No More Learning

every
business-manager.
i8o LUCIAN THE DREAMER
* I'm sorry,' he said. ' I—I don't think I was pajdng attention. I don't know why, but I feel half-asleep. '
'It's the reaction,' said Harcourt, hastily getting into his waistcoat and coat. ' I feel tired out—if I had my way there should be no such thing as a first night—it's a most wearing occasion. '
The famous critic turned with a smile.
' Think of being able to lie in bed to-morrow with a
sheaf of newspapers on your counterpane! ' he said
pleasantly.
Then somehow, chatting disjointedly, they got out of
the theatre. Harcourt and Lucian drove off in a hansom together —they were near neighbours.
' What do you think? ' asked Lucian, as they drove
away.
' Oh, I think it went all right, as far as one could
judge. There was plenty of applause —we shall see what is said to-morrow morning,' answered Harcourt, with a mighty yawn. ' They can't say that it wasn't magni- ficently staged,' he added, with complacency. ' And everything went like clockwork. I'll tell you what—I wish I could go to sleep for the next six months ! '
' I believe I feel like that,' responded Lucian. ' Well, it is launched, at any rate. '
The old gentleman of the white beard and fur-lined cloak drove off in a private brougham, still nodding and blinking; the actor and the critic, lighting cigars, walked away together, and for some time kept silence.
' What do you really think ? ' said the actor at last. ' You're in rather a lucky position, you know, in respect of the fact that the Forum is a weekly and not a daily journal —it gives you more time to make up your mind. But you already have some notion of what your verdict
will be? '
' Yes,' answered the critic. He puffed thoughtfully
' Well,' he said, ' I think we have heard some beautiful poetry, beautifully recited. But I con- fess to feeling a certain sense of incongruity in the attempt to mingle Greek art with modern stage acces-
at his cigar.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER i8i
sories. I think Damerel's tragedy will read delightfully —in the study. But I counted several speeches to-night which would run to two and three pages of print, and I saw many people yawn. I fear that others will yawn. '
' What would you give it? ' said the actor. ' The other ran for twelve months. '
' This,' said the critic, ' may run for one. But I think Harcourt will have to withdraw it within three weeks. I am bearing the yawns in mind. '
CHAPTER XXII
Lucian's tragedy ran for precisely seventeen nights. The ' attempt to revive Tragedy on the Hnes of pure Greek Art ' was a failure. Everybody thought the poetry very beautiful, but there were too many long speeches and too few opportunities for action and move- ment to satisfy a modem audience, and Harcourt quickly discovered that not even magnificent scenery and crowds of supernumeraries arrayed in garments of white and gold and purple and green will carry a play through. He was in despair from the second night onwards, for it became evident that a great deal of cutting was neces- sary, and on that point he had much trouble with Lucian, who, having revised his work to the final degree, was not disposed to dock it in order to please the gods in the gallery. The three weeks during which the tragedy ran were indeed weeks of storm and stress. The critics praised the poetry of the play, the staging, the scenery, the beauty and charm of everything connected with it, but the public yawned. In Lucian's previous play there had been a warm, somewhat primitive human interest— it took those who saw it into the market-place of Ufe, and appealed to everyday passions; in the new tragedy people were requested to spend some considerable time with the gods in Olympus amidst non-human characteristics and qualities. No one, save a few armchair critics like Mr.
