Chapter IV

WHEN Americans set themselves seriously to perform a social duty, there can be no doubt whatever as to their adequateness. And the Heckers were worthy representatives of their country.

They had, of course, a suite of rooms at the " Cecil " — three bedrooms and two large sitting-rooms; the bedrooms looked out into the court because that was quieter, and the sitting-rooms over the river, because that was more beautiful. But this was not enough for the entertainment of Madam Selva and the few friends they had asked to meet her quite quietly. They would want at least two more rooms. A small band must be stationed in the most remote — as everyone, presumably, would want to talk all the time; tea was to be served at a buffet in the next; Madam Selva was to be enthroned in the third; and the few friends were to await their introduction, and talk loudly and continuously in the fourth. They were to arrive; to be greeted by Mr. Hecker first and encouraged to sit down; then, when their turn came, they were to be conducted to the inner door, within which stood Mrs. Hecker; she in turn would present them to Madam Selva, and, upon her approach with another party or individual, they were to pass through to the tearoom, which had another door opening upon the corridor. Through this they would emerge, and, on passing again the door of the first room, could come round and tell Mr. Hecker how much they had enjoyed it all. If they were very important, Mrs. Hecker too would be summoned to say good-bye, and " Yes, isn't she wonderful? "

How the Heckers succeeded in obtaining the use of these two further rooms, God and the manager of the " Cecil " alone knew. The only outward sign of any unhappy circumstance connected with the achievement was to be seen, by observant visitors, in the gloomy appearance of a Colonial Minister, all that afternoon from four to six, who sat in the public rooms for the first and last time during his visit.

The first evidence of any unusual happening in the " Cecil " was encountered by the Bessingtons and Nevill, upon reaching the lift. Here a superb gentleman in a frock-coat with a flower in his buttonhole and light grey trousers bowed slightly and asked whether they were for Mrs. Hecker's reception. Upon Nevill assenting to this, a rapid sign was made to the lift-boy, and a pair of inmates of the Cecil Hotel, who had been noticed approaching, were informed that the lift would be down again immediately.

Upon emerging on the first floor another gentleman in another frock-coat, with another flower in his buttonhole and another pair of grey trousers, was awaiting them. He bowed slightly from the waist, and asked whether they were for Mrs. Hecker's reception. Upon Nevill again assenting, he conducted them down a short, thickly-carpeted corridor, in the direction of a curious noise that grew louder every instant, and revealed itself presently as the sound of many voices all talking at once, at full power. (Mrs. Bessington visibly brightened as she heard it; and broke off in the middle of a sentence.) Then an inexpressibly formidable footman leaned his powdered head stiffly forward, as the gentleman in the frock-coat retired, and inquired: " What names, sir? " On receiving an answer he slipped within an open door, beyond which could be discerned the outskirts of a crowd, and announced with absolute and resonant clearness:

" Mrs. Bessington, Miss Bessington, Sir Nevill Fanning."

There was a lull in the talking, as there always is upon such an occasion. And then Mr. Hecker, in a neat morning suit, so perfectly correct that one simply did not realise it until one looked, was there — alert, trim and efficient. He did not appear to come there; he was there. And he appeared to have been waiting for them, as for the climax of the whole reception.

" Charmed to see you; this is most kind.... Yes; Madam Selva is in the inner room; if you wouldn't mind waiting a few minutes. You'll excuse me, won't you? I see some more friends have just come."

He pressed Nevill's hand with a confidential air; and then again, as they moved forward into the room, they heard the same confidential tones beginning again behind them.

In spite of his very real desire to see Madam Selva, Nevill felt gloom fall upon him like a pall. This was nearly everything he most disliked, and that he hoped it would not be. Indeed, it was the parrot-house once more.

