I suppose it is hard work, but I like
it. I have a natural genius for mothering
things —that is why I occasionally condescend to put on
helpless
fine clothes and dine with children
Haidee when they entertain great travellers who are also peers of the realm. '
' Do they require mothering? ' he asked.
' Very much so sometimes — they are very particular babies. I come to them every now and then to scold them, smack them, straighten them up, and see that they are in no danger of falHng into the fire or upsetting anything. Afterwards I dine with them in order to cheer them up after the rough time they have had. '
Saxonstowe smiled. He had been closely all the time.
watching her
' I see,' he said, ' that you' are still Sprats. Has the time been very rough to-day ?
' Somewhat rough on poor Haidee, perhaps, ' answered Sprats. ' Lucian has wisely kept out of the way until he can find safety in numbers. But please sit down and tell me about your travels until our hostess appears it seems quite funny to see you all in one piece after such adventures. _ Didn't they torture you in some Thibetan town? ' she inquired, with a sudden change from gaiety to ' womanly concern.
They certainly were rather inhospitable,' he answered. ' I shouldn't call it torture, I think—it was
like Lucian and
ii8
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
merely a sort of gentle hint as to what they would do if
I intruded upon them again. '
• But I want to know what they did,' she insisted.
' You look so nice and comfortable sitting there, with no other sign of discomfort about you than the usual
I-want-my-dinner
had gone through hardships. '
look, that one would never dream you
Saxonstowe was not much given to conversation—his nomadic life had communicated the gift of silence to him,
note in Miss Chilver- stone's voice, and he began to tell her about his travels
but he recognised the sympathetic
in a somewhat boyish fashion that amused her. As he talked she examined him closely and decided that he was almost as young as on the afternoon when he occasioned such mad jealousy in Lucian's breast. His method of
himself was simple and direct and school-
boyish in language, but the exuberance of spirits which
she remembered had disappeared and given place to a
expressing
staid, old-fashioned manner.
' I wonder what did it? ' she said, unconsciously utter-
ing her thought.
' Did what? ' he asked.
' I was thinking aloud,' she answered. ' I wondered
what had made you so very staid in a curiously young
sort of boy that Saxonstowe blushed. He had recollections of his
way you were a rough-and-tumble afternoon at Simonstower. '
youthfulness.
' I beUeve I was an irrepressible
sort of youngster,' he said. ' I think that gets knocked out of you though,
when you spend a lot of time alone—you get no end of time for thinking, you know, out in the deserts. '
' I should think so,' she said. ' And I suppose that even this solitude becomes companionable in a way^that only those who have experienced it can understand? '
He looked at her with some surprise and with a new
interest and strange sense of kinship.
' Yes,' he replied. ' That's it—that is it exactly.
How did you know? '
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 119
' It isn't necessary to go into the deserts and steppes to feel a bit lonely now and then, is it? ' she said, with a
surface qualities.
' I suppose most of us get some sort of notion
laugh.
of solitude at some time or other. '
At that juncture Haidee entered, and Saxonstowe turned to her with a good deal of curiosity. He was somewhat surprised to find that ten years of added age had made little difference in her. She was now a woman, it was true, and her girlish prettiness had changed into a somewhat luxurious style of beauty— there was no denying the loveliness of face and figure, of charm and colour, he said to himself, but he was quick to observe that Haidee' s beauty depended entirely upon
She fell, without effort or conscious- ness, into poses which other women vainly tried to emu- late; it was impossible to her to walk across a room,
sit upon an unaccommodating chair, or loll upon a much becushioned sofa in anything but a graceful way; it was equally impossible, so long as nothing occurred to ruffle her, to keep from her lips a perpetual smile, or inviting glances from her dark eyes. She reminded Saxonstowe of a fluffy, silky-coated kitten which he had seen playing
and he was not sur- prised to find, when she began to talk to him, that her voice had something of the feline purr in it. Within five minutes of her entrance he had determined that Mrs. Damerel was a pretty doll. She showed to the greatest
amidst the luxury of her surroundings, but her mouth dropped no pearls, and her pretty face showed no sign of intellect, or of wit, or of any strong mental quality. It was evident that conversation was not Mrs. Damerel's strong point—she indicated in an instinctive fashion that men were expected to amuse and admire her without drawing upon her intellectual resources, and Saxonstowe soon formed the opinion that a judicious use of monosyllables would carry her a long way in un-
congenial company. Her beauty had something of sleepiness about it—there was neither vivacity nor animation in her manner, but she was beautifully
on Lady Firmanence's hearthrug,
advantage
120 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
gowned and daintily perfect, and as a picture deserved worship and recognition.
Saxonstowe was presently presented to another guest, Mrs. Berenson, a lady who had achieved great distinc- tion on the stage, and who claimed a part proprietorship in Lucian Damerel because she had created the part of the heroine in his tragedy, and almost worn herself to skin and bone in playing it in strenuous fashion for nearly three hundred nights. She was now resting from these labours, and employing her leisure in an attempt to induce Lucian to write a play around herself, and the project was so much in her mind that she began to talk volubly of it as soon as she entered his wife's drawing- room. Saxonstowe inspected her with curiosity and amusement. He had seen her described as an embodi- ment of sinuous grace; she seemed to him an angular, scraggy woman, whose joints were too much in evidence, and who would have been the better for some addition to her adipose tissue. From behind the footlights Mrs. Berenson displayed many charms and qualities of beauty —Saxonstowe soon came to the conclusion that
must be largely due to artificial aids and the power of histrionic art, for she presented none of them on the dull stage of private life. Her hair, arranged on the prin- ciple of artful carelessness, was of a washed-out colour; her complexion was mottled and her skin rough; she had an unfortunately prominent nose which evinced a decided partiality to be bulbous, and her mouth, framed in harsh lines and drooping wrinkles, was so large that it seemed to stretch from one corner of an elongated jaw to the other. She was noticeable, but not pleasant to look upon, and in spite of a natural indifference to such things, Saxonstowe wished that her attire had been either less eccentric or better suited to her. Mrs. Berenson,
being very tall and very thin, wore a gown of the eighteenth-century-rustic-maiden style, made very high at the waist, low at the neck, and short in the sleeves — she thus looked like a lamp-post, or a bean-stalk, topped with a mask and a flaxen wig. She was one of those
they
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
121
women who wear innumerable chains, and at least half- a-dozen rings on each hand, and she had an annoying trick of clasping her hands in front of her and twisting the chains round her fingers, which were very long and very white, and apt to get on other people's nerves. It was also to be observed that she never ceased talking, and that her one subject of conversation was herself.
