Maurice took a week's holiday in August and reached Penge according to invitation three days before the Park v. Village cricket match. He arrived in an odd and bitter mood. He had been thinking over Risley's hypnotist, and grew much inclined to consult him. It was such a nuisance. For in-stance, as he drove up through the park he saw a gamekeeper dallying with two of the maids, and felt a pang of envy. The girls were damned ugly, which the man wasn't: somehow this made it worse, and he stared at the trio, feeling cruel and re-spectable; the girls broke away giggling, the man returned the stare furtively and then thought it safer to touch his cap; he had spoilt that little game. But they would meet again when he had passed, and all over the world girls would meet men, to kiss them and be kissed; might it not be better to alter his tempera-ment and toe the line? He would decide after his visit—for against hope he was still hoping for something from Clive.
Clive's out," said the young hostess. "He sends you his love or something, and will be in to dinner. Archie London will look after you, but I don't believe you want looking after.
Maurice smiled and accepted some tea. The drawing-room had its old air. Groups of people stood about with the air of ar-ranging something, and though Clive's mother no longer pre-sided she remained in residence, owing to the dower house drains. The sense of dilapidation had increased. Through pour-ing rain he had noticed gate posts crooked, trees stifling, and
indoors some bright wedding presents showed as patches on a threadbare garment. Miss Woods had brought no money to Penge. She was accomplished and delightful, but she belonged to the same class as the Durhams, and every year England grew less inclined to pay her highly.
Clive's canvassing," she continued, "there'll be a by-election in the autumn. He has at last induced them to induce him to stand"; she had the aristocratic knack of anticipating criticism. "But seriously, it will be a wonderful thing for the poor if he gets in. He is their truest friend, if only they knew it.
Maurice nodded. He felt disposed to discuss social problems. "They want drilling a bit," he said.
Yes, they need a leader," said a gentle but distinguished voice, "and until they find one they will suffer." Anne introduced the new rector, Mr Borenius. He was her own importation. Clive did not mind whom he appointed if the man was a gentleman and devoted himself to the village. Mr Borenius fulfilled both conditions, and as he was High Church might strike a balance against the outgoing incumbent, who had been Low.
Oh Mr Borenius, how interesting!" the old lady cried from across the room. "But I suppose in your opinion we all want a leader. I quite agree." She darted her eyes hither and thither. "AH of you want a leader, I repeat." And Mr Borenius's eyes followed hers, perhaps looking for something he did not find, for he soon took leave.
He can't have anything to do at the Rectory," said Anne thoughtfully, 'Taut he always is like that. He comes up to scold Clive about the housing, and won't stop to dinner. You see, he's so sensitive; he worries about the poor.
I've had to do with the poor too," said Maurice, taking a piece of cake, "but I can't worry over them. One must give them a leg up for the sake of the country generally, that's all. They
haven't our feelings. They don't suffer as we should in their place.
Anne looked disapproval, but she felt she had entrusted her hundred pounds to the right sort of stock broker.
Caddies and a college mission in the slums is all I know. Still, I've learned a little. The poor don't want pity. They only really like me when I've got the gloves on and am knocking them about.
Oh, you teach them boxing.
Yes, and play football. . . they're rotten sportsmen.
I suppose they are. Mr Borenius says they want love," said Anne after a pause.
I've no doubt they do, but they won't get it.
Mr Hall
Maurice wiped his moustache and smiled.
You'rehorrible.
I didn't think. I suppose that does sound so.
But do you like being horrible
One gets used to anything," he said, suddenly turning, for the door had blown open behind.
Well, good gracious me, I scold Clive for being cynical, but you outdo him.
I get used to being horrible, as you call it, as the poor do to their slums. It's only a question of time." He was speaking rather freely; a biting recklessness had come to him since his arrival. Clive hadn't bothered to be in to receive him. Very well! "After you've banged about a bit you get used to your particular hole. Everyone yapping at the start like a lot of puppies, Waou! Waou!" His unexpected imitation made her laugh. "At last you learn that everyone's far too busy to listen to you, so you stop yapping. That's a fact.
A man's view," she said, nodding her head. "I'll never let Clive hold it. I believe in sympathy... in bearing one another's
burdens. No doubt I'm unfashionable. Are you a disciple of Nietzsche
Ask me another
Anne liked this Mr Hall, whom Clive had warned her she might find unresponsive. So he was in a way, but evidently he had personality. She understood why her husband had found him a good travelling companion in Italy. "Now why don't you like the poor?" she asked suddenly.
I don't dislike them. I just don't think about them except when I'm obliged. These slums, syndicalism, all the rest of it, are a public menace, and one has to do one's little bit against them. But not for love. Your Mr Borenius won't face facts.
She was silent, then asked him how old he was.
Twenty-four tomorrow.
Well, you're very hard for your age.
Just now you said I was horrible. You're letting me off very easily, Mrs Durham
Anyhow, you're set, which is worse.
She saw him frown, and, fearing she had been impertinent, turned the talk on to Clive. She had expected Clive to be back by now, she said, and it was the more disappointing because to-morrow Clive would have to be really away. The agent, who knew the constituency, was showing him round. Mr Hall must be forgiving, and he must help them in the cricket match.
