CHAPTER X
When after lunch on Wednesday afternoon John relinquished Miss Hamiltonto the company of her friend Miss Merritt at Charing Cross Station, hewas relinquishing a secretary from whom he had received an assurancethat the very next morning she would be at his elbow, if he might soexpress himself. In his rosiest moments he had never expected so swift afulfilment of his plan, and he felt duly grateful to Miss Merritt, towhose powers of persuasion he ascribed the acceptance in spite of Mrs.Hamilton's usually only too effective method of counteracting any kindof independent action on her daughter's part. On the promenade deck ofthe _Murmania_ Miss Merritt had impressed John with her resolutecharacter; now she seemed to him positively Napoleonic, and he was morein awe of her than ever, so much so indeed that he completely failed toconvey his sense of obligation to her good offices and could only beamat her like a benevolent character in a Dickens novel. Finally he didmanage to stammer out his desire that she would charge herself with thefinancial side of the agreement and was lost in silent wonder when shehad no hesitation in suggesting terms based on the fact that MissHamilton had no previous experience as a secretary.
"Later on, if you're satisfied with her," she said, "you must increaseher salary; but I will be no party to over-payment simply because she ispersonally sympathetic to you."
How well that was put, John thought. Personally sympathetic! Howaccurately it described his attitude toward Miss Hamilton. He took leaveof the young women and walked up Villiers Street, cheered by thepleasant conviction that the flood of domestic worries which hadthreatened to destroy his peace of mind and overwhelm his productivenesswas at last definitely stayed.
"She's exactly what I require," he kept saying to himself, exultantly."And I think I may claim without unduly flattering myself that the postI have offered her is exactly what she requires. From what that verynice girl Miss Merritt said, it is evidently a question of assertingherself now or never. With what a charming lack of self-consciousnessshe agreed to the salary and even suggested the hours of work herself.Oh, she's undoubtedly practical--very practical; but at the same timeshe has not got that almost painfully practical exterior of MissMerritt, who must have broken in a large number of difficult employersto acquire that tight set of her mouth. Probably I shall be easy tomanage, so working for me won't spoil her unbusinesslike appearance.To-morrow we are to discuss the choice of a typewriter; and by the way,I must arrange which room she is to use for typing. The noise of amachine at high speed would be as prejudicial to composition as Viola'sstep-dancing. Yes, I must arrange with Mrs. Worfolk about a room."
John's faith in his good luck was confirmed by the amazing discoverythat Mrs. Worfolk had known his intended secretary as a child.
"Her old nurse in fact!" he exclaimed joyfully, for such a melodramaticcoincidence did not offend John's romantic palate.
"No, sir, not her nurse. I never was not what you might call a nurseproper. Well, I mean to say, though I was always fond of children Iseemed to take more somehow to the house itself, and so I never gotbeyond being a nursemaid. After that I gave myself up to rising as highas a housemaid _can_ rise until I married Mr. Worfolk. Perhaps you mayremember me once passing the remark that I'd been in service with aracing family? Well, after I left them I took a situation as upperhousemaid with a very nice family in the county of Unts, and who came upto London for the season to Grosvenor Gardens. Then I met Mr. Worfolkwho was a carpenter and he made packing-cases for Mr. Hamilton who wasyour young lady's pa. Oh, I remember him well. There was a slightargument between Mr. Worfolk and I--well, not argument, because ours wasa very happy marriage, but a slight conversation as to whether he was tomake cases for Chi-ner or Chi-nese knick-knacks, and Mr. Worfolk waswrong."
"But were you in service with Mr. Hamilton? Did he live inHuntingdonshire?"
"No, no, sir. You're getting very confused, if you'll pardon theobsivation. Very confused, you're getting. This Mr. Hamilton was acustomer of Mr. Worfolk and through him coming to superintend hisChi-nese valuables being packed I got to know his little girl--yoursecretary as is to be. Oh, I remember her perfickly. Why, I mended ahole in her stocking once. Right above the garter it was, and she was sofond of our Tom. Oh, but he _was_ a beautiful mouser. I've heard manypeople say they never saw a finer cat nowhere."
