CHAPTER XII
The Prometheans were evidently in full attendance; possibly the rumourhad reached them that Dr. Fillery was coming. No one announced thelatter's arrival, there was no servant visible; the party hung up theirhats and coats in a passage, then walked into the lofty, dim-lit studiowhich was already filled with people and the hum of many voices.
At once, standing in a hesitating group beside the door, they wereobserved by everyone in the room. All asked, it seemed, "Who is thisstranger they have brought?" Fillery caught the curious atmospherein that first moment, an instant whiff, as it were, of excitement,interest, something picturesque, if possibly foolish, fantastic, too,yet faintly stimulating, breathing along his extremely sensitive nerves.
He glanced at his companions. Devonham, it struck him, looked more thanever like a floor-walker come to supervise, say, a Department wherethe sales and assistants were not satisfactory or--he laughed inwardlyas the simile occurred to him--a free-thinker entering a churchwhose teaching he disapproved, even despised, and whose congregationtouched his contemptuous pity. "Who would ever guess," thought hisfriend and colleague, "the sincerity and depth of knowledge in thatinsignificant appearance? Paul hides his value well!" He noticed, inhis quick fashion, touched by humour, the hard challenging eyes, theaquiline nose on which a pair of pince-nez balanced uneasily, thenarrow shoulders, the poorly fitting clothes. The heart, of course,remained invisible. Yet suddenly he felt glad that Devonham was withhim. "Nothing unstable there," he reflected, "and stability combinedwith competence is rare." This rapid judgment, it occurred to him,was possibly a warning from his own subconscious being.... A red flagsignalled, flickered, vanished.
He glanced next at LeVallon, towering above the other. LeVallon wasnow well dressed in London clothes that suited him, though, for thatmatter, any clothes must have looked well upon a male figure sovirile and upstanding. His great shoulders, his leanness, covered sobeautifully with muscle, his height, his colouring, his radiant air;above all, his strange, big penetrating eyes, marked him as a figureone would notice anywhere. He stood, somehow, alone, apart, though theingredients that contributed to this strange air of aloofness would behard to define.
It was chiefly, perhaps, the poise of the great powerful frame thathelped towards this odd setting in isolation and independence.Motionless, he gazed about him quietly, but it was the way he stoodthat singled him out from other men. Even in his stillness there wasgrace; neither hands nor feet, though it was difficult to describeexactly how he placed them or used them, were separate from this poiseof perfect balance. To put it colloquially, he knew what to do withhis extremities. Self-consciousness, in sight of this ardent throng,the first he had encountered at close, intimate quarters, was entirelyabsent.
This Fillery noticed instantly, but other impressions followed duringthe few brief seconds while they waited by the door; and first, the oddeffect of tremendous power he managed to convey. Nothing could havebeen less aggressive than the tentative, questioning, half inquiring,half wondering attitude in which he stood, waiting to be introducedto the buzzing throng of humans; yet there hung about him like anatmosphere this potential strength, of confidence, of superiority, evenof beauty too, that not only contributed much to the aloofness alreadymentioned, but also contrived to make the others, men and women, in thecrowded room--insignificant. Somehow they seemed pale and ineffectiveagainst a larger grandeur, a scale entirely beyond their reach.
"Gigantic" was the word that leaped into the mind, but another perhapsleaped with it--"elemental."
Fillery was aware of envy, oddly enough, of pride as well. His heartwarmed more than ever to him. Almost, he could have then and thererecalled his promise given to Devonham, cancelling it contemptuouslywith a word of self-apology for his smallness and his lack of faith....
LeVallon, aware of a sympathetic mind occupied closely with himself,turned in that moment, and their eyes met squarely; a smile of deep,inner understanding passed swiftly between them over Devonham'shead and shoulders. In which moment, exactly, a short, bearded man,detaching himself from the crowd, came forward and greeted them withsincere pleasure in his voice and manner. He was broad-shouldered,lean, his clothes hung loosely; his glance was keen but kindly.Introductions followed, and Khilkoff's sharp eye rested for someseconds with unconcealed admiration upon LeVallon, as he held his hand.His discerning sculptor's glance seemed to appraise his stature andproportions, while he bade him welcome to the Studio. His big head andshort neck, his mane of hair, the width of his face, with its squatnose and high cheek-bones, the half ferocious eyes, the heavy jaw andsomething sprawling about the mouth, gave him a leonine expression. Andhis voice was not unlike a deep-toned growl, for all its cordiality.
A stir, meanwhile, ran through the room, more heads turned in theirdirection; they had long ago been observed; they were being nowexamined.
"Nayan," Khilkoff was saying, while he still held LeVallon's hand asthough its size and grip contented him, "had a late Russian lesson.She will be here shortly, and very glad to make your acquaintance,"looking up at LeVallon, as the new-comer. His gruffness and brevity hadsomething pleasing in them. "To-day the Studio is not entirely mine,"he explained. "I want you to come when I'm alone. Some studies I madein Sark this summer may interest you." He turned to Fillery. "Thatlonely place was good for both of us," he said; "it gave me new lifeand inspiration, and Nayan benefited immensely too. She looks more likea nymph than ever."
He shook hands with Devonham, smiling more grimly. "I'm surprised you,too, have honoured us," he exclaimed with genuine surprise. "Cometo damn them all as usual, probably! Good! Your common-sense andhealthy criticism are needed in these days--cool, cleaning winds in anover-heated conservatory." He broke off abruptly and looked down atLeVallon's hand he was still holding. He examined it for a second withcare and admiration, then turned his eye upon the young man's figure.He grunted.
"When I know you better," he said, with a growl of earnest meaning, "Ishall ask a favour, a great favour, of you. So, beware!"
"Thank you," replied LeVallon, and at the sound of his voice thesculptor's interest deepened. A gleam shone in his eye.