It rather depends upon some other plans. ... I might have to...
She glanced at his face with a sudden curiosity, then said, "Wouldn't you like to see your room?—Archie, take Mr Hall to the Russet Room.
Thanks.... Is there a post out
Not this evening, but you can wire. Wire you'll stop. ... Or oughtn't I to interfere
I may have to wire—I'm not quite sure. Thanks frightfully.
Then he followed Mr London to the Russet Room, thinking "Clive might have ... for the sake of the past he might have been here to greet me. He ought to have known how wretched I should feel." He didn't care for Clive, but he could suffer from him. The rain poured out of a leaden sky on to the park, the woods were silent. As twilight fell, he entered a new circle of torment.
He stopped up in the room till dinner, fighting with ghosts he had loved. If this new doctor could alter his being, was it not his duty to go, though body and soul would be violated? With the world as it is, one must marry or decay. He was not yet free of Clive and never would be until something greater intervened.
Is Mr Durham back?" he inquired, when the housemaid brought hot water.
Yes, sir.
Just in
No. About half an hour, sir.
She drew the curtains and hid the sight but not the sound of the rain. Meanwhile Maurice scribbled a wire. " 'Lasker Jones, 6 Wigmore Place, W.,' " he read. " 'Please make appointment Thursday. Hall. C/o Durham, Penge, Wiltshire.
Yes, sir.
Thanks so much," he said deferentially, and grimaced as soon as he was alone. There was now a complete break between his public and private actions. In the drawing-room he greeted Clive without a tremor. They shook hands warmly, Clive saying, "You look awfully fit. Do you know whom you are going to take in?" and introducing him to a girl. Clive had become quite the squire. All his grievances against society had passed since his marriage. Agreeing politically, they had plenty to talk about.
On his side, Clive was pleased with his visitor. Anne had re-ported him as "rough, but very nice"—a satisfactory condition. There was a coarseness of fibre about him, but that didn't matter
now: that horrible scene about Ada could be forgotten. Maurice also got on well with Archie London—important, for Archie bored Anne and was the sort of man who could fix on to some-one. Clive assigned them to each other, for the visit.
In the drawing-room they talked politics again, convinced every one of them that radicals are untruthful, and socialists mad. The rain poured down with a monotony nothing could dis-turb. In the lulls of conversation its whisper entered the room, and towards the end of the evening there was "tap, tap" on the lid of the piano.
The family ghost again," said Mrs Durham with a bright smile.
There's the sweetest hole in the ceiling," cried Anne. "Clive, can't we leave it
We shall have to," he remarked, ringing the bell. "Let's shift our pianoforte though. It won't stand much more.
How about a saucer?" said Mr London. "Clive, how about a saucer? Once the rain came through the ceiling of the club, I rang the bell and the servant brought a saucer.
I ring the bell and the servant brings nothing," said Clive, pealing again. "Yes, we'll have a saucer, Archie, but we must move the piano too. Anne's dear little hole may grow in the night. There's only a lean-to roof over this part of the room.
Poor Penge!" said his mother. All had risen to their feet, and were gazing at the leak. Anne began to probe the piano's entrails with blotting paper. The evening had broken up, and they were well content to make fun about the rain, which had sent them this hint of its presence.
Bring a basin, will you," said Clive, when the bell was an-swered, "and a duster, and get one of the men to help shift the piano and take up the carpet in the bay. The rain's come through again.
We had to ring twice, ring twice," remarked his mother.
Le delai s'explique," she added, for when the parlourmaid returned it was with the keeper as well as the valet. "C'est tou-jours comme 5a quand—we have our little idylls below stairs too, you know.
You men, what do you want to do tomorrow?" said Clive to his guests. "I must go canvassing. Don't come too. It's beyond words dull. Like to take out a gun or what
Very nice," said Maurice and Archie.
Scudder, do you hear
Le bpnhomme est distrait," said his mother. The piano had rucked up a rug, and the servants, not liking to raise their voices before gentlefolk, misunderstood one another's orders, and whis-pered "What
Scudder, the gentlemen'll shoot tomorrow—I'm sure I don't know what, but come round at ten. Shall we turn in now
Early to bed's the rule here, as you know, Mr Hall," said Anne. Then she wished the three servants good night and led the way upstairs. Maurice lingered to choose a book. Might Lecky'sHistory of Rationalism fill a gap? The rain dripped into the basin, the men muttered over the carpet in the bay, and, kneel-ing, seemed to celebrate some obsequy.
Damnation, isn't there anything, anything
ish, he's not talking to us," said the valet to the gamekeeper.
Lecky it was, but his mind proved unequal, and after a few minutes he threw it on the bed and brooded over the telegram. In the dreariness of Penge his purpose grew stronger. Life had proved a blind alley, with a muck heap at the end of it, and he must cut back and start again. One could be absolutely trans-formed, Risley implied, provided one didn't care a damn for the past. Farewell, beauty and warmth. They ended in muck and must go. Drawing the curtains, he gazed long into the rain, and sighed, and struck his own face, and bit his own lips.