As Saxonstowe was beginning to wish that his host would appear, Mr. Eustace Darlington was announced, and he found himself diverted from Mrs. Berenson by a new object of interest, in the shape of the man whom Mrs. Damerel had jilted in order to run away with Lucian. Mr. Darlington was a man of apparently forty years of age; a clean-shaven, keen-eyed individual, who communicated an immediate impression of shrewd hard- headedness. He was very quiet and very self-possessed in manner, and it required little knowledge of human nature to predict of him that he would never do anything in a hurry or in a perfunctory manner —a single glance of his eye at the clock as eight struck served to indicate at least one principal trait of his character. '
' It is utterly useless to look at the clock, said Haidee, catching Mr. Darlington's glance. ' That won't bring Lucian any sooner—^he has probably quite forgotten that he has guests, and gone off to dine at his club or some- thing of that sort. He gets more erratic every day. I wish you'd talk seriously to him, Sprats. He never pays the least attention to me. Last week he asked two men to dine—utter strangers to me—and at eight o'clock came a wire from Oxford saying he had gone down there to see a friend and was staying the night. '
' I think that must be delightful in the man to whom you are married,' said Mrs. Berenson. ' I should hate to live with a man who always did the right thing at the right moment —so dull, you know. '
' There is much to be said on both sides, ' said Darling- ton dryly. ' In husbands, as in theology, a happy medium would appear to be found in the via media. I presume, Mrs. Berenson, that you would like your hus-
122 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
band to wear his waistcoat outside his coat and dine at five o'clock in the morning? '
' I would prefer even that to a husband who lived on clock-work principles,' Mrs. Berenson replied. ' Eccen- tricity is the surest proof of strong character. '
' I should imagine,' said Sprats, with a glance at Saxonstowe which seemed to convey to him that the actress was amusing. * I should imagine that Lord Saxonstowe and Mr. Darlington are men of clock-work principles. '
Mrs. Berenson put up her pince-nez and favoured the two men with a long, steady stare. She dropped the pince-nez with a deep sigh.
' They do look like don't they? ' she said despair- ingly. There's something in the way they wear their clothes and hold their hands that suggests it. Do you always rise at certain hour? ' she went on, turning to Saxonstowe. My husband had habit of getting up at six in summer and seven in winter— brought on an extraordinary form of nervous disease in me, and the doctors warned him that they would not be responsible for my life he persisted. believe he tried to break
the habit off, poor fellow, but he died, and so of course there was an end of it. '
Ere Saxonstowe could decide whether he was expected to reply to the lady's question as to his own habits, the sound of rapidly driven and sharply pulled-up cab was heard outside, followed by loudly delivered instruc- tions in Lucian's voice. minute later he rushed into the drawing-room. He had evidently come straight out of the cab, for he wore his hat and forgot to take off— excitement and concern were written in large letters all over him.
The only person who was full of fears was Sprats. She had been Lucian's other self for six years, and she, more than any one else, knew his need of constant help and friendship. He was full of simplicity; he credited everybody with the possession of qualities and sym-
which few people possess; he lived in a world of dreams rather than of stern facts. He was obstinate, wayward, impulsive; much too affectionate, and much too lovable; he Hved for the moment, and only regarded the future as one continual procession of rosy hours. Sprats, with feminine intuition, feared the moment when he would come into collision with stem experience of the world and the worldly —she longed to be with him when that moment came, as she had been with him when the frailty and coquetry of the Dolly kid nearly broke his child's heart. And so during the last few days of his stay at Simonstower she hovered about him as a faithful mother does about a sailor son, and she gave him much excellent advice and many counsels of perfection.
' You know you are a baby,' she said, when Lucian laughed at her. ' You have been so coddled all your life that you will cry if a pin pricks you. And there will be no Sprats to tie a rag round the wound. '
' It would certainly be better if Sprats were going too,' he said thoughtfully, and his face clouded. ' But then,' he continued, flashing into a smile, ' after all, Oxford is only two hundred miles from Simonstower, and there are trains which carry one over two hundred miles in a very short time. If I should chance to fall
unlikely
pathies
departed
»J1>1>> LUCIAN THE DREAMER loi
and bump my nose I shall take a ticket by the next train and come to Sprats to be patched up. '
' I shall keep a stock of ointments and lotions and
bandages in perpetual readiness/ she said. ' But it must be distinctly understood, Lucian, that I have the
monopoly of curing you — I have a sort of notion, you know, that it is my chief mission in life to be your nurse. '
' The concession is yours,' he answered, with mock
gravity.
It was with this understanding that they parted.
There came a day when all the good-byes had been said, the blessings and admonitions received, and Lucian
from the village with a pocket full of money
there through the fooHsh feminine of Miss Pepperdine and Miss Judith, who had womanly fears as to the horrible situations in which
he might be placed if he were bereft of ready cash) and a light and a sanguine heart. Mr. Chilverstone went with him to Oxford to see his protege settled and have a brief holiday of his own; on their departure Sprats drove them to the station at Wellsby. She waved her handkerchief until the train had disappeared; she was conscious when she turned away that her heart had gone with Lucian.