"You've begun some work," said Fillery, "and models are hard to comeby, I imagine." His eye never left LeVallon.
Khilkoff chuckled. "Thought-reader!" he exclaimed. "If Povey heardthat, he'd make you join the Society at once--as honorary member orvice-president. Anything to get you in. Dr. Fillery understands us all_too_ well," he went on to LeVallon. "In Sark, that lonely island inthe sea, I began four figures--four elemental figures--of earth, air,fire and water--a group, of course. The air figure, I've done----"
"With Nayan as model," suggested Fillery, smiling.
"One morning, yes, I caught her bathing from a rock, hair streaming inthe wind, no clothes on, white foam from the big breakers flutteringabout her, slim, shining, unconscious and half dancing, fierce sunlightall over her. Ah"--he broke off--"here's Povey coming. I mustn'tmonopolize you all. Devonham, you know most of 'em. Make yourselves athome." He turned to LeVallon again, with a touch of something gentler,almost of respect, thought Fillery, as he noticed the delicate changeof voice and manner quickly. "Come, Mr. LeVallon," he said courteously,"I should like to show you the figure as I've done it. We'll go for amoment into my own private rooms. But it's a model for fire I'm lookingfor, as Fillery guessed. You may be interested." He led him off.LeVallon went with evident content, and the advance of skirmishes thatwere already approaching for introductions was temporarily defeated.
For the three men standing by the door had formed a noticeable group,and Khilkoff's presence added to their value. Dr. Fillery, known andmuch respected, regarded with a touch of awe by many, had not come fornothing, it was doubtless argued; his colleague, moreover, accompaniedhim, and he, too, was known to the Society, though not much cultivatedby its members owing to his downright, critical way of talking. Theydeemed him prejudiced, unsympathetic. It was the third member of thegroup, LeVallon, who had quickly caught all e
yes, and the attentionimmediately paid to him by their host set the value of a specialand important guest upon him instantly. All watched him led away byKhilkoff to the private quarters of the Studio, where none at firstpresumed to follow them; but it was the eyes of the women that remainedglued to the open door where they had disappeared, waiting with carefulinterest for their reappearance. In particular Lady Gleeson, the"pretty Lady Gleeson," watched from the corner where she sat alone,sipping some refreshment.
Fillery and Devonham, having observed the signs about them, exchangeda glance; their charge was safe for the moment, at any rate; they feltrelieved; yet it was for the entry of Nayan, the daughter, that bothwaited with interest and impatience, as, meanwhile, the bolder onesamong the crowd came up one by one and captured them.
"Oh, Dr. Fillery, I _am_ glad to see you here. I thought you werealways too busy for unscientific people like us. Yet, in a way, we'reall seekers, are we not? I've been reading your Physiology book, and I_did_ so want to ask you about something in it. I wonder if you'd mind."
He shook hands with a young-old woman, wearing bobbed hair and glasses,and speaking with an intense, respectful, yet self-apologetic manner.
"You've forgotten me, but I _quite_ understand. You see _so_ manypeople. I'm Miss Lance. I sent you my little magazine, 'Simplicity,'once, and you acknowledged it _so_ sweetly, though, of course, Iunderstood you had not the time to write for it." She continued forseveral minutes, smiling up at him, her hands clasping and unclaspingthemselves behind a back clothed with some glittering coloured materialthat rather fascinated him by its sheen. She kept raising herself onher toes and sinking back again in a series of jerky rhythms.
He gave her his delightful smile.
"Oh, Dr. Fillery!" she exclaimed, with pleasure, leading him to adivan, upon which he let himself down in such a position that he couldobserve the door from the street as well as the door where LeVallon haddisappeared. "This is really too good-natured of you. Your book setme on fire simply"--her eyes wandering to the other door--"and what awonderful looking person you've brought with you----"
"I fear it's not very easy reading," he interposed patiently.
"To me it was too delightful for words," she rattled on, pleased by thecompliment implied. "I devour _all_ your books and always review themmyself in the magazine. I wouldn't trust them to anyone else. I simplycan't tell you how physiology stimulates me. Humanity needs imaginativebooks, especially just now." She broke off with a deprecatory smile. "Ido what I can," she added, as he made no remark, "to make them known,though in such a very small way, I fear." Her interest, however, wasdivided, the two powerful attractions making her quite incoherent."Your friend," she ventured again, "he must be Eastern perhaps? Or isthat merely sunburn? He looks _most_ unusual."
"Sunburn merely, Miss Lance. You must have a chat with him later."
"Oh, thank you, _thank_ you, Dr. Fillery. I do so love unusualpeople...."
He listened gravely. He was gentle, while she confided to him herlittle inner hopes and dreams about the "simple life." She introducedadjectives she believed would sound correct, if spoken very quickly,until, between the torrent of "psychical," "physiological" and once ortwice, "psychological," she became positively incoherent in a finalentanglement from which there was no issue but a convulsive gesture.None the less, she was bathed in bliss. She monopolized the great manfor a whole ten minutes on a divan where everybody could see that theytalked earnestly, intimately, perhaps even intellectually, togetherside by side.
He observed the room, meanwhile, without her noticing it, scanning thebuzzing throng with interest. There was confusion somewhere, somethingwas lacking, no system prevailed; he was aware of a general sense ofwaiting for a leader. All looked, he knew, for Nayan to appear. Withouther presence, there was no centre, for, though not a member of theSociety herself, she was the heart always of their gatherings, withoutwhich they straggled somewhat aimlessly. And "heart," he remembered,with a smile that Miss Lance took proudly for herself, was theappropriate word. Nayan mothered them. They were but children, afterall....