"You have a splendid memory, Mrs. Worfolk."
"Yes, sir. I have got a good memory. Why, when I was a tiny tot I canremember my poor grandpa being took sudden with the colic and rollingabout on the kitchen hearth-rug, groaning, as you might say, in a agonyof pain. Well, he died the same year as the Juke of Wellington, butthough I was taken to the Juke's funeral by my poor mother, I'veforgotten that. Well, one can't remember everything, and that's a fact;one little thing will stick and another little thing won't. Well, I meanto say, it's a good job anybody can't remember everything. I'm shawthere's enough trouble in the world as it is."
Mrs. Worfolk startled the new secretary when she presented herself at 36Church Row next day by embracing her affectionately in the hall beforeshe had explained the reason for such a demonstration. It soontranspired, however, that Miss Hamilton's memory was as good as Mrs.Worfolk's and that she had not forgotten those jolly visits to thecarpenter long ago, nor even the big yellow Tomcat. As for the masterof the house, he raised his housekeeper's salary to show what importancehe attached to a good memory.
For a day or two John felt shy of assigning much work to his secretary;but she soon protested that, if she was only going to type thirty tofifty lines of blank verse every other morning, she should resign herpost on the ground that it was an undignified sinecure.
"What about dictating your letters? You made such a point of my knowingshorthand."
"Yes, I did, didn't I?" John agreed.
Dictation made him very nervous at first; but with a little practice hebegan to enjoy it, and ultimately it became something in the nature of avice. He dictated immensely long letters to friends whose very existencehe had forgotten for years, the result of which abrupt revivals ofintercourse was a shower of appeals to lend money to these companions ofhis youth. Yet this result did not discourage him from the habit ofdictating for dictation's sake, and every night before he turned over togo to sleep he used to poke about in the rubbish-heap of the past formore forgotten friends. As a set off to incommoding himself with a hostof unnecessary correspondents he became meticulously businesslike, andafter having neglected Miss Janet Bond for several weeks he began towrite to her daily about the progress of the play, which notwithstandinghis passion for dictation really was progressing at last. Indeed heworked up the manageress of the Parthenon to such a pitch of excitementthat one morning she appeared suddenly at Church Row and made a dramaticentrance into the library when John, who had for the moment exhaustedhis list of friends, was dictating a letter to _The Times_ about thecondition of some trees on Hampstead Heath.
"I've broken in upon your inspiration," boomed Miss Bond in tones thatshe usually reserved for her most intensely tragic moments.
In vain did the author asseverate that he was delighted to see her; sherushed away without another word; but that evening she wrote him anecstatic letter from her dressing-room about what it had meant to herand what it always would mean to her to think of his working like thatfor her.
"But we mustn't deride Janet Bond," said the author to his secretary,who was looking contemptuously at the actress's heavy caligraphy. "Wemust remember that she will create Joan of Arc."
"Yes, it's a pity, isn't it?" Miss Hamilton commented, dryly.
"Oh, but won't you allow that she's a great actress?"
"I will indeed," she murmured with an emphatic nod.
Carried along upon his flood of correspondence John nevertheless managedto steer clear of his relations, and in his present frame of mind he wasinclined to attribute his successful course like everything else thatwas prospering just now to the advent of Miss Hamilton. However, it wastoo much to expect that with his newly discovered talent he shouldresist dictating at any
rate one epistolary sermon to his youngestbrother, of whose arrival at Ambles he had been sharply notified byHilda. This weighty address took up nearly a whole morning, and when itwas finished John was disconcerted by Miss Hamilton's saying:
"You don't really want me to type all this out?"
"Why not?"
"Oh, I don't know. But it seems to me that whatever he's done this won'tmake him repent. You don't mind my criticizing you?"
"I asked you to," he reminded her.