Chilverstone, wished to breathe this diviner air; the earlier audiences left the theatre cold and untouched. * It makes you feel, ' said somebody, ' as if you had been sitting amongst a lot of marble statues all night and could do with something warming to the blood. ' In this way the inevitable end came. All the people who really wanted to see the tragedy had seen it within a fortnight; during the next few nights the audiences thinned and the
advance bookings represented small future business, and 182
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
183
before the end of the third week Harcourt had withdrawn the attempt to revive tragedy on the lines of pure Greek Art, and announced a revival of an adaptation from a famous French novel which had more than once proved its money-earning powers. —
Lucian said little of this reverse of fortune
all appearance unmoved by it; but Sprats, who could read his face as easily as she could read an open book, saw new lines write themselves there which told of sur- prise, disappointment, and anxiety, and she knew from his subdued manner and the unwonted reticence which he observed at this stage that he was thinking deeply of more things than one. In this she was right. Lucian by sheer force of circumstances had been dragged to a certain point of vantage whereat he was compelled to stand and look closely at the prospect which confronted
him. When it became evident that the tragedy was a failure as a money-making concern, he remembered, with a sudden shock that subdued his temperamental buoyancy in an unpleasant fashion, that he had not foreseen such a contingency, and that he had confidently expected a success as great as the failure was complete. He sat down in his study and put the whole matter to
himself in commendably brief fashion: for several months he and Haidee had been living and spending money on anticipation; it was now clear that the anticipa- tion was not to be realised. The new volume was selling very slowly; the tragedy was a financial failure; very little in the way of soUd cash would go from either to the right side of Lucian' s account at Darlington's. And on the wrong side there must be an array of figures which he felt afraid to think of. He hurriedly cast up in his mind a vague account of those figures which memory presented to him; when he added the total to an equally vague guess of what Haidee might have spent, he recog- nised that he must be in debt to the bank to a consider- able amount. He had never had the least doubt that the tragedy would prove a gold-mine —everybody had predicted it. Darlington had predicted it a hundred
he was to
i84
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
times, and Darlington was a keen, hard-headed business man. Well, the tragedy was a failure—to use the ex- pressive term of the man in the street, ' there was no money in it. ' It was to have replenished Lucian's coffers —it left them yawning.
Easy-going and thoughtless though he was, Lucian had a constitutional dislike of owing money to any one, and the thought that he was now in debt to his bankers irri- tated and annoyed him. Analysed to a fine degree, it was not that he was annoyed because he owed money, but because he was not in a position to cancel the debt with a few scratches of his pen, and so reheve himself of the disagreeable necessity of recognising his indebted- ness to any one. He had a temperamental dishke of impleasant things, and especially of things which did not interest him—his inherited view of Hfe had caused him to regard it as a walk through a beautiful garden under perpetual sunshine, with full liberty to pluck what- ever flower appealed to his eye, eat whatever fruit
tempted his palate, and turn into whatever side- walk took his fancy. Now that he was beginning to reahse that it is possible to wander out of such a garden into a brake full of thorns and tangles, and to find some difficulty in escaping therefrom, his dislike of the unpleasant was accentuated and his irritation increased. But there was a certain vein of method and of order in him, and when he really recognised that he had got somewhere where he never expected to be, he developed a sincere desire to find out at once just where he was. The present situa- tion had some intellectual charm for him : he had never in all his life known what it was to want money; it had always come to his hand as manna came to the Israelites in the desert—he wondered, as these unwonted con- siderations for the present and the future filled him, what would develop from it.
' It wiU be best to know just where one really is,' he thought, and he went off to find his wife and consult with her. It was seldom that he ever conversed with her on any matter of a practical nature; he had long since
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 185
discovered that Haidee was bored by any topic that did
not interest her, or that she did not understand. She
scarcely grasped the meaning of the words which Lucian
now addressed to her, simple though they were, and she
stared at him with puzzled eyes. was ' You see,' he said, feeling that his explanation
inept and crude, 'I'd fully expected to have an awful lot of money out of the book and the play, and now, it seems, there won't be so much as I had anticipated.
and so on, but I don't think they will amount to very much for the
Of course there will be Robertson's royalties,
half-year, and '
Haidee interrupted him. ' ' Does it mean that you have spent all the money?
she asked. * There was such a lot, yours and mine,
together. '
Lucian felt powerless in the face of this apparently
childish remark. lot,' he said. ' And you know we had
' Not such a — to a lot on the heavy expenses at first we had spend
house, hadn't we? '
' But will there be no more to spend? ' she asked. ' I
mean, has it all been spent? Because I want a lot of things, if we are to winter in Egypt as you proposed. '
Lucian laughed. winter,' he
' I'm afraid we shall not go to Egypt this
said. ' But don't be alarmed; I think there will be
money for new gowns and so on. No; what I just wished to know was—have you any idea of what you have spent since I transferred our accounts to Darlington's bank?