"When you talk of a 'New Age,' what _exactly_ do you mean? I wishyou'd define the term for me," Devonham meanwhile was saying to aninterlocutor, not far away, while with a corner of his eye he watchedboth Fillery and the private door. He still stood near the entrance,looking more than ever like a disapproving floor-walker in a bigdepartment store, and it was with H. Millington Povey that he talked,the Honorary Secretary of the Society. The Secretary had aimed atFillery, but Miss Lance had been too quick for him. He was obligedto put up with Devonham as second best, and his temper sufferedaccordingly. He was in aggressive mood.
Povey, facing him, was talking with almost violent zeal. A small,thin, nervous man, on the verge of middle age, his head prematurelybald, with wildish tufts of patchy hair, a thin, scraggy neck thathe lengthened and shortened between high hunched shoulders, Poveyresembled an eager vulture. His keen bright eyes, hooked nose, anda habit of twisting head and neck apart from his body, which heldmotionless, increased this likeness to a bird of prey. Possessed ofconsiderable powers of organization, he kept the Society together. Itwas he who insisted upon some special "psychic gift" as a qualificationof membership; an applicant must prove this gift to a committee ofPovey's choosing, though these proofs were never circulated for generalreading in the Society's Reports. Talkers, dreamers, faddists were notdesired; a member must possess some definite abnormal power before hecould be elected. He must be clairvoyant or clairaudient, an automaticwriter, trance-painter, medium, ghost-seer, prophet, priest or king.
Members, therefore, stated their special qualification to eachother without false modesty: "I'm a trance medium," for instance;"Oh, really! _I_ see auras, of course"; while others had writtenautomatic poetry, spoken in trance--"inspirational speakers," thatis--photographed a spirit, appeared to someone at a distance,or dreamed a prophetic dream that later had come true. Mediums,spirit-photographers, and prophetic dreamers were, perhaps, the mostpopular qualifications to offer, but there were many who rememberedpast lives and not a few could leave their bodies consciously at will.
Memberships cost two guineas, the hat was occasionally passed roundfor special purposes, there was a monthly dinner in Soho, when membersstood up, like saved sinners at a revivalist meeting, and gave personaltestimony of conversion or related some new strange incident. ThePrometheans were full of stolen fire and life.
Among them were ambitious souls who desired to start a new religion,deeming the Church past hope. Others, like the water-dowsers andtelepathists, were humbler. There was an Inner Circle which sought torevive the Mysteries, and gave very private performances of dramaticand symbolic kind, based upon recovered secret knowledge, at thesolstices and equinoxes. New Thought members despised these, believingnothing connected with the past had value; they looked ahead; "livein the present," "do it now" was their watchword. Astrologers werenumerous too. These cast horoscopes, or, for a small fee, revealedone's secret name, true colour, lucky number, day of the week andmonth, and so forth. One lady had a tame "Elemental." Students of Magicand Casters of Spells, wearers of talismans and intricate designs inprecious or inferior metal, according to taste and means, were wellrepresented, and one and all believed, of course, in spirits.
None, however, belonged to any Sect of the day, whatever it might be;they wore no labels; they were seekers, questers, inquirers whom no setof rules or dogmas dared confine within fixed limits. An entirely openmind and no prejudices, they prided themselves, distinguished them.
"Define it in scientific terms, this New Age--I cannot," replied Poveyin his shrill voice, "for science deals only with the examination ofthe known. Yet you only have to look round you at the world to-day tosee its obvious signs. Humanity is changing, new powers everywhere----"
Devonham interrupted unkindly, before the other could assume he hadproved something by merely stating it:
"What _are_ these signs, if I may ask?" he questioned sharply. "For ifyou can name them, we ca
n examine them--er--scientifically." He usedthe word with malice, knowing it was ever on the Promethean lips.
"There you are, at cross-purposes at once," declared Povey. "Irefer to hints, half-lights, intuitions, signs that only the mostsensitive among us, those with psychic divination, with spiritualdiscernment--that only the privileged and those developed in advanceof the Race--can know. And, instantly you produce your microscope, asthough I offered you the muscles of a tadpole to dissect."
They glared at one another. "We shall never get progress your way,"Povey fumed, withdrawing his head and neck between his shoulders.
"Returning to the Middle Ages, on the other hand," mentioned Devonham,"seems like advancing in a circle, doesn't it?"
"Dr. Devonham," interrupted a pretty, fair-haired girl with an intensemanner, "forgive me for breaking up your interesting talk, but youcome so seldom, you know, and there's a lady here who is dying to beintroduced. She has just seen crimson flashing in your aura, and shewants to ask--do you mind _very_ much?" She smiled so sweetly at him,and at Mr. Povey, too, who was said to be engaged to her, though nonebelieved it, that annoyance was not possible. "She says she simply_must_ ask you if you were feeling anger. Anger, you know, produces redor crimson in one's visible atmosphere," she explained charmingly. Sheled him off, forgetting, however, her purpose _en route_, since theypresently sat down side by side in a quiet corner and began to enjoywhat seemed an interesting tete-a-tete, while the aura-seeing ladywaited impatiently and observed them, without the aid of clairvoyance,from a distance.
"And _your_ qualifications for membership?" asked Devonham. "I wonderif I may ask----?"
"But you'd laugh at me, if I told you," she answered simply, fingeringa silver talisman that hung from her neck, a six-pointed star withzodiacal signs traced round a rose, _rosa mystica_, evidently. "I'm soafraid of doctors."
Devonham shook his head decidedly, asserting vehemently his interest,whereupon she told him her little private dream delightfully, withoutpose or affectation, yet shyly and so sincerely that he proved hisassertion by a genuine interest.
"And does that protect you among your daily troubles?" he asked,pointing to her little silver talisman. He had already commentedsympathetically upon her account of saving her new puppies fromdrowning, having dreamed the night before that she saw them gasping ina pail of water, the cruel under-gardener looking on. "Do you wear italways, or only on special occasions like this?"