"Well, it seems to me a little false--a little, if I may say so,complacently wrathful. It's the sort of thing I seem to remember readingand laughing at in old-fashioned books. Of course, I'll type it out atonce if you insist, but it's already after twelve o'clock, and we haveto go over the material for the third act. I can't somehow fit in whatyou've just been dictating with what you were telling me yesterday aboutthe scene between Gilles de Rais and Joan. I'm so afraid that you'llmake Joan preach, and of course she mustn't preach, must she?"
"All right," conceded John, trying not to appear mortified. "If youthink it isn't worth sending, I won't send it."
He fancied that she would be moved by his sensitiveness to her judgment;but, without a tremor, she tore the pages out of her shorthand book andthrew them into the waste-paper basket. John stared at the ruthlessyoung woman in dismay.
"Didn't you mean me to take you at your word?" she asked, severely.
He was not altogether sure that he had, but he lacked the courage totell her so and checked an impulse to rescue his stillborn sermon fromthe grave.
"Though I don't quite like the idea of leaving my brother at Ambles withnothing to occupy his energies," John went on, meditatively, "I'mdoubtful of the prudence of exposing him to the temptations ofidleness."
"If you want to give him something to do, why don't you intrust him withgetting ready the house for your Christmas party? You are alwaysworrying about its emptiness."
"But isn't that putting in his way temptations of a more positive kind?"he suggested.
"Not if you set a limit to your expenditure. Can you trust his taste? Heought to be an adept at furnishings."
"Oh, I think he'd do the actual furnishing very well. But won't it seemas if I am overlooking his abominable behavior too easily?"
With a great effort John kept his eyes averted from the waste-paperbasket.
"You must either do that or refuse to have anything more to do withhim," Miss Hamilton declared. "You can't expect him to be the mirror ofyour moral superiority for the rest of his life."
"You seem to take quite an interest in him," said John, a littleresentfully.
Miss Hamilton shrugged her shoulders.
"All right," he added, hurriedly. "I'll authorize him to prepare thehouse for Christmas. He must fight his own battles with my sister,Hilda. At any rate, it will annoy her."
Miss Hamilton shook her head in mock reproof.
"Act Three. Scene One," the dramatist announced in the voice of a mysticwho has at last shaken himself free from earthly clogs and is about toachieve levitation. It was consoling to perceive that his secretary'sexpression changed in accord with his own, and John decided that shereally was a most attractive young woman and not so unsympathetic as hehad been upon the verge of thinking. Moreover, she was right. Theimportant thing at present, the only thing, in fact, was the progress ofthe play, and it was for this very purpose that he had secured hercollaboration--well, perhaps collaboration was too strong a word--but,indeed, so completely had she identified herself with his work thatreally he could almost call it collaboration. He ought not to tax hisinvention at this critical point with such a minor problem as thepreparation of Ambles for a family reunion. Relations must go to thedeuce in their own way, at any rate until the rough draft of the thirdact was finished, which, under present favorable conditions, mighteasily happen before Christmas. His secretary was always careful not toworry him with her own domestic bothers, though he knew by the way shehad once or twice referred to her mother that she was having her ownhard fight at home. He had once proposed calling upon the old lady; butDoris had quickly squashed the suggestion. John liked to think aboutMrs. Hamilton, because through some obscure process of logic it gave himan excuse to think about her daughter as Doris. In other connections hethought of her formally as Miss Hamilton, and often told himself howlucky it was that so charming and accomplished a young woman should beso obviously indifferent to--well, not exactly to himself, but surely hemight allege to anything except himself as a romantic playwright.