(largely placed indulgence
CHAPTER XII
About the middle of a May afternoon, seven years later, a young man turned out of the Strand into a quiet street in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden and began look- ing about him as if endeavouring to locate the where- abouts of some particular place. Catching sight of the name William Robertson on a neighbouring window,
it, he turned into the door of the establishment thus designated, and encountering an office-boy who was busily engaged in
reading a comic journal inside a small pen labelled
' Inquiries,'
with the word Publisher underneath
he asked with great politeness if Mr. Robertson was at that moment disengaged. The office- boy in his own good time condescended to examine the personal appearance of the inquirer, and having assured himself that the gentleman was worthy his attention he asked in sharp tones if he had an appointment with Mr. Robertson. To this the stranger replied that he believed he was expected by Mr. Robertson during the afternoon, but not at any particular hour, and produced a card from which the office-boy learned that he was confront- ing the Viscount Saxonstowe. He forthwith disappeared into some inner region and came back a moment later with a young gentleman who cultivated long hair and an aesthetic style of necktie, and bowed Lord Saxonstowe through various doors into a pleasant ante-room, where
he accommodated his lordship with a chair and the Times, and informed him that Mr. Robertson would be at liberty in a few moments. Lord Saxonstowe remarked that he was in no hurry at all, and would wait Mr. Robertson's convenience. The young gentleman with the luxuriant locks replied politely that he was quite sure Mr. Robertson would not keep his lordship waiting long, and added that they were experiencing
quite summer-like weather. Lord Saxonstowe agreed Z02
LUC:r». N THE DREAMER 103
to this proposition, and opensd the Times. His host or keeper for the time being seated himself at a desk, one half of which was shared by a lady typist who had affected great interest in her work since Lord Saxon- stowe's entrance, and who now stole surreptitious glances at him as he scanned the newspaper. The clerk scribbled a line or two on a scrap of paper 'and passed it across to her. She untwisted it and read : This is the chap that did that tremendous exploration in the North
Asia: a real live lord, you know. ' She scribbled an
of line: ' course I know — do you think I answering Of
didn't recognise the name? ' and passed it over with a
The clerk indited another epistle Don't look as if he'd seen much of anything, does he? '
show of indignation. '
:^
The clerk sighed, caressed a few sprouts on his
top-lip, and remarking to his own soul that these toffs
always catch the girls' eyes, fell to doing nothing in
a practised way.
Viscount Saxonstowe, quite unconscious of the interest he was exciting, stared about him after a time and began to wonder if the two young people at the desk usually worked with closed windows. The atmosphere was heavy, and there was a concentrated smell of paper, and ink, and paste. He thought of the wind-swept plains and steppes on which he had spent long months —
there, but
The girl perused this, scribbled back : '
His eyes and moustache are real jam! ' and fell to work at her machine
again.
he had gone through some stiff experiences
he confessed to himself that he would prefer a bitter cold night in winter in similar solitudes to a summer's day in that ante-room. His own healthy tan and the clear- ness of his eyes, his alert look and the easy swing with which he walked, would never have been developed amidst such surroundings, and the consciousness of his own rude health made him feel sorry for the two white slaves before him. He felt that if he could have his own way he would cut the young gentleman's hair, put him
into a flannel shirt and trot him round; as for the young lady, he would certainly send her into the country for
104
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
a holiday. And while he thus indulged his fancies a door opened and he heard voices, and two men stepped into the ante-room.
He instinctively recognised one as the publisher whom he had come to see; at the other, a much younger man, he found himself staring with some sense of recognition which was as yet vague and unformed. He felt sure that he had met him before, and under some unusual circumstances, but he could not remember the occa- sion, nor assure his mind that the face on which he looked was really familiar—it was more suggestive of something that had been familiar than famihar in itself. He concluded that he must have seen a photograph of it in some illustrated paper; the man was in all likeH- hood a popular author. Saxonstowe carefully looked him over as he stood exchanging a last word with the publisher on the threshold of the latter's room. He noted the gracefulness of the slim figure in the perfectly fashioned clothes, and again he became conscious that his memory was being stirred. The man under obser- vation was swinging a light walking-cane as he chatted; he made a sudden movement with it to emphasise a point, and Saxonstowe 's memory cleared itself. His thoughts flew back ten years : he saw two boys, one the
very image of incarnate Wrath, the other an equally faithful impersonation of Amazement, facing each other in an antique hall, with rapiers in hand and a sense of battle writ large upon their faces and figures.
'And I can't remember the chap's name ! ' he thought. ' But this is he. '
He looked at his old antagonist more closely, and with a keener interest. Lucina was now twenty-five; he had developed into a tall, well-knit man of graceful and sinuous figure; he was dressed with great care and with
fashion, but with a close study of his own particular requirements;
strict attention to the height of the prevalent
his appearance was distinguished and notable, and Saxonstowe, little given to sentiment as regards manly beauty, confessed to himself that the face on which he
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 105
looked might have been moulded by Nature from a canvas or marble of the Renaissance. It was a face for which some women would forget everything, —Saxon- stowe, with this thought half-formed in his mind, caught sight of the anaemic typist, who, oblivious of anything else in the room, had fixed all her attention on Lucian. Her hands rested, motionless, on the keys of the machine before her; her head was slightly tilted back, her eyes
a faint flush of colour had stolen into her cheeks, and for the moment
shone, her lips were sHghtly parted;
she was a pretty girl. Saxonstowe smiled —it seemed to him that he had been privileged to peep into the secret chamber of a girlish soul. ' She would give something to kiss his hand,' he thought.