"Oh, Miss Milligan made that," she told him, blushing a little. "She'srather poor. She earns her living by designing----"
"Oh!"
"But I don't mean _that_. She tells you your Sign and works it in metalfor you. I bought one. Mine is Pisces." She became earnest. "I was bornin Pisces, you see."
"And what does Pisces do for you?" he inquired, remembering theheightened colour. The sincerity of this Rose Mystica delighted him,and he already anticipated her reply with interest. Here, he felt, wasthe credulous, religious type in its naked purity, forced to believe insomething marvellous.
"Well, if you wear your Sign next your skin it brings good luck--itmakes the things you want happen." The blush reappeared becomingly. Shedid not lower her eyes.
"Have your things happened then?"
She hesitated. "Well, I've had an awfully good time ever since I woreit----"
"Proposals?" he asked gently.
"Dr. Devonham!" she exclaimed. "How ever did you guess?" She lookedvery charming in her innocent confusion.
He laughed. "If you don't take it off at once," he told her solemnly,"you may get another."
"It was two in a single week," she confided a little tremulously."Fancy!"
"The important thing, then," he suggested, "is to wear your talisman atthe right moment, and with the right person."
But she corrected him promptly.
"Oh, no. It brings the right moment and the right person together,don't you see, and if the other person is a Pisces person, youunderstand each other, of course, at once."
"Would that I too were Pisces!" he exclaimed, seeing that shewas flattered by his interest. "I'm probably"--taking a sign atrandom--"Scorpio."
"No," she said with grave disappointment, "I'm afraid you'reCapricornus, you know. I can tell by your nose and eyes--andcleverness. But--I wanted really to ask you," she went on half shyly,"if I might----" She stuck fast.
"You want to know," he said, glancing at her with quick understanding,"who _he_ is." He pointed to the door. "Isn't that it?"
She nodded her head, while a divine little blush spread over her face.Devonham became more interested. "Why?" he asked. "Did he impress youso?"
"_Rather_," she replied with emphasis, and there was something inher earnestness curiously convincing. A sincere impression had beenregistered.
"His appearance, you mean?"
She nodded again; the blush deepened; but it was not, he saw, anordinary blush. The sensitive young girl had awe in her. "He's a friendof Dr. Fillery's," he told her; "a young man who's lived in the wildsall his life. But, tell me--why are you so interested? Did he make anyparticular impression on you?"
He watched her. His own thoughts dropped back suddenly to a strangememory of woods and mountains ... a sunset, a blazing fire ... a hintof panic.
"Yes," she said, her tone lower, "he did."
"Something _very_ definite?"
She made no answer.
"What did you see?" he persisted gently. From woods and mountains,memory stepped back to a railway station and a customs official....
Her manner, obviously truthful, had deep wonder, mystery, even worshipin it. He was aware of a nervous reaction he disliked, almost a chill.He listened for her next words with an interest he could hardly accountfor.
"Wings," she replied, an odd hush in her voice. "I thought of wings. Heseemed to carry me off the earth with great rushing wings, as the windblows a leaf. It was too lovely: I felt like a dancing flame. I thoughthe was----"
"What?" Something in his mind held its breath a moment.
"You _won't_ laugh, Dr. Devonham, will you? I thought--for asecond--of--an angel." Her voice died away.
For a second the part of his mood that held its breath struggledbetween anger and laughter. A moment's confusion in him there certainlywas.
"That makes two in the room," he said gently, recovering himself. Hesmiled. But she did not hear the playful compliment; she did not seethe smile. "You've a delightful, poetic little soul," he added underhis breath, watching the big earnest eyes whose rapt expression met hisown so honestly. Having made her confession she was still engrossed,absorbed, he saw, in her own emotion.... So this was the picture thatLeVallon, by his mere appearance alone, left upon an impressionableyoung girl, an impression, he realized, that was profound and trueand absolute, whatever value her own individual interpretation of itmight have. Her mention of space, wind, fire, speed, he noticed inparticular--"off the earth ... rushing wind ... dancing flame ... anangel!"
It was easy, of course, to jeer. Yet, somehow, he did not jeer at all.
She relapsed into silence, which proved how great had been theemotional discharge accompanying the confession, temporarily exhaustingher. Dr. Devonham keenly registered the small, important details.
"Entertaining an angel unawares in a Chelsea Studio," he said,laughingly; then reminding her presently that there was a lady whowas "dying to be introduced" to him, made his escape, and for thenext ten minutes found himself listening to a disquisition on auraswhich described "visible atmospheres whose colour changes with emotion... radioactivity ... the halo worn by saints" ... the effect oflight noticed about very good people and of blackness that the wickedemanated, and ending up with the "radiant atmosphere that shone roundthe figure of Christ and was believed to show the most lovely andcomplicated geometrical designs."
"God geometrizes--you, doubtless, know the ancient saying?" Mrs. Towzersaid it like a challenge.
"I have heard it," admitted her listener shortly, his first opportunityof making himself audible. "P
lato said some other fine things too----"
"I felt sure you were feeling cross just now," the lady went on,"because I saw lines and arrows of crimson darting and flashing throughyour aura while you were talking to Mr. Povey. He _is_ very annoyingsometimes, isn't he? I often wonder where all our subscriptions go to.I never could understand a balance-sheet. Can you?"
But Devonham, having noticed Dr. Fillery moving across the room, didnot answer, even if he heard the question. Fillery, he saw, was nowstanding near the door where Khilkoff and LeVallon had disappeared tosee the sculpture, an oddly rapt expression on his face. He was talkingwith a member called Father Collins. The buzz of voices, the incessantkaleidoscope of colour and moving figures, made the atmosphere a littleelectric. Extricating himself with a neat excuse, he crossed towardshis colleague, but the latter was already surrounded before he reachedhim. A forest of coloured scarves, odd coiffures, gleaming talismans,intervened; he saw men's faces of intense, eager, preoccupiedexpression, old and young, long hair and bald; there was a new perfumein the air, incense evidently; tea, coffee, lemonade were being served,with stronger drink for the few who liked it, and cigarettes wereeverywhere. The note everywhere was _exalte_ rather.