Meanwhile, the play itself marched on with apparent smoothness, untilone morning John dictated the following letter to his star:
* * * * *
MY DEAR MISS BOND,--Much against my will, I have come to the conclusionthat without a human love interest a play about Joan of Arc isimpossible. You will be surprised by my abrupt change of front, and youwill smile to yourself when you remember how earnestly I argued againstyour suggestion that I might ultimately be compelled to introduce ahuman love interest. The fact of the matter is that now I have arrivedat the third act I find patriotism too abstract an emotion for thestage. As you know, my idea was to make Joan so much positivelyenamoured of her country that the ordinary love interest would besuperseded. I shall continue to keep Joan herself heart free; but I dothink that it would be effective to have at any rate two people in lovewith her. My notion is to introduce a devoted young peasant who willfollow her from her native village, first to the court at Chinon, and soon right through the play until the last fatal scene in the market placeat Rouen. I'm sure such a simple lover could be made very moving, andthe contrast would be valuable; moreover, it strikes me as a perfectlynatural situation. Further, I propose that Gilles de Rais should notonly be in love with her, but that he should actually declare his love,and that she should for a brief moment be tempted to return it, finallyspurning him as a temptation of the Devil, and thereby reducing him tosuch a state of despair that he is led into the horrible practices forwhich he was finally condemned to death. Let me know your opinion soon,because I am at this moment working on the third act.
Yours very sincerely,
JOHN TOUCHWOOD.
* * * * *
To which Miss Bond replied by telegram:
* * * * *
Complete confidence in you, and think suggestion magnificent, thereshould be exit speech of renunciation for Joan to bring down curtain ofthird act.
JANET BOND.
* * * * *
"You agree with these suggestions?" John asked his secretary.
"Like Miss Bond, I have complete confidence in you," she replied.
He looked at her earnestly to see if she was laughing at him, and putdown his pen.
"Do you know that in some ways you yourself remind me of Joan?"
It was a habit of John's, who had a brain like a fly's eye, to perceivehistorical resemblances that were denied to an ordinary vision.Generally he discovered these reincarnations of the past in his ownpersonality. While he was writing _The Fall of Babylon_ he actuallyfretted himself for a time over a fancied similarity between hischaracter and Nebuchadnezzar's, and sometimes used to wonder if he wasputting too much of himself into his portrayal of that dim potentate;and during his composition of _Lucretia_ he was so profoundly convincedthat Caesar Borgia was simply John Touchwood over again in a morepassionate period and a more picturesque costume that, as the criticspointed out, he presented the world with an aspect of him that wouldnever have been recognized by Machiavelli. Yet, even when Harold wasbeing most unpleasant, or when Viola and Bertram were deafening hishousehold, John could not bring himself to believe that he and Gilles deRais, who was proved to have tortured over three hundred children todeath, had many similar traits; nor was he willing to admit more than amost superficial likeness to the feeble Dauphin Charles. In fact, at onetime he was so much discouraged by his inability to adumbrate himself inany of his
personages that he began to regret his choice of Joan of Arcand to wish that he had persevered in his intention to write a playabout Sir Walter Raleigh, with whom, allowing for the sundering years,he felt he had more in common than with any other historical figure.Therefore he was relieved to discover this resemblance between hisheroine and his secretary, in whom he was beginning to take nearly asmuch interest as in himself.
"Do you mean outwardly?" asked Miss Hamilton, looking at an engraving ofthe bust from the church of St. Maurice, Orleans. "If so, I hope hercomplexion wasn't really as scaly as that."
"No, I mean in character."
"I suppose a private secretary ought not to say 'what nonsense' to heremployer, but really what else can I say? You might as well compare IdaMerritt to Joan of Arc; in fact, she really is rather like my conceptionof her."
"I'm sorry you find the comparison so far-fetched," John said, huffily."It wasn't intended to be uncomplimentary."
"Have you decided to introduce those wolves in the first act, because Ithink I ought to begin making inquiries about suitable dogs?"
When Miss Hamilton rushed away from the personal like this, John used toregret that he had changed their relationship from one of friendship toone of business. Although he admired practicalness, he realized that itwas possible to be too practical, and he sighed sometimes for the tonethat his unknown admirers took when they wrote to him about his work.Only that morning he had received a letter from one of these, which hehad tossed across the table for his secretary's perusal before hedictated a graceful reply.
* * * * *
HILLCREST,
Highfield Road,
Hornsey, N.,
_Dec. 14, 1910_.