Lucian turned away from the publisher with a nod; his eye caught Saxonstowe's and held it. A puzzled look came into his face; he paused and involuntarily stretched out his hand, staring at Saxonstowe search- ingly. Saxonstowe smiled and gave his hand in return.
' We have met somewhere, ' said Lucian wonderingly , * I cannot think where. '
' Nor can I remember your name,' answered Saxon- stowe. ' But—we met in the Stone Hall at Simons-
tower. '
Lucian 's face lighted with the smile which had become
famous for its sweetness. — ' And with rapiers ! ' he exclaimed. ' I remember
I remember! You are Dickie —Dickie Feversham. '
He began to laugh. * How quaint that scene was ! ' he said. ' I have often thought that it had the very essence of the dramatic in it. Let me see—what did we fight about? Was it Haidee? How amusing —because Haidee and I are married. ' '
' That,' said Saxonstowe, seems a happy ending to the affair. But I think it ended happily at the time. And even yet I cannot remember your name. *
Mr. Robertson stepped forward before Lucian could reply. He introduced the young men to each other in due form. Then Saxonstowe knew that his old enemy
io6 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
was one of the great literary lions of the day; and Lucian recognised Saxonstowe as the mighty traveller of whose deeds most people were talking. They looked at each other with interest, and Mr. Robertson felt a glow of pride when he remembered that his was the only imprint which had ever appeared on a title-page of Lucian Damerel's, and that he was shortly to publish the two massive volumes in which Viscount Saxonstowe had given to the world an account of his wondrous wanderings. He rubbed his hands as he regarded these two splendid young men; it did him good to be near them.
Lucian was worshipping Saxonstowe with the guileless adoration of a child that looks on a man who has seen great things and done great things. It was a trick of his: he had once been known to stand motionless for an hour, gazing in silence at a man who had performed a deed of desperate valour, had suffered the loss of his legs in doing and had been obliged to exhibit himself with placard round his neck in order to scrape living
Lucian was now conjuring up vision of the steppes and plains over which Saxonstowe had travelled with his life in his hands.
'When will you dine with us? ' he said, suddenly bursting into speech. To-night —to-morrow? —the day after—when? Come before everybody snaps you up—you will have no peace for your soul or rest for your body after your book out. '
Then shall run away to certain regions where one can easily find both,' answered Saxonstowe laughingly. assure you have no intention of wasting either
body or soul in London. '
Then they arranged that the new lion was to dine with
Mr. and Mrs. Lucian Damerel on the following day, and Lucian departed, while Saxonstowe followed Mr. Robertson into his private room.
Your lordship has met Mr. Damerel before? ' said the publisher, who had something of liking for gossip about his pet authors.
together.
a
I' ''
I I
it,
' is
a
a
a
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
107
' Once,' answered Saxonstowe. ' We were boys at the time. I had no idea that he was the poet of whose work I have heard so much since coming home. '
' He has had an extraordinarily successful career,' said Mr. Robertson, glancing complacently at a little row of thin volumes bound in dark green cloth which figured in a miniature book-case above his desk. * I have pub- lished all his work—he leaped into fame with his first book, which I produced when he was at Oxford, and since then he has held a recognised place. Yes, one may say that Damerel is one of fortune's spoiled dar- lings — everything that he has done has turned out a great success. He has the grand manner in poetry. I don't know whether your lordship has read his great
tragedy, Domitia, which was staged so magnificently' at the Athenaeum, and proved the sensation of the year?
' I am afraid,' replied Saxonstowe, * that I have had few opportunities of reading anything at all for the past five years. I think Mr. Damerel' s first volume had just appeared when I left England, and books, you know, are not easily obtainable in the wilds of Central Asia. Now that I have better chances, I must not neglect them. '
' You have a great treat in store, my lord,' said the publisher. He nodded his head several times, as if to emphasise the remark. ' Yes,' he continued, ' Damerel has certainly been favoured by fortune. Everything has conspired to increase the sum of his fame. His romantic marriage, of course, was a great advertisement. '
* An advertisement ! '
* I mean, of course, from my standpoint,' said Mr. Robertson hastily. ' He ran away with a very beautiful girl who was on the very eve of contracting a most advantageous marriage from a worldly point of view, and the affair was much talked about.
There was a great rush on Damerel's books during the next few weeks—it is wonderful how a little sensation like that
helps the sale of a book. I remember that Lord Pintle- ford pubUshed a novel with me some years ago which
io8 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
we could not sell at all. He shot his coachman in a fit of anger—that sold the book like hot cakes. '
' I trust the unfortunate coachman was not seriously injured,' said Saxonstowe, who was much amused by these revelations. ' It is, I confess, an unusual method of advertising a book, and one which I should not care
to *adopt. ' ' Oh, we can spare your lordship the trouble !
said Mr. Robertson. ' There'll be no need to employ any
unusual methods in making your lordship's book known. I have already subscribed two large edit:<ons of it. '
With this gratifying announcement Mr. Robertson plunged into the business which had brought Lord Saxonstowe to his office, and for that time no more was said of Lucian Damerel and his great fame. But that night Saxonstowe dined with his aunt. Lady Firmanence, a childless widow who lived on past scandals and present gossip, and chancing to remark that he had encountered Lucian and renewed a very small acquaintance with him, was greeted with a sniff which plainly indicated that Lady Firmanence had something to say.
* And where, pray, did you meet Lucian Damerel at any time? ' she inquired. ' He was unknown, or just beginning to be known, when you left England. '
* It is ten years since I met him,' answered Saxon- stowe. * It was when I was staying at Saxonstowe with my uncle. I met Damerel at Simonstower, and the circumstances were rather amusing. '
He gave an account of the duel, which afforded Lady Firmanence much amusement, and he showed her the scar on his hand, and laughed as he related the story of Lucian's terrible earnestness.