Out of the excited throng his eyes then by chance, apparently, pickedup the figure of Lady Gleeson, smoking her cigarette alone in a bigarmchair, a half-empty glass of wine-cup beside her. She caught hisattention instantly, this "pretty Lady Gleeson," although personallyhe found neither title nor adjective justified. The dark hair frameda very white skin. The face was shallow, trivial, yet with a directintensity in the shining eyes that won for her the reputation of beingattractive to certain men. Her smile added to the notoriety she loved,a curious smile that lifted the lip oddly, showing the little pointedteeth. To him, it seemed somehow a face that had been over-kissed;everything had been kissed out of it; the mouth, the lips, were wornand barren in an appearance otherwise still young. She was veryexpensively dressed, and deemed her legs of such symmetry that itwere a shame to hide them; clad in tight silk stockings, and lookinglike strips of polished steel, they were now visible almost to theknee, where the edge of the skirt, neatly trimmed in fur, cut them offsharply. Some wag in the Society, paraphrasing the syllables of hername, wittily if unkindly, had christened her _fille de joie_. When sheheard it she was rather pleased than otherwise.
Lady Gleeson, too, he saw now, was watching the private door. The samemoment, as so often occurred between himself and his colleague at somesignificant point in time and space, he was aware of Fillery's eye uponhis own across the intervening heads and shoulders. Fillery, also, hadnoticed that Lady Gleeson watched that door. His changed position inthe room was partly explained.
A slightly cynical smile touched Dr. Devonham's lips, but vanishedagain quickly, as he approached the lady, bowed politely, and askedif he might bring her some refreshment. He was too discerning to say"more" refreshment. But she dotted every i, she had no half tones.
"Thanks, kind Dr. Devonham," she said in a decided tone, her voicethin, a trifle husky, yet not entirely unmusical. It held a strangethroaty quality. "It's so absurdly light," she added, holding out theglass she first emptied. "The mystics don't hold with anything strongapparently. But I'm tired, and you discovered it. That's clever of you.It'll do me good."
He, malevolently, assured her that it would.
"Who's your friend?" she asked point blank, with an air that meantto have a proper answer, as he brought the glass and took a chairnear her. "He looks unusual. More like a hurdle-race champion than avisionary." A sneer lurked in the voice. She fixed her determined cleargrey eyes upon his, eyes sparkling with interest, curiosity in life,desire, the last-named quality of unmistakable kind. "I think I shouldlike to know him perhaps." It was mentioned as a favour to the other.
Devonham, who disliked and disapproved of all these peoplecollectively, felt angry suddenly with Fillery for having broughtLeVallon among them. It was after all a foolish experiment; theatmosphere was dangerous for anyone of unstable, possibly of hystericaltemperament. He had vengeance to discharge. He answered with deliberatemalice, leading her on that he might watch her reactions. She was sotransparently sincere.
"I hardly think Mr. LeVallon would interest you," he said lightly. "Heis neither modern nor educated. He has spent his life in the backwoods,and knows nothing but plants and stars and weather and--animals. Youwould find him dull."
"No man with a face and figure like that can be dull," she saidquickly, her eyes alight.
He glanced at her rings, the jewelry round her neck, her expensivegown that would keep a patient for a year or two. He remembered hermillionaire South African husband who was her foolish slave. She lived,he knew, entirely for her own small, selfish pleasure. Although hemeant to use her, his gorge rose. He produced his happiest smile.
"You are a keen observer, Lady Gleeson," he remarked. "He doesn't lookquite ordinary, I admit." After a pause he added, "It's a curiousthing, but Mr. LeVallon doesn't care for the charms that we other mensuccumb to so easily. He seems indifferent. What he wants is knowledgeonly.... Apparently he's more interested in stars than in girls."
"Rubbish," she rejoined. "He hasn't met any in his woods, that's all."
Her directness rather disconcerted him. At the same time, it charmedhim a little, though he did not know it. His dislike of the woman,however, remained. The idle, self-centred rich annoyed him. They wereso useless. The fabulous jewelry hanging upon such trash now stirredhis bile. He was conscious of the lust for pleasure in her.
"Yet, after all, he's rather an interesting fellow perhaps," he toldher, as with an air of sudden enthusiasm. "Do you know he talks ofrather wonderful things, too. Mere dreams, of course, yet, for allthat, out of the ordinary. He has vague memories, it seems, of anotherstate of existence altogether. He speaks sometimes of--of marvellouswomen, compared to whom our women here, our little dressed-up dolls,seem commonplace and insignificant." And, to his keen enjoyment, LadyGleeson took the bait with open mouth. She recrossed her shapelylegs. She wriggled a little in her chair. Her be-ringed fingers beganfidgeting along the priceless necklace.
"Just what I should expect," she replied in her throaty voice, "from ayoung man who looks as he does."
She began to play her own cards then, mentioning that her husbandwas interested in Dr. Fillery's Clinique. Devonham, however, at onceheaded her off. He described the work of the Home with enthusiasm."It's fortunate that Dr. Fillery is rich," he observed carelessly,"and can follow out his own ideas exactly as he likes. I, personally,should never have joined him had he been dependent upon the merephilanthropist."
"How wise of you," she returned. "And I should never have joined thismad Society but for the chance of coming across unusual people. Now,your Mr. LeVallon is one. You may introduce him to me," she repeated asan ultimatum.