DEAR SIR:--I have never written to an author before, but I cannot helpwriting to ask you _when_ you are going to give us another play. Icannot tell you how much I enjoy your plays--they take me into anotherworld. Please do not imagine that I am an enthusiastic schoolgirl. I amthe mother of four dear little children, and my husband and I both actin a dramatic club at Hornsey. We are very anxious to perform one ofyour plays, but the committee is afraid of the expense. I suppose itwould be asking too much of you to lend us some of the costumes of _TheFall of Babylon_. I think it is your greatest work up till now, and Isimply live in all those wonderful old cities now and read everything Ican find about them. I was brought up very strictly when I was young andgrew to hate the Bible--please do not be shocked at this--but since Isaw _The Fall of Babylon_ I have taken to reading it again. I went ninetimes--twice in the gallery, three times in the pit, twice in the uppercircle and twice in the dress circle, once in the fifth row at the sideand once right in the middle of the front row! I cut out the enclosedphoto of you from _The Tatler_, and, would it be asking too much to signyour name? Hoping for the pleasure of a reply, I remain,
Your sincere admirer,
(MRS.) ENID FOSTER.
* * * * *
"What extraordinary lunatics there are in this world," Miss Hamilton hadcommented. "Have you noticed the one constant factor in these letters?All the women begin by saying that it is the first time they have everwritten to an author; of course, they would say the same thing to a manwho kissed them. The men, however, try to convey that they're in thehabit of writing to authors. I think there's a moral to be extractedfrom that observation."
Now, John had not yet attained--and perhaps it was improbable that heever would attain--those cold summits of art out of reach alike of thestill, sad music and the hurdy-gurdies of humanity, so that theseletters from unknown men and women, were they never so foolish,titillated his vanity, which he called "appealing to his imagination."
"One must try to put oneself in the writer's place," he had urged,reproachfully.
"Um--yes, but I can't help thinking of Mrs. Enid Foster living in thosewonderful old cities. Her household will crash like Babylon if she isn'tcareful, and her family will be reduced to eating grass likeNebuchadnezzar, if the green-grocer's book is neglected any longer."
"You won't allow the suburbs to be touched by poetry?"
John had tried to convey in his tone that Miss Hamilton in criticizingthe enthusiasm of Mrs. Foster was depreciating his own work. But she hadseemed quite unconscious of having rather offended him and had takendown his answer without excusing herself. Now when in a spirit that wastruly forgiving he had actually compared her to his beloved heroine, shehad scoffed at him as if he was a kind of Mrs. Foster himself.
"You're very matter-of-fact," he muttered.
"Isn't that a rather desirable quality in a secretary?"
"Yes, but I think you might have waited to hear why you reminded me ofJoan of Arc before you began talking about those confounded wolves,which, by the way, I have decided to cut out."
"Don't cut out a good effect just because you're annoyed with me," sheadvised.
"Oh no, there are other reasons," said John, loftily. "It is possiblethat in an opening tableau the audience may not appreciate that they arewolves, and if they think they're only a lot of stray dogs, the effectwill go for nothing. It was merely a passing idea, and I have discardedit."
Miss Hamilton left him to go and type out the morning's correspondence,and John settled down to a speech by the Maid on the subject ofperpetual celibacy: he wrote a very good one.
"She may laugh at me," said the author to himself, "but she _is_ likeJoan--extraordinarily like. Why, I can hear her making this veryspeech."
Miss Hamilton might sometimes profane John's poetic sanctuaries andsometimes pull his leg when he was on tiptoe for a flight like Mr.Keats' sweetpeas, but she made existence much more pleasant for him, andhe had already reached the stage of wondering how he had ever managed toget along without her. He even went so far in his passion for historicalparallels as to compare his situation before she came to the realm ofFrance before Joan of Arc took it in hand. He knew in his heart thatthese weeks before Christmas were unnaturally calm; he had no hope ofprolonging this halcyon time much further; but while it lasted he wouldenjoy it to the full. Any one who had overheard John announcing to hisreflection in the glass an unbridled hedonism for the immediate futuremight have been pardoned for supposing that he was about to amusehimself in a very desperate fashion. As a matter of fact, the averredintention was due to nothing more exciting than the prospect of a longwalk over the Heath with Miss Hamilton to discuss an outline of thefourth act, which John knew would gradually be filled in with his plansfor writing other plays and finally be colored by a conversation, or,anyhow, a monologue about himself as a human being without reference tohimself as an author.