' But I have never forgotten,' he concluded, ' how readily and sincerely he asked my forgiveness when he found that he had been in the wrong—it rather knocked me over, you know, because I didn't quite understand that he really felt the thing—we were both such boys, and the girl was a child. '
' Oh, Lucian
Damerel has good feeling,' said Lady
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 109
Firmanence. ' You wouldn't understand the Italian strain in him. But it is amusing that you should have fought over Haidee Brinklow, who is now Mrs. Lucian.
I'm glad he married her, and that you didn't. '
' Considering that I am to dine with Mr. and Mrs.
Lucian Damerel?
to-morrow, ' said Saxonstowe, ' it
Lucian Damerel
bit odd that don't know any more of them than this. She, remember, was some connection of Lord Simons- tower's; but who he? '
Oh, he was the son of Cyprian Damerel, an Italian artist who married the daughter of one of Simonstower's tenants. Simonstower was at all times greatly interested in him, and has always been my firm impression that was he who sent the boy to Oxford. At any rate, when he died, which was just before Lucian Damerel came of age, Simonstower left
him ten thousand pounds. '
That was good,' said Saxonstowe.
don't know,' said Lady Firmanence. has always seemed to me from what have seen of him— and keep my eyes open on most things — that would have been far better for that young man fortune had dealt him few sound kicks instead of so many half-
Saxonstowe, it's bad thing for man, and especially for man of that temperament,
to be pampered too much. Now, Lucian Damerel has been pampered all his life— know good deal about him, because was constantly down at Saxonstowe during the last two or three years of your uncle's Hfe, and Saxonstowe, as you may remember, close to Simonstower. know how Lucian was petted and pampered by his own people, and by the parson and his daughter, and by the old lord. His way has always been made smooth for him— would have done him good to find few rough places here and there. He had far too much flattery poured upon him when his success came, and he has got used to expecting though
indeed,' concluded the old lady, laughing, Heaven knows I'm wrong in saying " got used," for Damerel's
pence. Depend upon
' it,
it
' It
a
I
a I
I is
I it
is
if a
aII''*
I
it, a
it
I
a it
is^ a
no LUCIAN THE DREAMER
one of the sort who take all the riches and luxuries of the worid as their just due. '
' He seemed to me to be very simple and unaffected,' said Saxonstowe.
Lady Firmanence nodded the ribbons of her cap.
' Yes,' she said, ' he's sadly too simple, and I wish— for I can't help hking him—that he was as affected as some of those young upstarts who cultivate long hair and velvet coats on the strength of a slim volume printed on one side of the paper only. No—Lucian Damerel hasn't a scrap of affectation about him, and he isn't a I wish he were affected and that he would pose
poseur.
—I do indeed, for his own sake. '
Saxonstowe knew that his aunt was a clever woman. He held his tongue, asking her by his eyes to explain this desire of hers, which seemed so much at variance with her well-known love of humbug and cant.
' Oh, of course I know you're wondering at that! ' she said. * Well, the explanation is simple enough. I wish Lucian Damerel were a poseur, I wish he were
affected, even to the insufferable stage, for the simple reason that if he were these things it would show that he was alive to the practical and business side of the matter. — What is he? A writer. He'll have to live by writing at the rate he and Haidee live they'll soon exhaust their resources — and he ought to be ahve to the £s, d. oi his trade, for it is a trade. As things are, he isn't alive. The difference between Lucian Damerel and some other men of equal eminence in his own craft is just this: they are for ever in an attitude, crying out, " Look at me—is it not wonderful that I am so clever? " Lucian, on the other hand, seems to suggest an attitude and air of " Wouldn't it be curious if I weren't? " '
* I think,' said Saxonstowe, * that there may be some affectation in that. '
' Affectation,' said Lady Firmanence, ' depends upon two things if it is to be successful : the power to deceive cleverly, and the abihty to deceive for ever. Lucian Damerel couldn't deceive anybody—he's a child, the
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
m
child who believes the world to be an illimitable nursery crammed with inexhaustible toys. '
* I mean that he plays in life,' said Lady Firmanence. ' He's still sporting on his mother's breast, and he'll go on sporting until somebody picks him up, smacks him
soundly, and throws him into a comer.
Then, of course, he will be vastly surprised to find that such treatment could be meted out to him. '
' Then let us hope that he will be able to live in his world of dreams for ever,' said Saxonstowe.
' So he might, if the State were to estabhsh an asylum for folk of his sort,' said Lady Firmanence. ' But he
' You mean that he plays at life? '
happens to be Brinklow. '
married, and married to Haidee
' My pubHsher, ' remarked Saxonstowe, ' gloated over the romantic circumstances of the marriage, and ap- peared to think that that sort of thing was good for trade —made books sell, you know. '
' I have no doubt that Damerel's marriage made his books sell, and kept Domitia running at the Athenaeum for at least three months longer,' replied Lady Firmanence.
* I dare say they appealed to the sensations, emotions, feelings, and notions of the British public,' said the old lady. ' Haidee Brinklow, after a campaign of two seasons, was about to marry a middle-aged person who had made much money in something or other, and was prepared to execute handsome settlements. It was all arranged when Lucian burst upon the scene, blazing with triumph, youth, and good looks. He was the comet of that season, and Haidee was attracted by the glitter of his tail. I suppose he and she were madly in love with each other for quite a month —unfortunately, during that month they committed the indiscretion of marriage. '
'' A runaway marriage, was it not? '
* Under the very noses of the mamma and the bride- groom-elect. There was one happy result of the affair, '
' Were the circumstances, then, so very romantic? *
112 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
said Lady Firmanence musingly; ' it drove Mrs. Brinklow off to somewhere or other on the Continent, and there she has since remained —she took her defeat badly. Now the jilted gentleman took it in good part— it is said that he is quite a sort of grandpapa in the establishment, and has reahsed that there are compensa-
tions even in being jilted. '
Saxonstowe meditated upon these things in silence.