Her directness was the one thing he admired in her. At her own level,she was real. He was aware of the semi-erotic atmosphere about theseMeetings and realized that Lady Gleeson came in search of excitement,also that she was too sincere to hide it. She wore her insigniaunconcealed. Her talisman was of base metal, the one cheap thingshe wore, yet real. This foolish woman, after all, might be of useunwittingly. She might capture LeVallon, if only for a moment, beforeNayan Khilkoff enchanted him with that wondrous sweetness to which noman could remain indifferent. For he had long ago divined the natural,unspoken passion between his Chief and the daughter of his host, andwith his whole heart he desired to advance it.
"My husband, too, would like to meet him, I'm sure," he heard hersaying, while he smiled at the reappearance of the gilded bait. "Myhusband, you know, is interested in spirit photography and Dr. Frood'sunconscious theories."
He rose, without even a smile. "I'll try and find him at once," hesaid, "and bring him to you. I only hope," he added as an afterthought,"that Miss Khilkoff hasn't monopolized him already----"
"She hasn't come," Lady Gleeson betrayed herself. Instinctively sheknew her rival, he saw, with an inward chu
ckle, as he rose to fetch thedesired male.
He found him the centre of a little group just inside the door leadinginto the sculptor's private studio, where Khilkoff had evidently beenshowing his new group of elemental figures. Fillery, a few feet away,observing everything at close range, was still talking eagerly withFather Collins. LeVallon and Kempster, the pacifist, were in themiddle of an earnest talk, of which Devonham caught an interestingfragment. Kempster's qualification for membership was an occasionaldisplay of telepathy. He was a neat little man exceedingly welldressed, over-dressed in fact, for his tailor's dummy appearancebetrayed that he thought too much about his personal appearance.LeVallon, towering over him like some flaming giant, spoke quietly,but with rare good sense, it seemed. Fillery's condensed educationhad worked wonders on his mind. Devonham was astonished. About thepair others had collected, listening, sometimes interjecting opinionsof their own, many women among them leaning against the furniture orsitting on cushions and movable, dump-like divans on the floor. It wasa picturesque little scene. But LeVallon somehow dwarfed the others.
"I really think," Kempster was saying, "we might now become acomfortable little third-rate Power--like Spain, for instance--enjoyourselves a bit, live on our splendid past, and take the sun in ease."He looked about him with a self-satisfied smirk, as though he hadhimself played a fine role in the splendid past.
LeVallon's reply surprised him perhaps, but it surprised Devonhamstill more. The real, the central self, LeVallon, he thought withsatisfaction, was waking and developing. His choice of words was oddtoo.
"No, no! _You_--the English are the leaders of the world; thebest quality is in you. If _you_ give up, the world goes down andbackwards." The deep, musical tones vibrated through the little room.The speaker, though so quiet, had the air of a powerful athlete, readyto strike. His pose was admirable. Faces turned up and stared. Therewas a murmur of approval.
"We're so tired of that talk," replied Kempster, no whit disconcertedby the evident signs of his unpopularity. "Each race should take itsturn. We've borne the white man's burden long enough. Why not drop it,and let another nation do its bit? We've earned a rest, I think."His precise, high voice was persuasive. He was a good public speaker,wholly impervious to another point of view. But the resonant tones ofLeVallon's rejoinder seemed to bury him, voice, exquisite clothes andall.
"There _is_ no other--unless you hand it back to weaker shoulders. Noother race has the qualities of generosity, of big careless courage ofthe unselfish kind required. Above all, you alone have the chivalry."
Two things Devonham noted as he heard: behind the natural resonancein the big voice lay a curious deepness that made him think ofthunder, a volume of sound suppressed, potential, roaring, which, iflet loose, might overwhelm, submerge. It belonged to an earnestnessas yet unsuspected in him, a strength of conviction based on a greatpurpose that was evidently subconscious in him, as though he served it,belonged to it, without realizing that he did so. He stood there likesome new young prophet, proclaiming a message not entirely his own.Also he said "you" in place of the natural "we."
Devonham listened attentively. Here, too, at any rate, was an exchangeof ideas above the "psychic" level he so disliked.
LeVallon, he noticed at once, showed no evidence of emotion, though hiseyes shone brightly and his voice was earnest.
"America----" began Kempster, but was knocked down by a fact before hecould continue.
"Has deliberately made itself a Province again. America saw the ideal,then drew back, afraid. It is once more provincial, cut off from theplanet, a big island again, concerned with local affairs of its own.Your Democracy has failed."
"As it always must," put in Kempster, glad perhaps to shift the point,when he found no ready answer. "The wider the circle from whichstatesmen are drawn, the lower the level of ability. We should bepatriotic for ideas, not for places. The success of one country meansthe downfall of another. That's not spiritual...." He continued athigh speed, but Devonham missed the words. He was too preoccupied withthe other's language, penetration, point of view. LeVallon had, indeed,progressed. There was nothing of the alternative personality in this,nothing of the wild, strange, nature-being whom he called "N. H."
"Patriotism, of course, is vulgar rubbish," he heard Kempster finishinghis tirade. "It is local, provincial. The world is a whole."
But LeVallon did not let him escape so easily. It was admirable really.This half-educated countryman from the woods and mountains had a clear,concentrated mind. He had risen too. Whence came his comprehensiveoutlook?
"Chivalry--you call it sporting instinct--is the first essential ofa race that is to lead the world. It is a topmost quality. Your racehas it. It has come down even into your play. It is instinctive in youmore than any other. And chivalry is unselfish. It is divine. You haveconquered the sun. The hot races all obey you."
The thunder broke through the strange but simple words which, inthat voice, and with that quiet earnestness, carried some weight ofmeaning in them that print cannot convey. The women gazed at him withunconcealed, if not with understanding admiration. "Lead us, inspireus, at any rate!" their eyes said plainly; "but love us, O love us,passionately, above all!"