It was a large room, admirably seated; there was a vast window-seat; there were little rout-chairs, ottomans, sofas; there were no tables at all. There were, in fact, so many seats that they were not full, in spite of the crowd; and Nevill found very little difficulty in getting his ladies through to the window. But the noise of voices was incredible. Americans, with all their virtues, do talk loud; and seem to find no discomfort in their neighbours' doing so also. And they were, of course, chiefly Americans here.

" Oh! look at the flowers! " said Enid, as soon as she sat down.

There were no tables, as has been said; but the Heckers were not to be done out of their flowers for all that. The big old mirror over the mantelpiece was framed in pink orchids; and in the centre of the mirror hung a great S, surmounted by a crown.

" But what's the crown for? " she said.

" Oh! general glory and honour," said Nevill. " Democratic ideas, you know — Yes, Mrs. Bessington? "

While Mrs. Bessington began to describe to him the only time that she had herself stayed at the " Cecil " he began to look round him and find his bearings; for he felt that with all the good-will in the world he could not stay here for ever. There was a tall, curtained door on his right, in the middle of the long wall opposite the mantelpiece; and this, presently, he perceived to be the shrine, so to speak. Even while he looked, he saw the hatted head of Mrs. Hecker peep from it for an instant, and simultaneously two persons unknown to him advance and disappear. It was plain that Madam Selva was in the next room.

" I beg your pardon," he said, conscious that Mrs. Bessington had stopped talking. But it was Enid who auswered him.

" There's Mr. Lennox," she said.

Algy was, indeed, advancing towards them, behind an obviously American financier, who, in a white waistcoat, was regarding the company with a pleased smile. Algy looked a little weary.

" Well, here we are," he said. He saluted his friends politely.

" I have spotted it," he went on in a confidential tone. " We go in, in lots; and there's tea beyond the — the throne-room. Lord, I want tea! "

" Now, if they'd had tea in here " began Enid.

" That'd never do," said Algy. " Don't you see, Miss Bessington, that tea in the last room is the only thing that'd get people out from Madam Selva? We'd get clogged otherwise, in there. These Americans know how to manage us all, I must say. By George! look at those orchids! "

By the time that their turn began to draw near, and Mr. Hecker — still apparently bi-locating all the while at the two doors, greeting his friends at one, and handing the next lot that were due for Madam Selva through the other — began to eye them once or twice as if to put them on the alert, Nevill's gloom was profound.

A crowd such as this had always a depressing effect upon him. The thing seemed so exquisitely annoying and futile and unen joy able. Here were, perhaps, forty people — each of whom, individually, was no doubt charming; each of whom might be quite interesting taken alone — all talking at once about things that really interested neither the talker nor the talked-to. He heard, in moments when he could catch consecutive sentences, the weather, Madam Selva, the Hotel Cecil, the view over the river, the orchids, Madam Selva, New York, the trans-Atlantic lines, the crush in the Strand, Paris, Madam Selva, briskly discussed, in such a manner and at such vivacious speed that nothing could possibly be said about any of them that could be of any interest at all. There was no coin on the table, so to speak: there was nothing but counters. And all this was being done, by tightly-dressed persons, in a room which, in spite of the awnings outside and the fans in the passage, was getting warmer and warmer. He was concluding very deliberately that, much as he had wished to meet Madam Selva, the price was too heavy, when Enid turned to him again.

" Nevill, I'm sorry; but I really can't bear this much more."

Certainly she looked a little tired. There was a tiny line between her eyes that he had never noticed before; and her eyelids drooped.

" I know," he said. " But what in the world

" Now, Mrs. Bessington, if your party will come this way "

And there again, miraculously, was Mr. Hecker, as efficient as ever, enticing them towards the door.

As Nevill, with Algy just behind, followed his ladies in and greeted Mrs. Hecker, he was agreeably surprised to find himself almost in the dark. The shutters were half closed; a great bank of roses stood in the draught from the window, and their fragrance filled the room.