' Mrs. Damerel was a pretty girl,' he said, after a
time. doll,' said Fir- ' Mrs. Damerel is a nice little Lady
manence, ' a very pretty toy indeed. Give her plenty of pretty things to wear and sweets to eat, and all the honey of life to sip at, and she'll do well and go far; but don't ask her to draw cheques against a mental balance which she never had, or you'll get them back— dishonoured. '
' Are there any children? ' Saxonstowe asked.
' Only themselves,' rephed his aunt, ' and quite plenty too, in one house. If it were not for MiUie Chilverstone, I don't know what they would do—she descends upon them now and then, straightens them up as far as she can, and sets the wheels working once more. She is good to them. '
' And who is she? I have some sort of recollection of ' her name,' said Saxonstowe. —
She is the daughter of the parson at Simonstower the man who tutored Lucian Damerel. '
' Ah, I remember —she was the girl who came with him to the Castle that day, and he called her Sprats. A lively, good-humoured girl, with a heap of freckles in 'a very bright face,' said Saxonstowe.
She is little altered,' remarked Lady Firmanence. ' Now, that was the girl for Lucian Damerel ! She would have taken care of his money, darned his socks, given him plain dinners, seen that the rent was paid,
and made a man of him. '
' Admirable qualifications,' laughed Saxonstowe.
' But one might reasonably suppose that a poet of
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
113
Damerel's quality needs others —some intellectual gifts, for example, in his helpmeet. '
' 'Stuff and nonsense! ' retorted Lady Firmanence.
He wants a good managing housekeeper with a keen eye for the butcher's bill and a genius for economy. As for intellect —pray, Saxonstowe, don't foster the foolish notion that poets are intellectual. Don't you know that all genius is lopsided? Your poet has all his brain- power in one little cell—there may be a gold-mine there, but the rest of him is usually weak even to childishness. And the great need of the weak man is the strong woman. '
Saxonstowe 's silence was a delicate and compliment to Lady Firmanence's perspicacity.
flattering
CHAPTER XIII
Lady Firmanence's observations upon the family
of Mr. and Mrs. Lucian Damerel sent Lord Saxonstowe to their house at seven o'clock the following evening with feelings of pleasant curiosity. He had been out of the world—as that phrase is known by people whose chief idea of life is to hve in social ant-heaps — long enough to enjoy a renewed acquaintance with and since his return to England had found hitherto untasted pleasure in studying the manners and customs of his fellow-subjects. He remembered Httle about them
as they had presented themselves to him before his
for the East, for he was then young and unlicked: the five years of comparative solitude which he had spent in the deserts and waste places of the earth, only enlivened by the doubtful company of Kirghese, Tartars, and children of nature, had lifted him upon an eminence from whence he might view civilised humanity with critical eye. So far everything had amused him— seemed to him that never had life seemed so small and ignoble, so mean and trifling, as here where the men and women were as puppets pulled by strings which fate had attached to most capricious fingers. Like all the men who come back from the deserts and the mountains, he gazed on the whirling life around him with feeling that was half pity, half contempt. The antics of the puppets made him wonder, and in the wonder he found amusement.
Mr. and Mrs. Lucian Damerel, as befitted young people untroubled by considerations of economy, resided in one of those smaller streets in Mayfair wherein one may find house large enough to turn round in without more than an occasional collision with the walls. Such
house not so comfortable as suburban residence at one-tenth the rent, but has the advantage of being
114
history
departure
it
a
a
is
a
a
it
a
a
it,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 115
in the middle of the known world, and if its frontage to the street is only one of six yards, its exterior may be made pretty and even taking by a judicious use of
flowering plants, bright paint,
The interior is usually suggestive of playing at doll's house; but the absence of even one baby makes a great difference, and in Lucian's establishment there were no children. Small as it was, the house was a veritable nest of comfort—Lucian and Haidee had the instinct of settling themselves amongst soft things, and surrounding their souls with an atmosphere of aesthetic delight, and one of them at least had the artist's eye for colour, and the true collector's contempt for the cheap and obvious. There was scarcely a chair or table in the rooms sacred to the householders and their friends which had not a history and a distinction : every picture was an education in art; the books were masterpieces of the binder's craft; the old china and old things generally were the despair
and a quaint knocker.
of many people who could have afforded to buy a ware- house full of the like had they only known where to find it. Lucian knew, and when he came into possession of Lord Simonstower's legacy he began to surround himself with the fruits of money and knowledge, and as riches came rolling in from royalties, he went on indulging his tastes until the house was full, and would hold no more examples of anything. But by that time it was a nest of luxury wherein even the light, real and arti- ficial, was graduated to a fine shade, where nothing crude in shape or colour interfered with the delicate suscepti- bilities of a poetic temperament.
When Lord Saxonstowe was shown into the small drawing-room of this small house he marvelled at the cleverness and delicacy of the taste which could make so much use of limited dimensions. It was the daintiest and prettiest room he had ever seen, and though he himself had small inclinations to ease and luxury of any sort, he drank in the pleasantness of his surroundings with a distinct sense of personal gratification. The room was empty of human life when he entered it, but the
ii6 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
was neither masculine nor feminine— was the personahty of neuter thing, and Saxonstowe dimly recognised that meant Art. He began to understand something of Lucian as he looked about him, and to con- ceive him as mind which dominated its enveloping body to love of beauty that might easily degenerate into slavedom to luxury. He began to wonder Lucian study or library, or wherever he worked, were similarly devoted to the worship of form and colour.