Devonham, hardly able to believe his ears and eyes, turned to see ifFillery had heard the scrap of talk. Judging by the expression on hisface, he had not heard it. Father Collins seemed saying things thatheld his attention too closely. Yet Fillery, for all his apparentabsorption, had heard it, though he read it otherwise than his somewhatliteral colleague. It was, nevertheless, an interesting revelationto him, since it proved to him again how unreal "LeVallon" was; howeasily, quickly this educated simulacrum caught up, assimilated andreproduced as his own, yet honestly, whatever was in the air at themoment. For the words he had spoken were not his own, but Fillery's.They lay, or something like them lay, unuttered in Fillery's mind justat that very moment. Yet, even while listening attentively to FatherCollins, his close interest in LeVallon was so keen, so watchful, thatanother portion of his mind was listening to this second conversation,even taking part in it inaudibly. LeVallon caught his language from theair....
Devonham made his opportunity, leading LeVallon off to be introduced toLady Gleeson, who still sat waiting for them on the divan in the outerstudio.
As they made their way through the buzzing throng into the largerroom, Devonham guessed suddenly that Lady Gleeson must somehow haveheard in advance that LeVallon would be present; her flair for new menwas singular; the sexual instinct, unduly developed, seemed aware ofits prey anywhere within a big radius. He owed his friend a hint ofguidance possibly. "A little woman," he explained as they crossed over,"who has a weakness for big men and will probably pay you compliments.She comes here to amuse herself with what she calls 'the freaks.'Sometimes she lends her great house for the meetings. Her husband's amillionaire." To which the other, in his deep, quiet voice, replied:"Thank you, Dr. Devonham."
"She's known as 'the pretty Lady Gleeson.'"
"That?" exclaimed the other, looking towards her.
"Hush!" his companion warned him.
As they approached, Lady Gleeson, waiting with keen impatience, sawthem coming and made her preparations. The frown of annoyance at thelong delay was replaced by a smile of welcome that lifted the upper lipon one side only, showing the white even teeth with odd effect. Shestared at LeVallon, thought Devonham, as a wolf eyes its prey. Deftlylowering her dress--betraying thereby that she knew it was too high,and a detail now best omitted from the picture--she half rose fromher seat as they came up. The instinctive art of deference, thoughinstantly corrected, did not escape Paul Devonham's too observant eye.
"You were kind enough to say I might introduce my friend," murmured he."Mr. LeVallon is new to our big London, and a stranger among all thesepeople."
LeVallon bowed in his calm, dignified fashion, saying no word, butLady Gleeson put her hand out, and, finding his own, shook it with herair of brilliant welcome. Determination lay in her smile and in hergestu
re, in her voice as well, as she said familiarly at once: "But,Mr. LeVallon, how tall _are_ you, really? You seem to me a perfectgiant." She made room for him beside her on the divan. "Everybody herelooks undersized beside you!" She became intense.
"I am six feet and three inches," he replied literally, but withoutexpression in his face. There was no smile. He was examining her asfrankly as she examined him. Devonham was examining the pair of them.The lack of interest, the cold indifference in LeVallon, he reflected,must put the young woman on her mettle, accustomed as she was to quicksubmission in her victims.
LeVallon, however, did not accept the offered seat; perhaps he had notnoticed the invitation. He showed no interest, though polite and gentle.
"He towers over all of us," Devonham put in, to help an awkward pause.Yet he meant it more than literally; the empty prettiness of theshallow little face before him, the triviality of Miss Rosa Mystica,the cheapness of Povey, Kempster, Mrs. Towzer, the foolish air ofotherworldly expectancy in the whole room, of deliberate exaggeration,of eyes big with wonder for sensation as story followed story--all thiscame upon him with its note of poverty and tawdriness as he used thewords.
Something in the atmosphere of LeVallon had this effect--whence did itcome? he questioned, puzzled--of dwarfing all about him.
"All London, remember, isn't like this," he heard Lady Gleeson saying,a dangerous purr audible in the throaty voice. "Do sit down hereand tell me what you think about it. I feel you don't belong herequite, do you know? London cramps you, doesn't it? And you find thewomen dull and insipid?" She deliberately made more room, patting thecushions invitingly with a flashing hand, that alone, thought Devonhamcontemptuously, could have endowed at least two big Cliniques. "Tell meabout yourself, Mr. LeVallon. I'm dying to hear about your life in thewoods and mountains. Do talk to me. I _am_ so bored!"
What followed surprised Devonham more than any of the three perhaps. Heascribed it to what Fillery had called the "natural gentleman," whileLady Gleeson, doubtless, ascribed it to her own personal witchery.
With that easy grace of his he sat down instantly beside her on the lowdivan, his height and big frame contriving the awkward movement withouta sign of clumsiness. His indifference was obvious--to Devonham, butthe vain eyes of the woman did not notice it.
"That's better," she again welcomed him with a happy laugh. She edgedcloser a little. "Now, do make yourself comfortable"--she arrangedthe cushions again--"and please tell me about your wild life in theforests, or wherever it was. You know a lot about the stars, I hear."She devoured his face and figure with her shining eyes.
The upper lip was lifted for a second above a gleaming tooth. Devonhamhad the feeling she was about to eat him, licking her lips already inanticipation. He himself would be dismissed, he well knew, in anothermoment, for Lady Gleeson would not tolerate a third person at the meal.Before he was sent about his business, however, he had the good fortuneto hear LeVallon's opening answer to the foolish invitation. Amazementfilled him. He wished Fillery could have heard it with him, seen theplay of expression on the faces too--the bewilderment of sensationalhunger for something new in Lady Gleeson's staring eyes, arrestedinstantaneously; the calm, cold look of power, yet power tempered bya touch of pity, in LeVallon's glance, a glance that was only barelyaware of her proximity. He smiled as he spoke, and the smile increasedhis natural radiance. He looked extraordinarily handsome, yet with anew touch of strangeness that held even the cautious doctor momentarilyalmost spellbound.