Haidee shrugged her shoulders. As a matter of fact
as she pleased, and had no idea of anything relating to her account except that
she had drawn on it whenever she wished to do so.
* I haven't,' she answered. ' You told me I was to have a separate account, and, of course, I took you at
she had used her cheque-book
your word. '
' Well, it will be all right,' said Lucian soothingly.
'I'll see about everything. '
i86 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
He was going away, desirous of closing any discussion of the subject, but Haidee stopped him.
' Of course it makes a big difference if your books don't sell and people won't go to your plays,' she said.
' That doesn't bring money, does it? ' '
' My dear child ! ' exclaimed Lucian, how terribly perturbed you look! One must expect an occasional
dose of bad luck. The next book will probably sell by the tens of thousands, and the next play run for a
hundred years! '
' They were saying at Lady Firmanence's the other
afternoon that you had had your day, ' she said, looking
at him. ' Do you think you have? '
' I hope I have quite a big day to come yet,' he answered quietly. ' You shouldn't listen to that sort
inquiringly
of thing—about me. '
Then he left her and went back to his study and
thought matters over once more. 'I'll find out exactly where I am,' he thought at last, and he went out and got into a hansom and was driven to Lombard Street— he meant to ascertain his exact position at the bank. When he entered, with a request for an interview with Mr. Eustace Darlington, he found that the latter was out of town, and for a moment he thought of postponing his
Then he reflected that others could probably give him the information he sought, and he asked to see the manager. Five minutes after entering the manager's private room he knew exactly how he stood with Messrs. Dariington and Darlington. He owed them close upon nine thousand pounds.
Lucian, bending over the slip of paper upon which the manager had jotted down a memorandum of the figures, trusted that the surprise which he felt was not being dis- played in his features. He folded the paper, placed it in his pocket, thanked the manager for his courtesy, and left the bank. Once outside he looked at the paper again : the manager had made a distinction between Mr. Damerel's account and his wife's. Mr. Damerel's was
about eighteen hundred pounds in debt; Mrs. Damerel's
inquiries.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 187
separate account had been drawn against to the extent of nearly seven thousand pounds. Lucian knew what had become of the money which he had spent, but he was puzzled beyond measure to account for the sums which Haidee had gone through within a few months.
Whenever he was in any doubt or perplexity as to practical matters Lucian invariably turned to Sprats, and he now called a hansom and bade the man drive to Bayswater. He knew, from long experience of her, that he could tell Sprats anything and everything, and that she would never once say ' Itold you so! ' or 'I knew how it would turn out! ' or ' Didn't I warn you? ' She might scold him; she would almost certainly tell him that he was a fool; but she wouldn't pose as a superior person, or howl over the milk which he had spilled— instead, she would tell him quietly what was the best thing to do.
He found her alone, and he approached her with the old boyish formula which she had heard a hundred times since he had discovered that she knew a great deal more about many things than he knew himself.
' I say, Sprats, I'm in a bit of a hole ! ' he began.
* And, of course, you want me to pull you out. Well, what is it? ' she asked, gazing steadily at him and making a shrewd guess at the sort of hole into which he
had fallen. ' Do the usual, Lucian, tell everything. ' When he liked to be so, Lucian was the most candid
of men. He laid bare his soul to Sprats on occasions like these in a fashion which would greatly have edified
back; he made no excuses; he added no coat of paint or touch of white-
a confessor. He kept nothing
wash. He set forth a plain, unvarnished statement, without comment or explanation; it was a brutally clear and lucid account of facts which would have honoured an Old Bailey lawyer. It was one of his gifts, and Sprats never had an instance of it presented to her notice without wondering how it was that a man who could marshal facts so well and put them before others in such
i88
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
a crisp and concise fashion should be so unpractical
in ' the stem business of life. are,' concluded Lucian, ' And that's just how things '
What do you advise me to do? once,' she answered, ' There is one thing to be done at
without hesitation. ' You must get out of debt to Dar- lington; you must pay him every penny that you owe him as quickly as possible. You say you owe him
nearly nine thousand pounds: very good. have you got towards paying that off? '
Lucian sighed deeply.