He was turning over the leaves of an Italian work, book sumptuous in form and wonderful in its vellum binding and gold scroll-work, when rustle of skirts
aroused him from the first stages of reverie. He turned, expecting to see his hostess—instead he saw young lady whom he instinctively recognised as Miss Chilverstone, the girl of the merry eyes and the innumer- able freckles of ten years earlier. He looked at her
marks of a personality were all over and the person-
ality
closely
as she approached
Good temper and good health appeared to radiate from Miss Chilver-
heart and purposeful temperament.
stone; the active girl of sixteen had developed into splendid woman, and Lord Saxonstowe, as she moved towards him, admired her with sudden recognition of her feminine strength —she was just the woman, he said to himself, who ought to be the mate of strong man,
man of action and purpose and determination.
She held out her hand to him with frank smile.
Do you remember me? ' she said. It quite ten years since that fateful afternoon at Simonstower. '
Yes, remember quite well. In those days you were called Sprats. '
Was fateful? ' he answered.
am still Sprats,' she answered, with laugh.
.
him, and he saw that the merry eyes had lost some of their roguery, but were still frank, clear, and kindly; some of the freckles had gone,
but good many were still there, adding piquancy to face that had no pretensions to beauty, but many to the charms which spring from the possession of kindly
a I' ' *
a a
a
a
'
it
's
a
*
aa 'a
it, it
a is
a
I
I a a a a if
a
a
it a
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
117
shall always be Sprats. I am Sprats to Lucian and Haidee, and even to my children. '
' To your children? ' he said wonderingly.
I have twenty-five,' she replied, smiling at his ques- tioning look. ' But of course you do not know. I have a private orphanage, all of my own, in Bayswater —it is my hobby. If you are interested in babies and children, do come to see me there, and I will introduce
you to all my charges. '
' I will certainly do that/ he said. ' Isn't it hard
work ? '
' Isn't everything hard work that is worth doing? ' she
answered. ' Yes, I suppose it is hard work, but I like
it. I have a natural genius for mothering
things —that is why I occasionally condescend to put on
helpless
fine clothes and dine with children
Haidee when they entertain great travellers who are also peers of the realm. '
' Do they require mothering? ' he asked.
' Very much so sometimes — they are very particular babies. I come to them every now and then to scold them, smack them, straighten them up, and see that they are in no danger of falHng into the fire or upsetting anything. Afterwards I dine with them in order to cheer them up after the rough time they have had. '
Saxonstowe smiled. He had been closely all the time.
watching her
' I see,' he said, ' that you' are still Sprats. Has the time been very rough to-day ?
' Somewhat rough on poor Haidee, perhaps, ' answered Sprats. ' Lucian has wisely kept out of the way until he can find safety in numbers. But please sit down and tell me about your travels until our hostess appears it seems quite funny to see you all in one piece after such adventures. _ Didn't they torture you in some Thibetan town? ' she inquired, with a sudden change from gaiety to ' womanly concern.
They certainly were rather inhospitable,' he answered. ' I shouldn't call it torture, I think—it was
like Lucian and
ii8
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
merely a sort of gentle hint as to what they would do if
I intruded upon them again. '
• But I want to know what they did,' she insisted.
' You look so nice and comfortable sitting there, with no other sign of discomfort about you than the usual
I-want-my-dinner
had gone through hardships. '
look, that one would never dream you
Saxonstowe was not much given to conversation—his nomadic life had communicated the gift of silence to him,
note in Miss Chilver- stone's voice, and he began to tell her about his travels
but he recognised the sympathetic
in a somewhat boyish fashion that amused her. As he talked she examined him closely and decided that he was almost as young as on the afternoon when he occasioned such mad jealousy in Lucian's breast. His method of
himself was simple and direct and school-
boyish in language, but the exuberance of spirits which
she remembered had disappeared and given place to a
expressing
staid, old-fashioned manner.
' I wonder what did it? ' she said, unconsciously utter-
ing her thought.
' Did what? ' he asked.
' I was thinking aloud,' she answered. ' I wondered
what had made you so very staid in a curiously young
sort of boy that Saxonstowe blushed. He had recollections of his
way you were a rough-and-tumble afternoon at Simonstower. '
youthfulness.
' I beUeve I was an irrepressible
sort of youngster,' he said. ' I think that gets knocked out of you though,
when you spend a lot of time alone—you get no end of time for thinking, you know, out in the deserts. '
' I should think so,' she said. ' And I suppose that even this solitude becomes companionable in a way^that only those who have experienced it can understand? '
He looked at her with some surprise and with a new
interest and strange sense of kinship.
' Yes,' he replied. ' That's it—that is it exactly.
How did you know? '
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 119
' It isn't necessary to go into the deserts and steppes to feel a bit lonely now and then, is it? ' she said, with a
surface qualities.