"What is so delightful about Miss Hamilton," he assured that credulousand complaisant reflection, "is the way one can talk to her withoutthere being the least danger of her supposing that one has any ulteriorobject in view. Notwithstanding all the rich externals of the past, I'mbound to confess that the relations between men and women are far morenatural nowadays. I suppose it was the bicycle that began femaleemancipation; had bicycles been invented in the time of Joan of Arc shewould scarcely have had to face so much ecclesiastical criticism of herbehavior."
The walk was a success; amongst other things, John discovered that if hehad had a sister like Miss Hamilton, most of his family troubles wouldnever have arisen. He shook his head sadly at the thought that once upona time he had tried to imagine a Miss Hamilton in Edith, and in a burstof self-revelation, like the brief appearance of two or three acres ofdefinitely blue sky overhead, he assured his secretary that her cominghad made a difference to his whole life.
"Well, of course you get through much more in the day now," she agreed.
John would have liked a less practical response, but he made the best ofit.
"I've got so much wrapped up in the play," he said, "that I'm wonderingnow if I shall be able to tear myself away from London for Christmas. Idread the idea of a complete break--especially with the most interestingportion just coming along. I think I must ask you to take you
r holidaylater in the year, if you don't mind."
He had got it out, and if he could have patted himself on the backwithout appearing ridiculous in a public thoroughfare he would have doneso. His manner might have sounded brusque, but John was sure that theleast suggestion of any other attitude except that of an employercompelled against his will to seem inconsiderate would have been fatal.
"That would mean leaving my mother alone," said Miss Hamilton,doubtfully.
John looked sympathetic, but firm, when he agreed with her.
"She would understand that literary work takes no account of the churchcalendar," he pointed out. "After all, what is Christmas?"
"Unfortunately, my mother is already very much offended with me forworking with you at all. Oh, well, bother relations!" she exclaimed,vehemently. "I'm going to be selfish in future. All right, if youinsist, I must obey--or lose my job, eh?"
"I might have to engage a locum tenens. You see, now that I've got intothe habit of dictating my letters and relying upon somebody else to keepmy references in order and--"
"Yes, yes," she interrupted. "I quite see that it would put you to greatinconvenience if I cried off. All the same, I can't help being worriedby the notion of leaving mother alone on Christmas Day itself. Whyshouldn't I join you on the day after?"
"The very thing," John decided. "I will leave London on Christmas Eve,and you shall come down on Boxing Day. But I should travel in themorning, if I were you. It's apt to be unpleasant, traveling in theevening on a Bank Holiday. Hullo, here we are! This walk has given me atremendous appetite, and I do feel that we've made a splendid start withthe fourth act, don't you?"
"The fourth act?" repeated his secretary. "It seems to me that most ofthe time you were talking about the position of women in modern life."
John laughed gayly.
"Ah, I see you haven't even yet absolutely grasped my method of work. Iwas thinking all the while of Joan's speech to her accusers. I canassure you that all my remarks were entirely relevant to what I had inmy head. That's the way I get my atmosphere. I told you that youreminded me of her, but you wouldn't believe me. In doublet and hose youwould be Joan."
"Should I? I think I should look more like Dick Whittington in a touringpantomime. My legs are too thin for tights."
"By the way, I wonder if Janet Bond has good legs?" said John,pensively.