As he shook hands with Mrs. Hecker, who had managed, apparently by one simultaneous act, to lead the ladies forward and towards a figure seated in a great chair, murmuring their names, and also to be back again with the two men, he saw that she, too, was even more bright and adequate than her husband.

She looked entirely cool, though she must have been darting to and fro like this for at least an hour, on her feet all the while; and completely interested in these two men, though she must have shaken hands with at least forty or fifty before. As she murmured to them, Nevill observed her dress. Her bosom and arms were covered with light lace; she was in white; her hat was a dream. She resembled a highly etherealised country hostess who might, five minutes before, have strolled in from the garden.

" It is really most good of you to have come, Sir Nevill.

And you, Mr. Lennox, though I think this is the first time I have had the pleasure of meeting you. Yes. Madam Selva, I may say, is an old friend of ours. We met her in Rome again this spring. We made her acquaintance in the States last year. She likes little, simple gatherings like this, she is kind enough to say — just a few friends, and a few words of talk: no more. You will find tea in there, presently, Sir Nevill. Lord Maresfield passed through just now."

And so on.

Nevill began to understand the procedure.

That white figure, with the huge hat, seated in the big chair, was Madam Selva. Opposite her, apparently carelessly placed, yet in reality with the greatest deliberation, were two other chairs, and no more. In these Enid and her mother were now seated. (He could hear a clear, rather deep voice talking slowly.) Presently, he perceived, Enid and her mother would be moved on; and Algy and he would be advanced. They must not stay too long; they must say a few words to the goddess, and then take their leave. Then there would be tea.

As he perceived this, Mrs. Hecker, with a graceful murmur, slipped from them; and he saw Enid stand up. Then the chairs were empty; the two ladies were passing out at the other door, and himself and Algy were advancing, drawn by Mrs. Hecker's tact, as by a conductor's wand.

When he was fairly seated, and Mrs. Hecker vanished again — (already he could hear her low murmur beginning to the next lot) — he found himself looking at the great actress.

Again she was made up to the eyes; her face looked even chalky in this half-light; her mouth had a kind of delicate grimness; her eyebrows were black.

She was saying that she was glad to meet Sir Nevill

Fanning; and even as she said this very trite remark, he was aware of her personality.

Genius is an amazing thing; and there can only be one opinion as to Selva's genius. Even in this darkened room, with the clamour of tongues sounding on one side, the clack of tea-things and the faint sound of a string-band on the other, it was entirely impossible to be unaware that this woman was remarkable. She was, externally, scarcely more than a phantom; she was not beautiful, except in her wonderful long hands, blazing with jewels; she was in the dark; her very skin was engloved in cosmetics: a very penetrating perfume came from her; she was saying, for the fiftieth time this afternoon, that she was pleased to see the two people who sat in the two chairs; and she would say it again, probably, to thirty or forty more. Yet; there it was!...

He was saying presently that he had had the privilege of seeing her in Margaret.

" Ah! yes," she said, in her deep voice. " That is a play I like. I think that you English '

Algy burst in. He was obviously exploding with a tremulous kind of excitement.

" It's tremendous! " he said, " tremendous! I beg your pardon "

She had turned her whitened face on him, and he had realised his interruption.

" I was saying/' she said, " that you English need that lesson, I think. Your women have no chance. Now in America, as well as in Australia where I have come from, it is different. Perhaps you do not agree? "

It was really royal, this. It was not at all original; yet it seemed to matter when she said it. It seemed highly gracious of her to ask one's opinion at all, and vitally important as to what one answered.

"I'm afraid " began Nevill.

" I see you do not agree. Well, well; I must think it over from the English point of view."

" I am so very sorry, Sir Nevill," said a tactful voice, "but there are some more people just come, and "

It was over. He rose; he took her hand for a moment, and she smiled at him very kindly. Then he was passing through into the tea-room, and Algy trod intently upon his heel.

Ill

" Well, and that was all," said Enid, with faint asperity.