"Stars--yes, but I rarely see them here in London, and they seem so faraway. They comfort me. They bring me--they and women bring me--nearestto a condition that is gone from me. I have lost it." He lookedstraight into her face, so that she blinked and screwed up her eyes,while her breathing came more rapidly. "But stars and women," he wenton, his voice vibrating with music in spite of its quietness, "remindme that it is recoverable. Both give me this sweet message. I read itin stars and in the eyes of women. And it is true because no wordsconvey it. For women cannot express themselves, I see; and stars, too,are silent--here."
The same soft thunder as before sounded below the gently spoken words;Lady Gleeson was trembling a little; she made a movement by means ofwhich she shifted herself yet nearer to her companion in what seemed anatural and unconscious way. It was doubtless his proximity rather thanhis words that stirred her. Her face was set, though the lips quivereda trifle and the voice was less shrill than usual as she spoke, holdingout her empty glass.
"Thank you, Dr. Devonham," she said icily.
The determined gesture, a toss of the head, with the glare of sharpimpatience in the eyes, he could not ignore; yet he accepted his curtdismissal slowly enough to catch her murmured words to LeVallon:
"How wonderful! How wonderful you are! And what sort of women...?"followed him as he moved away. In his heart rose again anuncomfortable memory of a Jura valley blazing in the sunset, and of ahalf-naked figure worshipping before a great wood fire on the rocks....He fancied he caught, too, in the voice, a suggestion of a lilt, achanting resonance, that increased his uneasiness further. One thingwas certain: it was not quite the ordinary "LeVallon" that answered thesilly woman. The reaction was of a different kind. Was, then, the otherself awake and stirring? Was it "N. H." after all, as his colleagueclaimed?
Allowing a considerable interval to pass, he returned with a glass--oflemonade--reaching the divan in its dim-lit corner just in time to seea flashing hand withdrawn quickly from LeVallon's arm, and to intercepta glance that told him the intrigue evidently had not developedaltogether according to Lady Gleeson's plan, although her air was oneof confidence and keenest self-satisfaction. LeVallon sat like a marblefigure, cold, indifferent, looking straight before him, listening, ifonly with half an ear, to a stream of words whose import it was notdifficult to guess.
This Devonham's practised eye read in the flashing look she shot athim, and in the quick way she thanked him.
"Coffee, dear Dr. Devonham, I asked for."
Her move was so quick, his desire to watch them a moment longertogether so keen, that for an instant he appeared to hesitate. Itwas more than appearance; he did hesitate--an instant merely, yetlong enough for Lady Gleeson to shoot at him a second swift glance ofconcentrated virulence, and also long enough for LeVallon to springlightly to his feet, take the glass from his hand and vanish in thedirection of the refreshment table before anything could prevent. "Iwill get your coffee for you," still sounded in the air, so quicklywas the adroit manoeuvre executed. LeVallon had cleverly escaped.
"How stupid of me," said Devonham quickly, referring to the pretendedmistake. Lady Gleeson made no reply. Her inward fury betrayed itself,however, in the tight-set lips and the hard glitter of her brilliantlittle eyes. "He won't be a moment," the other added. "Do you findhim interesting? He's not very talkative as a rule, but perhaps withyou----" He hardly knew what words he used.
The look she gave him stopped him, so intense was the bitterness inthe eyes. His interruption, then, must indeed have been worse--orbetter?--timed than he had imagined. She made no pretence of speaking.Turning her glance in the direction whence the coffee must presentlyappear, she waited, and Devonham might have been a dummy for all thesign she gave of his being there. He had made an enemy for life, hefelt, a feeling confirmed by what almost immediately then followed.Neither the coffee nor its bearer came that evening to pretty LadyGleeson in the way she had desired. She laid the blame at Devonham'sdoor.
For at that moment, as he stood before her, secretly enjoying her angera little, yet feeling foolish, perhaps, as well, a chord sounded onthe piano, and a hush passed instantly over the entire room. Someonewas about to sing. Nayan Khilkoff had come in, unnoticed, by the doorof the private room. Her singing invariably formed a part of theseentertainments. The song, too, was the one invariably asked for, itsmusic written by herself.
All talk and movement stopped at the sound of the little prelude, asthough a tap had been turned off. Even Devonham, most unmusical of men,prepared to
listen with enjoyment. He tried to see Nayan at the piano,but too many people came between. He saw, instead, LeVallon standingclose at his side, the cup of coffee in his hand. He had that instantreturned.
"For Lady Gleeson. Will you pass it to her? Who's going to sing?" hewhispered all in the same breath. And Devonham told him, as he bentdown to give the cup. "Nayan Khilkoff. Hush! It's a lovely song. I knowit--'The Vagrant's Epitaph.'"
They stood motionless to listen, as the pure voice of the girl,singing very simply but with the sweetness and truth of sincerefeeling, filled the room. Every word, too, was clearly audible:
"Change was his mistress; Chance his counsellor. Love could not hold him; Duty forged no chain. The wide seas and the mountains called him, And grey dawns saw his camp-fires in the rain.
"Sweet hands might tremble!--aye, but he must go. Revel might hold him for a little space; But, turning past the laughter and the lamps, His eyes must ever catch the luring Face.
"Dear eyes might question! Yea, and melt again; Rare lips a-quiver, silently implore; But he must ever turn his furtive head, And hear that other summons at the door.
"Change was his mistress; Chance his counsellor. The dark firs knew his whistle up the trail. Why tarries he to-day?... And yesternight Adventure lit her stars without avail."
The Bright Messenger Page 12