It was charming to be able to talk about women's legs like this withoutthere being the slightest suggestion that they had any; yet, somehow theleast promising topics were rehabilitated by the company of MissHamilton, and most of them, even the oldest, acquired a new andabsorbing interest. John had registered a vow on the first day hissecretary came that he would watch carefully for the least signs ofrosifying her and he had renewed this vow every morning before hisglass; but it was sometimes difficult not to attribute to her all sortsof mysterious fascinations, as on those occasions when he would havekept her working later than usual in the afternoon and when she wouldhave been persuaded to stay for tea, for which she made a point ofgetting home to please her mother, who gave it a grand importance. Johnwas convinced that even James would forgive him for thinking that in allEngland there was not a more competent, a more charming, a more--he usedto pull himself up guiltily at about the third comparative and stiflehis fancies in the particularly delicious cake that Mrs. Worfolk alwaysseemed to provide on the days when his secretary stayed to tea.
It was on one of these rosified afternoons, full of candlelight andfirelight and the warmed scent of hyacinths that Miss Hamilton ralliedJohn about his exaggerated dread of his relations.
"For I've been working with you now for nearly three weeks, and you'venot been bothered by them once," she declared.
"My name! My name!" he cried. "Touchwood?"
"I begin to think it's nothing but an affectation," she persisted."_You're_ not pestered by charitable uncles who want to boast of whatthey've done for their poor brother's only daughter. _You're_ not madeto feel that you've wrecked your mother's old age by earning your ownliving."
"Yes, they have been quiet recently," he admitted. "But there was such aterrible outbreak of Family Influenza just before you came that somesort of prostration for a time was inevitable. I hope you don't expectmy brother, Hugh, to commit a forgery every week. Besides, thatexcellent suggestion of yours about preparing Ambles for Christmas haskept him busy, and probably all the rest of them down there too. Butit's odd you should raise the subject, because I was going to proposeyour having supper here some Sunday soon and inviting my eldest brotherand his wife to meet you."
"To-morrow is the last Sunday before Christmas. The Sunday after isChristmas Day."
"Is it really? Then I must dictate an invitation for to-morrow, and Imust begin to see about presents on Monday. By Jove, how time hasflown!"
"After all, what is Christmas?" she laughed.
"Oh, you must expect children to be excited about it," John murmured. "Idon't like to disappoint _them_. But I'd no idea Christmas was on top ofus like this. You'll help me with my shopping next week? I hope togoodness Eleanor won't come and bother me. She'll be getting back totown to-morrow. It's really extraordinary, the way the time has passed."
John dictated an urgent invitation to James and Beatrice to sup withthem the following evening, and since it was too late to let them knowby post, he decided to see Miss Hamilton as far as the tube and leavethe note in person at Hill Road.
James arrived for supper in a most truculent mood, and this beingaggravated by his brother's burgundy, of which he drank a good deal,referring to it all the while as poison, much to John's annoyance,embroiled him half way through supper in an argument with Miss Hamiltonon the subject of feminine intelligence.
"Women are not intelligent," he shouted. "The glimmering intelligencethey sometimes appear to exhibit is only one of their numerous sexualallurements. A woman thinks with her nerves, reasons with her emotions,and speculates with her sensations."
"Rubbish," said Miss Hamilton, emphatically.
"Now, Jimmie dear," his wife put in, "you'll only have indigestion ifyou get excited while you're eatin'."
"I shall have indigestion anyway," growled her husband. "My liver willbe like dough to-morrow after this burgundy. I ought to drink a lightmoselle."
"Well, you can have moselle," John began.
"I loathe moselle. I'd as soon drink syrup of squills," James bellowed.
"All right, you shall have syrup of squills next time."
"Oh, Johnnie," Beatrice interposed with a wide reproachful smile."Jimmie's only joking. He doesn't really like syrup of squills."
"For heaven's sake, don't try to analyze my tastes," said James to hiswife.
John threw a glance at Miss Hamilton, which was meant to express "Whatdid I tell you?" But she was blind to his signal and only intent uponattacking James on behalf of her sex.
"Women have not the same kind of intelligence as men," she began,"because it is denied to them by their physical constitution. But theyhave, I insist, a supplementary intelligence without which the greatmasculine minds would be as ineffective as convulsions of nature. Womenwork like the coral polyps...."
"Bravo!" John cried. "A capital comparison!"
"An absurd comparison!" James contradicted. "A ludicrous comparison!Woman is purely individualistic. The moment she begins to take up withcommunal effort, she tends to become sterile."