'That's just it! ' he exclaimed.
How much
'I don't exactly know. Let me see, now; well, look here, Sprats—^you won't tell, of course — Mr. Pepperdine owes me a
thousand—at least I mean to say I lent him a thousand, but then, don't you know, he has always been so good
'
to me, that
' I think you had better chuck sentiment,' she said.
' Mr. Pepperdine has a thousand of yours. Very well—
go ' on. ' continued, ' that I might I've been thinking,' he
now ask him for the money which my father left me. He has had full charge of that, you know. I've never known what it was. I dare say it was rather heavily dipped into during the time I was at Oxford, but there may be something left. '
* Has he never told you anything about it? ' asked
Sprats.
' Very little.
Indeed, I have never asked him any- thing — I could trust him with everything. It's quite
possible there may not be a penny; he may have spent
it all on me before I came of age,' said Lucian.
if there is anything, it would go towards making up the nine thousand, wouldn't it ? '
' Well, leave it out of the question at present,' she answered. ' What else have you coming in soon? '
' Harcourt has two hundred of mine, and Robertson
about three hundred. '
' That's another five hundred.
Well, and the rest? '
' Still,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 189
' I think that's the lot,' he said.
she said. ' Come, now, Lucian, you know there are. '
' There are people who owe you money,'
Lucian began to wriggle and to study the pattern of
the hearthrug.
' Oh ! ah ! well ! ' he said, ' I—I dare say I have
lent other men a little now and then. '
' Better say given,' she interrupted.
wondering if there was any considerable
' I was only sum that you
could get in. '
* No, really,' he answered.
* Very well; then you've got fifteen hundred towards
your nine thousand. That's all, eh? ' she asked.
' All that I know of,' he said. remarked, with
' Well, there are other things,' she
some emphasis. ' There are your copyrights and your furniture, pictures, books, and curiosities. '
Lucian 's mouth opened and he uttered a sort of groan.
' You don't mean that I should— sell any of these? ' he said, looking at her entreatingly.
'I'd sell the very clothes off my back before I'd owe a penny to Darlington ! ' she repHed. ' Don't be a senti- mental ass, Lucian; books in vellum bindings, and pic-
tures by old masters, and unique pots and pans and platters, don't make life! Sell every blessed thing you've got rather than owe Darlington money. Pay him off, get out of that house, Hve in simpler fashion, and you'll be a happier man. '
Lucian sat for some moments in silence, staring at the hearthrug. At last he looked up. Sprats saw some- thing new in his face—or was it something old? some- thing that she had not seen there for years? He looked
at her for an instant, and then he looked away.
' I should be very glad to live a simpler life,' he said.
' I dare say it seems rather sentimental and all that, you know, but of late I've had an awfully strong desire— sort of home-sickness, you know —for Simonstower.
I've caught myself thinking of the old days, and—' he paused, laughed in rather a forced way, and sitting
190
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
straight up in the easy-chair in which he had been lounging, began to drum on its arms with his fingers.
' What you say,' he continued presently, ' is quite right.
I must not be in debt to Darlington —it has been a most kind and generous thing on his part to act as one's banker in this fashion, but one mustn't trespass on a friend's kindness. '
' Yes,' he went on meditatively, ' I'm sure you are right. Sprats, quite right. I'll act on your advice. I'll go down to Simonstower to-morrow and see if Uncle Pepperdine can let me have that thousand, and if there is any money of my own, and when I come back I'll see if Robertson will buy my copyrights—I may be able to clear the debt off with all that. If not, I shall sell the furniture, books, pictures, everything, and Haidee and
Sprats flashed a swift, half-puzzled look upon him— he was looking another way, and did not see her.