The ladies, with that confident decision that men lack, had secured a small round table for four in the window, ordered tea, and arranged the chairs. The table was covered with an embroidered damask cloth; there was a silver vase in the centre again filled with orchids. As she spoke, a footman approached with the refreshments, slipping deftly through the groups between him and the buffet.

Then, before Nevill could answer, Lord Maresfield came up and greeted them in his genial staccato fashion.

"Bit of a crush, eh? See the goddess! — What? How do, Algy?"

Nevill made a reach for a chair.

" That's all right. Get it myself, eh? Had five words with her. — What? "

" About that," said Enid. " I said I had seen her in Margaret"

" Lord! So did I," said Nevill.

" Ah! I scored there. Said I'd seen her in La Tosca." ("Another cup, waiter, eh?")

" And she said," continued Nevill, " that it was all to teach us Englishmen how to treat our wives."

He grinned at Enid; but Enid did not seem amused.

(Mrs. Bessington had already begun on Lord Maresfield, and that nobleman therefore was out of it.)

" I suppose she said the same to everybody."

"Did she to you, too? " asked Nevill.

" Certainly; and that women had no chance; whereas in America and Australia "

Nevill laughed aloud.

" Word for word the same/' he said. " But, you know, it was worth it."

"Worth it? What do you mean?"

" Why, it really was something to speak to her even. It's no good, you know; she really is a personality."

Enid was pouring out tea, and made no answer.

" She snubbed me all right, didn't she? " put in Algy. «< j >»

" Well, you interrupted her in her piece."

" Yes, but, by Gad, she needn't have taken me up like that."

" She was rude to you, Mr. Lennox? " asked Enid sweetly.

" Well "

" He interrupted her in the middle of a sentence," explained Nevill.

" She needn't have been rude, though," remarked Enid.

Nevill set down his cup with brisk decisiveness.

" Enid, you're really tiresome," he said. " She's a genius. Look here, Maresfield — Oh! I beg your pardon, Mrs. Bessington; I didn't see you were "

But Lord Maresfield sprang at the opening like a bird at an open cage-door.

"Eh! What? What? What's the trouble?"

" Miss Bessington's being tiresome. She will not see that Selva's a genius. Here's Algy, who interrupted her in the middle of a sentence — you know his way. Well; she snubbed him, very properly, and he took a back seat. And here's Miss Bessington saying she was rude, and that there's nothing in her "

" I said nothing of the sort," remarked Enid, with a flushed face. " I said distinctly "

Now Nevill honestly did not see that she was in the least annoyed. He felt cheerful, and even expansive, at having passed the ordeal of the two rooms. He waved a hand; and she stopped dead. He did not notice even that at the time.

" Look here, Maresfield. Isn't she a genius? Well; and how in the world can you expect a woman like that, who's on a kind of throne, to stand a chap like Algy barging in? I don't care in the slightest what anybody thinks. I'm delighted to have met her. Aren't you, too? She's tremendous. I felt it in that two minutes, every bit as much as in the play. She's just great. Isn't it so? Now, Enid! "

There fell a dead silence. Enid looked at him quite deliberately. Then she dropped her eyes.

" Have another cup, Lord Maresfield," she said.

" Just come in for a minute," said Enid quietly, as the motor drew up at the door of the flats in Cadogan Lane. " I won't keep you."

Nevill made a sign of assent. He said nothing.

It had been an extraordinarily unpleasant little situation after Enid's complete ignoring of Nevill at tea. For a moment no one had spoken; and then, for perhaps the first time in her life, Mrs. Bessington's conversation had been welcomed. Apparently she had realised nothing of what was in the air. She had begun in a low, rapid voice to talk about Wall Street, inspired, probably, by the appearance of the American financier in the white waistcoat, who once more was looking round with a pleased smile. Lord Maresfield had joined in with staccato assents, and began three or four sentences which he was unable to finish. Algy had slipped away, making a remark about some more sugar-cakes, with a selection of which he presently returned. Nevill, after an amazed silence, had joined himself, too, on to Mrs. Bessington's subject. Enid, very self-controlled and natural, had continued to dispense tea, and had presently begun to talk quietly to Algy.