' I suppose most of us get some sort of notion
laugh.
of solitude at some time or other. '
At that juncture Haidee entered, and Saxonstowe turned to her with a good deal of curiosity. He was somewhat surprised to find that ten years of added age had made little difference in her. She was now a woman, it was true, and her girlish prettiness had changed into a somewhat luxurious style of beauty— there was no denying the loveliness of face and figure, of charm and colour, he said to himself, but he was quick to observe that Haidee' s beauty depended entirely upon
She fell, without effort or conscious- ness, into poses which other women vainly tried to emu- late; it was impossible to her to walk across a room,
sit upon an unaccommodating chair, or loll upon a much becushioned sofa in anything but a graceful way; it was equally impossible, so long as nothing occurred to ruffle her, to keep from her lips a perpetual smile, or inviting glances from her dark eyes. She reminded Saxonstowe of a fluffy, silky-coated kitten which he had seen playing
and he was not sur- prised to find, when she began to talk to him, that her voice had something of the feline purr in it. Within five minutes of her entrance he had determined that Mrs. Damerel was a pretty doll. She showed to the greatest
amidst the luxury of her surroundings, but her mouth dropped no pearls, and her pretty face showed no sign of intellect, or of wit, or of any strong mental quality. It was evident that conversation was not Mrs. Damerel's strong point—she indicated in an instinctive fashion that men were expected to amuse and admire her without drawing upon her intellectual resources, and Saxonstowe soon formed the opinion that a judicious use of monosyllables would carry her a long way in un-
congenial company. Her beauty had something of sleepiness about it—there was neither vivacity nor animation in her manner, but she was beautifully
on Lady Firmanence's hearthrug,
advantage
120 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
gowned and daintily perfect, and as a picture deserved worship and recognition.
Saxonstowe was presently presented to another guest, Mrs. Berenson, a lady who had achieved great distinc- tion on the stage, and who claimed a part proprietorship in Lucian Damerel because she had created the part of the heroine in his tragedy, and almost worn herself to skin and bone in playing it in strenuous fashion for nearly three hundred nights. She was now resting from these labours, and employing her leisure in an attempt to induce Lucian to write a play around herself, and the project was so much in her mind that she began to talk volubly of it as soon as she entered his wife's drawing- room. Saxonstowe inspected her with curiosity and amusement. He had seen her described as an embodi- ment of sinuous grace; she seemed to him an angular, scraggy woman, whose joints were too much in evidence, and who would have been the better for some addition to her adipose tissue. From behind the footlights Mrs. Berenson displayed many charms and qualities of beauty —Saxonstowe soon came to the conclusion that
must be largely due to artificial aids and the power of histrionic art, for she presented none of them on the dull stage of private life. Her hair, arranged on the prin- ciple of artful carelessness, was of a washed-out colour; her complexion was mottled and her skin rough; she had an unfortunately prominent nose which evinced a decided partiality to be bulbous, and her mouth, framed in harsh lines and drooping wrinkles, was so large that it seemed to stretch from one corner of an elongated jaw to the other. She was noticeable, but not pleasant to look upon, and in spite of a natural indifference to such things, Saxonstowe wished that her attire had been either less eccentric or better suited to her. Mrs. Berenson,
being very tall and very thin, wore a gown of the eighteenth-century-rustic-maiden style, made very high at the waist, low at the neck, and short in the sleeves — she thus looked like a lamp-post, or a bean-stalk, topped with a mask and a flaxen wig. She was one of those
they
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
121
women who wear innumerable chains, and at least half- a-dozen rings on each hand, and she had an annoying trick of clasping her hands in front of her and twisting the chains round her fingers, which were very long and very white, and apt to get on other people's nerves. It was also to be observed that she never ceased talking, and that her one subject of conversation was herself.
As Saxonstowe was beginning to wish that his host would appear, Mr. Eustace Darlington was announced, and he found himself diverted from Mrs. Berenson by a new object of interest, in the shape of the man whom Mrs. Damerel had jilted in order to run away with Lucian. Mr. Darlington was a man of apparently forty years of age; a clean-shaven, keen-eyed individual, who communicated an immediate impression of shrewd hard- headedness. He was very quiet and very self-possessed in manner, and it required little knowledge of human nature to predict of him that he would never do anything in a hurry or in a perfunctory manner —a single glance of his eye at the clock as eight struck served to indicate at least one principal trait of his character. '
' It is utterly useless to look at the clock, said Haidee, catching Mr. Darlington's glance. ' That won't bring Lucian any sooner—^he has probably quite forgotten that he has guests, and gone off to dine at his club or some- thing of that sort. He gets more erratic every day. I wish you'd talk seriously to him, Sprats. He never pays the least attention to me. Last week he asked two men to dine—utter strangers to me—and at eight o'clock came a wire from Oxford saying he had gone down there to see a friend and was staying the night. '
' I think that must be delightful in the man to whom you are married,' said Mrs. Berenson. ' I should hate to live with a man who always did the right thing at the right moment —so dull, you know. '
' There is much to be said on both sides, ' said Darling- ton dryly. ' In husbands, as in theology, a happy medium would appear to be found in the via media. I presume, Mrs. Berenson, that you would like your hus-
122 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
band to wear his waistcoat outside his coat and dine at five o'clock in the morning? '
' I would prefer even that to a husband who lived on clock-work principles,' Mrs. Berenson replied. ' Eccen- tricity is the surest proof of strong character. '
' I should imagine,' said Sprats, with a glance at Saxonstowe which seemed to convey to him that the actress was amusing. * I should imagine that Lord Saxonstowe and Mr. Darlington are men of clock-work principles. '
Mrs. Berenson put up her pince-nez and favoured the two men with a long, steady stare. She dropped the pince-nez with a deep sigh.
' They do look like don't they? ' she said despair- ingly. There's something in the way they wear their clothes and hold their hands that suggests it. Do you always rise at certain hour? ' she went on, turning to Saxonstowe. My husband had habit of getting up at six in summer and seven in winter— brought on an extraordinary form of nervous disease in me, and the doctors warned him that they would not be responsible for my life he persisted. believe he tried to break
the habit off, poor fellow, but he died, and so of course there was an end of it. '
Ere Saxonstowe could decide whether he was expected to reply to the lady's question as to his own habits, the sound of rapidly driven and sharply pulled-up cab was heard outside, followed by loudly delivered instruc- tions in Lucian's voice. minute later he rushed into the drawing-room. He had evidently come straight out of the cab, for he wore his hat and forgot to take off— excitement and concern were written in large letters all over him.