I will go to Italy, to Florence, and live cheaply. Ah
! I know the loveliest palazzo on the Lung' Arno —I wish
we were there already. I'm sick of England. '
' It will make a difference to Haidee, Lucian,' said
Sprats. ' She likes England —and English society. '
' Yes,' he answered thoughtfully, ' it will make a great difference. But she gave up a great deal for me
when we married, and she'll give up a great deal now. A woman will do anything for the 'man she loves,' he added, with the air of a wiseacre. It's a sort of fixed law. '
Then he went away, and Sprats, after spending five minutes in deep thought, remembered her other children and hastened to them, wondering whether the most juvenile of the whole brood were quite so childish as
Lucian. ' It will go hard with him if his disillusion comes suddenly,' she thought, and for the rest of the day she felt inclined to sadness.
Lucian went home in a good humour and a brighter flow of spirits. He was always thus when a new course of action suggested itself to him, and on this occasion he felt impelled to cheerfulness because he was meditat-
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
191
ing a virtuous deed. He wrote some letters, and then went to his club, and knowing that his wife had an engagement of her own that night, he dined with an old college friend whom he happened to meet in the smok- ing-room, and to whom before and after dinner he talked in lively fashion. It was late when he reached home, and he was then more cheerful than ever; the picture of the old palazzo on the Lung' Amo had fastened itself upon the wall of his consciousness and compelled him to look at it. Haidee had just come in; he persuaded her to go with him into his study while he smoked a final cigarette, and there, full of his new projects, he told her what he intended to do. Haidee listened with- out saying a word in reply. Lucian took no notice of her silence : he was one of those people who imagine that they are addressing other people when they are in reality talking to themselves and require neither Yea
nor Nay; he went on expatiating upon his scheme, and the final cigarette was succeeded by others, and Haidee still listened in silence.
' You mean to do all that? ' she said at last. ' To sell everything and go to Florence? And to Hve there? ' ' Certainly,' he repHed tranquilly; ' it will be so
cheap. '
'Cheap? ' she exclaimed. 'Yes— and dull!
Besides, why this sudden fuss about owing Darlington money? It's been owing for months, and you didn't say anything. '
' I expected to be able to put the account straight out of the money coming from the book and the play,' he replied. ' As they are not exactly gold-mines, I must do what I can. I can't remain in Darlington's debt in that way—it wouldn't be fair to him. '
' I don't see that you need upset everything just for that,' she said. ' He has not asked you to put the
account straight, has he? '
* Of course not! ' exclaimed Lucian.
* He never would; he's much too good a fellow to do that sort of thing. But that's just why I must get out of his debt—
192
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
it's taking a mean advantage of his kindness. I'm quite certain nobody else would have been so very generous/ Haidee glanced at her husband out of the comers
of her eyes: the glance was something like that with which Sprats had regarded him in the afternoon. He had not caught Sprats's glance, and he did not catch his wife's.
Haidee,' he said, after a short silence, * I called at Darlington's to-day to find out just how we stand there, and the manager gave me the exact figures. You've rather gone it, you know, during the past half-year, you've gone through seven thousand
* By the bye,
pounds. '
Haidee looked at him wonderingly.
' But I paid for the diamonds out of that, you know,' she said. ' They cost over six thousand. '
'Good heavens! —did they? ' said Lucian. *I thought it was an affair of fifty pounds or so. ' —
' How ridiculous 1 ' she exclaimed. ' Diamonds
like these— for fifty pounds ! I ever knew. '
You are the simplest child
Lucian was endeavouring to recall the episode of the buying of the diamonds. He remembered at last that Haidee had told him that she had the opportunity of buying some diamonds for a much less sum than they were worth. He had thought it some small transaction, and had bidden her to consult somebody who knew something about that sort of thing.
' I remember now,' he said. ' I told you to ask
advice of some one who knew something about
diamonds. '
' And so I did,' she answered. ' I asked Darlington's
advice —he's an authority —and he said I should be fooUsh to miss the chance. And then I said I didn't know whether I dare draw a cheque for such an amount, and he laughed and said of course I might, and that he would arange it with you. ' *
that's just another proof of what I've been saying all along.