Lord Maresfield, a few minutes later, had taken his leave, followed by Algy; and, immediately after, Enid had said that she supposed they ought to be going, and Nevill was coming with them, wasn't he? He had assented; they had gone downstairs together; he had obtained their motor and got in after them. But they had all been silent going home.

Enid led the way upstairs, and when the door was opened, turned to her mother.

" I want to speak to Nevill, mother," she said. " Shall we go into the drawing-room? "

Mrs. Bessington murmured something about taking off her things and hurried away. The girl led the way into the drawing-room without looking behind her, and sat down. Nevill followed, shut the door, and went across to the hearth.

He was completely bewildered. He saw there was something very wrong; he was aware of a sense of strong grievance at the way the girl was treating him, but he could not conceive what it was, exactly, that he had done. He was conscious of nothing deliberate. Had he possibly been brusque? Oh! what on earth was the matter?"

" Nevill, dear," said the girl.

He looked up, reassured by her tone. Her eyes were cast down; she was playing with the fringe of her parasol.

"Yes?"

" You remember our agreement, don't you? You really meant it? "

" Why, of course I did," he burst out, more reassured than ever. " Have I done wrong? Tell me, instantly, please; and... and I'll eat dirt."

But she did not quite respond.

" Well, you must be really a little more careful in public. You were not quite courteous to me, you know "

" Not courteous! " he exclaimed, more amazed than ever.

" Let me finish, please. First of all, you contradicted me quite flatly before — before the others. Then you said that I couldn't see anything in Selva. That was not true."

" Heavens! Let me count ten "

She smiled, ever so faintly, lifting her eyes to his; and then dropping them again.

" I didn't quite like your tone, you know. And there's something else."

" Go on, please — finish me! "

Her manner changed a little. She leaned forward, and her tone was less cold.

" Nevill, dear," she said, " you don't really like Selva, do you? She's really quite common, you know. I cannot understand men. She was one plaster of paint; her eyes were darkened; her dress was outrageous; her manner — Nevill, how can you think she's great? "

He grinned cheerfully. The crisis was passed.

" Let's deal with the first, first," he said. " And may I sit down, please? "

He moved towards her, but she made no sign. He went to a chair instead.

" First," he said, " you've told me that I wasn't courteous to you. Well, first of all I apologise abjectly for my — my ill-bred manner. It was quite unpardonable." (Her eyes looked at him again, with the dawn of surprise in them.) " I was just careless, I suppose. But now, in justice I must say that it never entered my head that I was being rude, or even careless. I had not, so far as I am aware, the very faintest shadow of irritation or impatience or anything else in my mind. — No; let me have my say out, please. — That was so; but I do not in the least excuse my — my brusqueness or rudeness. I am very sorry. I beg your pardon. Please forgive me. I'll try not to do it again."

He raised his face to her, brimming with humour and cheerfulness. But, to his surprise, there was no humour in her face; she was quite grave: she inclined her head a little as if to accept his apology in complete seriousness.

Well, he must make another attempt.

" And for the second point," he said. " I concede to you all that you said about Selva's appearance — the paint, the darkening of the eyes. And I bow to you with regard to her dress; though I must say I can't conceive what you mean. But I was not talking about that sort of thing. I was talking about her genius. And that, with all humility, I still maintain. Why, my dear girl "

He stopped abruptly. She had looked at him again, with such an expression that again with utter bewilderment he perceived that he was on the wrong line.

"Oh, dear me! What have I done now?" he cried.

" Ah! you don't understand " she said in a low voice. She rose swiftly; he rose with her, really perturbed. She went across to the window and stood there, a slender, graceful silhouette against the brightness: she began to drum gently with her fingers against the pane with her back turned to him.