* There you are! ' said Lucian triumphantly;
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
193
Darlington's such a kind-hearted sort of chap that he never said anything about it to me. Well, there's no harm done there, any way, Haidee; in fact, it's rather a rehef to know that you've locked up six thousand in that way, because you can sell the diamonds and the money will go towards putting the account straight. '
Haidlee looked at him narrowly: Lucian's eyes were fixed on the curling smoke of his cigarette.
' Sell my diamonds? ' she said in a low voice.
* Yes, of course,' said Lucian; * it'll be rather jolly if there's a profit on them. Oh yes, we must sell them. I can't afford to lock up six thousand in precious stones, you know, and of course we can't let Darlington pay for them. I wonder what they really are worth? What a lark if we got, say, ten thousand for them ! '
Then he wandered into an account of how a friend of his had once picked up a ring at one of the stalls on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, and had subsequently sold it for just ten times as much as he had given for it. He laughed very much in telling his wife this story, for it had certain amusing points in it, and Haidee laughed too, but if Lucian had been endowed with a better understanding of women he would have known that she was neither amused nor edified.
N
CHAPTER XXIII
LuciAN came down to breakfast next morning equipped for his journey to Simonstower. He was in good spirits : the day was bright and frosty, and he was already dreaming of the village and the snow-capped hills beyond it. In dressing he had thought over his plans, and had decided that he was now quite reconciled to the drastic measures which Sprats had proposed. He would clear off all his indebtedness to Darlington, pay whatever bills might be owing, and make a fresh start, this time on the lines of strict economy, forethought, and prudence. He had very little conception of the real meaning of these
but he had always admired them in the abstract, and he now intended to form an intimate
important qualities,
with them.
* I've been thinking,' he said, as he faced Haidee at
acquaintance
the breakfast-table and spread out the Morning
' that when I have readjusted everything we shall be
much better off than I thought. Those diamonds make a big difference, Haidee. In fact we shall have, or we ought to have, quite a decent little capital, and we'll invest it in something absolutely safe and sound. I'll ask Darlington's advice about that, and we'll never touch it. The interest and the royalties will yield an income which will be quite sufficient for our needs—you can live very cheaply in Italy. ' —
' Then you are still bent on going to Italy to Florence? ' she asked calmly.
' Certainly,' he replied. ' It's the best thing we can do. I'm looking forward to it. After all, why should we be encumbered as we are at present with an expen- sive house, a troop of servants, and all the rest of it? We don't really want them. Has it never occurred to you that all these things are something like the shell which the snail has to carry on his back and can't get
194
Post,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
195
away from? Why should a man cany a big shell on his back? It's all very well talking about the advan- tages and comforts of having a house of one's own, but it's neither an advantage nor a comfort to be tied to a house nor to anything that clogs one's action. '
Haidee made no reply to those philosophic observations.
' How long do you propose to stay in Italy? ' she asked. ' Simply for the winter? I suppose we should return here for the season next year? '
* I don't think so,' answered Lucian. ' We might go into Switzerland during the very hot months — we couldn't stand Florence in July and August. But I don't intend returning to London for some time. I don't think I shall ever settle here again. After all, I am Italian. '
Then, finding that it was time he set out for King's Cross, he kissed his wife's cheek, bade her amuse and take care of herself during his absence, and went away, still in good spirits. For some time after he had gone Haidee remained where he had left her. She ate and drank mechanically, and she looked straight before her in the blank, purposeless fashion which often denotes intense concentration of thought. When she rose from the table she walked about the room with aimless, un- certain movements, touching this and that object without any reason for doing so. She picked up the Morning Post, glanced at and saw nothing; she fingered two or
three letters which Lucian had left lying about on the
breakfast-table, and laid
reminded her, quite suddenly, of letter from Eustace Darlington which she had in her pocket, trivial note, newly arrived, which informed her that he had made some purchase or other for her in Paris, whither he had gone for week on business, and that she would shortly receive parcel containing it. There was nothing of special interest or moment in the letter; she referred to merely to ascertain Darlington's address.
After time Haidee went into the study and sought
them down again.
They
a
aa
it
a
a
it,
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
196
out a railway guide. She had already made up her mind to join Eustace Darlington, and she now decided to travel by a train which would enable her to reach Paris at nine o'clock that evening. She began to make her preparations at once, and instructed her maid to
pack two large portmanteaus. Her jewels she packed herself, taking them out of a safe in which they were
and after she had bestowed them in a small handbag she kept the latter within sight until her departure. Everything was carried out with cool-
ness and thoughtfulness. The maid was told that her mistress was going to Paris for a few days and that she was to accompany her; the butler received his orders as to what was to be done until Mrs. Damerel's return the
usually deposited,
There was nothing to surprise the servants, and nothing to make them talk, in Haidee's proceedings. She lunched at an earHer hour
than usual, drove to the station with her maid, dropped a letter, addressed to Lucian at Simonstower vicarage,
Haidee acquired a hearty appetite, and satisfied it in the dining-car of the French train. She was one of those
next day or the day following.
happily moments of life.
on the platform, and departed for
into the pillar-box
Paris with an admirable unconcern. There was a choppy sea in the Channel, and the maid was ill, but
constituted people who can eat at the greatest
She drove from the Gare du Nord to the Hotel Bristol, and engaged rooms immediately on her arrival. A little later she inquired for DarHngton, and then discovered that he had that day journeyed to Dijon, and was not expected to return until two days later. Haidee, in nowise disconcerted by this news, settled down to await his reappearance.
ing after Simpson Pepperdine Simonstower.
had brought him to
CHAPTER
XXIV
towards the close of the afternoon. He had driven over from Oakborough through a wintry land, and every minute spent in the keen air had added to the buoyancy of his spirits. Never, he thought as he was driven along the valley, did Simonstower look so well as under its first coatmg
of snow, and on the rising ground above the village he made his driver stop so that he might drink in the charm of the winter sunset. At the western extremity of the valley a shelving hill closed the view; on its highest point a long row of gaunt fir-trees showed black and spectral against the molten red of the setting sun and the purpled sky into which it was sinking; nearer, the blue smoke of the village chimneys curled into the
clear, frosty air—it seemed to Lucian that he could almost smell the fires of fragrant wood which burned on the hearths. He caught a faint murmur of voices from the village street: it was four o'clock, and the children were being released from school. Somewhere along the moorland side a dog was barking; in the windows of his uncle's farmhouse, high above the river and the village, lights were akeady gleaming; a spark of bright light amongst the pine and fir trees near the church told him that Mr. Chilverstone had already lit his study-lamp. Every sound, every sight was familiar
they brought the old days back to him. And there, keeping stem watch over the village at its foot, stood the old Norman castle, its square keep towering to the sky, as massive and formidable as when Lucian had first looked upon it from his chamber window the morn-
LuciAN arrived at the old vicarage
He bade the man drive on to the vicarage. He had sent no word of his coming; he had more than once
197
198
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
descended upon his friends at Simonstower without warning, and had always found a welcome. The vicar came bustling into the hall to him, with no sign of surprise.
' I did not know they had wired to you, my boy,' he said, greeting him in the old affectionate way, ' but it was good of you to come so quickly. '
Lucian recognised that something had happened.
' I don't understand you,' he said. ' No one wired
to me; I came down on my own initiative —I wanted to
see my uncle on business. '
' Ah ' '
! said the vicar, shaking his head. Then you do not know? —your uncle is ill. He had a stroke —a fit—you know what I mean —this very morning. Your Aunt Judith is across at the farm now. But come in, my dear boy—how cold you must be. '
Lucian went out to the conveyance which had brought him over, paid the driver, and bade him refresh himself at the inn, and then joined the vicar in his study. There again were the famiHar objects which spelled Home. It suddenly occurred to him that he was much more at home here or in the farmhouse parlour along the road- side than in his own house in London, and he wondered in 'vague, indirect fashion why that should be so.
Is my uncle dangerously ill. then? ' he asked, looking at the vicar, who was fidgeting about with the fire-irons and repeating his belief that Lucian must be very cold.