It was very silent here in this room, looking out on to the little gardens at the rear of the flats. A piano sounded faintly from somewhere in the big buildings about them, but so distant that it formed no more than a melodious background.

Nevill could not conceive what was the matter. It appeared to him that he had blundered frightfully somewhere; but he had no notion in what direction. Had he been clumsy, or stupid? What was it? He was not yet irritated — no more than a blue-bottle is irritated for the first instant in which he finds himself hampered by the delicate invisible threads of a newly-spun web. Still less was he in the least alarmed. He supposed she would explain presently.

She turned round; and, as he looked at her face against the light, there seemed to pass across his eyes just a shred of the film that had darkened them ten days ago as he came out from the bathing-pool in the early morning. Simultaneously he was aware that the pressure on the top of his head was there again, though it was not in the least severe.

She began to talk rapidly.

" My dear," she said, " I don't want to be disagreeable; but you really are disappointing me a little. I can't conceive how you can think as you do of a woman like that! I should have thought you'd have seen in an instant what a — what a wretched creature she is! I don't deny her power — of a sort: I've said it again and again. But it's not genius — it's not "

She was growing emphatic.

" Would you mind sitting down? " said Nevill quietly. " I can't see you against the light."

She moved away and sat down, without apparently having heard him; and went on. He could see her better now, and her face looked to him quite different; it looked anxious and overwrought: there was none of that fine serenity that he loved so much.

He listened; but she repeated herself. She seemed anxious that he should say that the actress had no genius. He grew more and more puzzled.

" Let me interrupt a minute/' he said. " Is it that you want me to say she isn't a great actress? Well, I can't. I think she is. Ask anyone else you like "

She came in passionately.

" How can she be a genius? She — she looks horrible. I can't bear to hear you "

Nevill stood up. He thought it began to look like hysteria.

" My darling, I simply will not discuss Selva any more just now. You're overwrought; and I don't wonder. I've dragged you about too much. Enid, dear "

He came across to her as she sat there; he knelt down and took her hands in his.

" My darling, I'm a beast and a brute. You must forgive me, and make the best of me. Just tell me when I displease you in any way; and — and I'll do my best to amend. There! we won't talk any more now. You must rest before dinner; we dine at seven, you know. — Oh! my dear love! "

He bent and kissed her hands. She remained passive.

He felt heavy and dispirited as he came out five minutes later into the street. He had still plenty of time before he had to go and dress — (they were all to go to the theatre again to-night) — and he thought that a turn in the Park would do him good.

There are few places so opulently beautiful as Hyde Park on a summer evening, when the flower-beds are so many flaming fires; when from the heavy trees comes the cooing of the wood-pigeons; when the perfect curved lawns have just been mown once more, and the smell of cut grass is in the air; when the rhododendrons are out; when there are a few well-mounted riders in the Row; when the carriages and motors go by for their last airing before the twilight closes in; when all this is seen, smelt and heard under the sunshine of a cloudless June evening.

He turned up by the Achilles statue under the trees, and took off his hat as he walked. Already his head felt better, and there was hardly a line of dimness left before his eyes. He was thankful he had not betrayed it just now. It would have distressed Enid terribly.

It had come to him as a real relief when he had thought that Enid was a little overwrought. Up to this afternoon he had known but one side of her — that serene, tranquil mood in which she hated crowds, loved the country and had understood so perfectly his own attitude to all these things. So she had been in Rome, at Frascati, and at Hartley. Now he had seen another side which he had never suspected.... Well, it would make her all the more lovable, no doubt, when he understood it better.

As he went up by the side of the water — fervently praying that he might meet no one whom he knew — a number of other little things came back to his mind, each of which, at the time, he had dismissed as irrelevant, but which now, it appeared, had some kind of link one with another, and the explanation of which he began, he thought, to see.