* I fear so, I fear so,' answered Mr. Chilverstone. * It is, I think, an apoplectic seizure —he was rather inclined to that, if you come to think of it. Your aunt has just gone across there. It was early this morning that it happened, and she has been over to the farm several times during the day, but this time I think she will find a specialist there — Dr. Matthews wished for advice and wired to Smokeford for some great man who was to arrive an hour ago. I am glad you have come, Lucian. Did you see Sprats before leaving? '
Lucian replied that he had seen Sprats on the previ- ous day. He sat down, answering the vicar's questions
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 199
his daughter in mechanical fashion—he was thinking of the various events of the past twenty-four hours, and wondering if Mr. Pepperdine's illness was likely to result in death. Mr. Chilverstone turned from Sprats to the somewhat sore question of the tragedy. It was to him a sad sign of the times that the public had
respecting
neglected such truly good
work, and he went on to
express his own opinion of the taste of the age. Lucian
listened absent-mindedly until Mrs. Chilverstone
returned with news of the sick man. She was much troubled; the specialist gave little hope of Simpson's
He might linger for some days, but it was almost certain that a week would see the end of him. But in spite of her trouble Aunt Judith was practical. Keziah, she said, must not be left alone that night, and she herself was going back to the farm as soon as she had seen that the vicar was properly provided for in respect of his sustenance and comfort. Ever since her marriage Mrs. Chilverstone had felt that her main object in Hfe was the pleasing of her lord; she had put away all thought of the dead hussar, and her romantic dis- position had bridled itself with the reins of chastened affection. Thus the vicar, who under Sprats 's regime had neither been pampered nor coddled, found himself indulged in many modes hitherto unknown to him, and he accepted all that was showered upon him with modest thankfulness. He thought his wife a kindly and con- siderate soul, and did not realise, being a truly simple man, that Judith was pouring out upon him the resources of a treasury which she had been stocking all her life. He was the first thing she had the chance of loving in a practical fashion; hence he began to live among rose-leaves. He protested now that Lucian and
recovery.
Chilverstone, how- ever, took the reins in hand, saw that the traveller was properly attended to and provided for, and did not leave
the vicarage until the two men were comfortably seated at the dinner-table, the maids admonished as to lighting a fire in Mr. Damerel's room, and the vicar warned of
himself wanted for nothing. Mrs.
200 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
the necessity of turning out the lamps and locking the doors. Then she returned to her brother's house, and for an hour or two Lucian and his old tutor talked of things nearest to their hearts, and the feehngs of home came upon the younger man more strongly than ever. He began to wonder how it was that he had settled down in London when he might have lived in the country; the atmosphere of this quiet, book-lined room in a village parsonage was, he thought just then, much more to his true taste than that in which he had spent the last few years of his life. At Oxford Lucian had lived the life of a book-worm and a dreamer: he was not a success in examinations, and he brought no great honour upon his tutor. In most respects he had lived apart from other men, and it was not until the publication of his first volume had drawn the eyes of the world upon him that he had been swept out of the peaceful backwater of a student's existence into the swirling tides of the full river of Hfe. Then had followed Lord Simonstower's legacy, and then the runaway marriage with Haidee, and then four years of butterfly existence. He began to wonder, as he ate the vicar's well-kept mutton, fed on the moor- lands close by, and sipped the vicar's old claret, laid down many a year before, whether his recent hfe had not been a feverish dream. Looked at from this peace- ful retreat, its constant excitement and perpetual rush and movement seemed to have lost whatever charm they once had for him. Unconsciously Lucian was suffering from reaction: his moral as well as his physical nature was crying for rest, and the first oasis in the desert assumed the delightful colours and soft air of Paradise.
Later in the evening he walked over to the farmhouse, through softly falling snow, to inquire after his uncle's condition. Mrs. Chilverstone was in the sick man's room and did not come downstairs; Miss Pepperdine received him in the parlour. In spite of the trouble that had fallen upon the house and of the busy day which
she had spent, Keziah was robed in state for the evening, and she sat bolt upright in her chair plying her knitting-
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
201
needles as vigorously as in the old days which Lucian remembered so well.