The first which he could remember was her gentle faultfinding with him at Hartley. No doubt she had been right in her facts — Masterson was a little familiar sometimes; and Aunt Anna certainly had just a shade of masterfulness — but in spite of their truth, he had been a little surprised at their being mentioned at all. Then there had been the little affair of Father Richardson. Again that was a small matter, and she confessed that Nevill's own idea had been right; yet certainly she had been rather abrupt with the poor man, who, after all, had behaved very nicely to her. Then there was the trifle — (he had scarcely thought of it again till now) — concerned with the rather sharp words she had spoken to her maid. Well, he hadn't been intended to hear those. Yet he had heard them: there they were! Finally there had been the affair this afternoon.

It appeared to him now that these little things were rather significant; not, indeed, of anything serious at all, but just of a tiny fact, that Enid, too, was human and had her nerves like other people. She was human; but she was none the less lovable — perhaps even she was more lovable. He knew what nerves were himself. Well, he must remember in future.

Then, one by one, a number of other little things floated up — things of which he had thought absolutely nothing at the time, and which, even now, were probably sheer fancies on his own part.

There was first her attitude towards her mother. Ah! he remembered now the sharp little things he had heard the girl say to her as he came downstairs one day at Hart-ley. Well, that fitted in. Again, Mrs. Bessington, at the dinner he had given on his first night in London, had been remarkably lenient towards him in the way of conversation. He had thought it to have been Algy's tact at first. But then, she had been really very lenient ever since. Was it conceivable that Enid had — well — given a hint to her mother not to talk so much — a hint? And would a mere hint have stemmed that flowing tide?...

Again, he had wondered that Enid seemed to have so few friends. At first he had not thought much of it; he had supposed merely that he had not come across them: in fact, he would scarcely have had the chance. Yet, here he had been ten days in London, and though he had seen various cards in the flat, and had been to a reception or two, the usual friends were singularly lacking. Yet Enid was young and charming and sociable.... Perhaps it was Mrs. Bessington's conversation? Certainly she had recognised people at the opera, and they her. And there were Lord Maresfield and the Heckers and so on. But where were the rest? Certainly he did not know much about girls and their ways; they were not in his line; he had lived hitherto at Hartley whenever he could. But he had thought, somehow, that they always had plenty of friends: Enid, too, must have met hundreds of women, travelling as she did. Yet again, perhaps it was this very travelling that had hindered intimacies — that, and her dislike of crowds and her love of solitude.

Well, here these facts were — each of them quite minute, quite explicable taken singly; yet together they seemed to point to a strain in her he had not previously recognised — a strain that had shown itself just now in her odd behaviour about Selva, her " disappointment " that he had not been able to share her view — her — well, it almost seemed like a curious kind of jealous hypercriticism.

He stayed half-way up the walk that ran between the Row and the water; it must be nearly time for him to turn back.

A small boy, with very fat legs, was bent over a little schooner-rigged ship, with an air of very mature seriousness; something was wrong with the rigging. Nevill thought of Jim, and wondered what he was doing.

... (Yes; he must just remember that Enid had nerves; he had been clumsy this afternoon; it had all been his fault.)...

The small boy set the ship firmly back on the edge of the ripple, as if he were planting it. It immediately rocked over on to the tiny beach.

... (And that he must not draw ludicrous deductions from insufficient evidence. He must treat her frankly and courageously, and not inflict his distressing kind of humour on her when she was just a shade on edge.)...

The ship was being pulled about again vehemently; its owner's face was set in a frown, and his lips were pursed with energy.

" What a pity! " said Nevill. " The bowsprit's come out."

The boy looked up at him sharply, and appeared satisfied.

" Can't I help? " said Nevill.

The boy moved towards him without embarrassment.

" It goes in there, you see," he said seriously. " Do you think you could get it in again? "

It was extraordinarily like Jim — that unconventional and unquestioning confidence. Dear Jim!

" Yes, I see," he said. " Just hold my stick, will you? "