"Do get on with your supper, dear," urged Beatrice, who had onlyunderstood the last word and was anxious not "to be made to feel small,"as she would have put it, in front of an unmarried woman.
John perceived her mortification and jumped through the argument as aclown through a paper hoop.
"Remember I'm expecting you both at Ambles on Christmas Eve," he said,boisterously. "We're going to have a real old-fashioned Christmasparty."
James forgot all about women in his indignation; but before he couldexpress his opinion Beatrice held up another paper hoop for thedistraction of the audience.
"I'm sim
ply longin' for the country," she declared. "Christmas with alot of children is the nicest thing I know."
John went through the hoop with aplomb and refused to be unseated by hisbrother.
"James will enjoy it more than any of us," he chuckled.
"What!" shouted the critic. "I'd sooner be wrecked on a desert islandwith nothing to read but a sixpenny edition of the Christmas Carol.Ugh!"
John looked at Miss Hamilton again, and this time his appeal was notunheeded; she said no more about women and let James rail on atsentimental festivities, which, by the time he had finished with them,looked as irreparable as the remains of the tipsy-cake. There seemed noreason amid the universal collapse of tradition to conserve the habit ofletting the ladies retire after dinner. As there was no drawing-room inhis bachelor household, it would have been more comfortable to smokeupstairs in the library; but James returned to Fielding afterdemolishing Dickens and protested against being made to hurry over hisport; so his host had to watch Beatrice escort Miss Hamilton from thedining-room with considerable resentment at what he thought was herunjustifiably protective manner.
"As my secretary," he felt, "Miss Hamilton is more at home in my housethan Beatrice is. I suppose, though, that like everything else I have myrelations are going to take possession of her now."
"Where did you pick up your lady-help?" James asked, when he and hisbrother were left alone with the wine.
"If you're alluding to Miss Hamilton," John said, sharply, "I met her onboard the _Murmania_, crossing the Atlantic."
"I never heard any good come of traveling acquaintances. She has a goodcomplexion; I suppose she took your eye by not being seasick. Beware ofwomen with good complexions who aren't seasick, Johnnie. They alwaysflirt."
"Are you supposed to be warning me against my secretary?"
"Any woman who finds herself at a man's elbow is dangerous. Nurses, ofcourse, are the most notoriously dangerous--but a secretary who isn'tseasick is nearly as bad."
"Thanks very much for your brotherly concern," said John, sarcastically."You will be relieved to hear that the relationship between MissHamilton and myself is a purely practical one, and likely to remainso."
"Platonism was never practical," James answered with a snort. "It wasthe most impractical system ever imagined."
"Fortunately Miss Hamilton is sufficiently interested in her work and inmine not to bother her head about the philosophy of the affections."
James was irritating when he was criticizing contemporary literature;but his views of modern life were infuriating.
"I'm not accusing your young woman--how old is she, by the way? Abouttwenty-nine, I should guess. A damned dangerous age, Johnnie. However,as I say, I'm not accusing her of designs upon you. But a man who writesthe kind of plays that you do is capable of any extravagance, and you'remuch too old by now to be thinking about marriage."
"I don't happen to be thinking about marriage," John retorted. "But Irefuse to accept your dictum about my age. I consider that the effectsof age have been very much exaggerated by the young. You cannot call aman of forty-two old."
"You look much more than forty-two. However, one can't write plays likeyours without exposing oneself to a good deal of emotional wear andtear. No, no, you're making a great mistake in introducing a woman intothe house. Believe me, Johnnie, I'm speaking for your good. If I hadn'tmarried, I might have preserved my illusions about women and compoundedjust as profitable a dose of dramatic nux vomica as yourself."
"What do you mean by a dose of dramatic nux vomica?"
"That's my name for the sort of plays you write, which unduly acceleratethe action of the heart and make a sane person retch. However, don'ttake my remarks in ill part. I was simply commenting on the danger ofletting a good-looking young woman make herself indispensable."
"I'm glad you allow her good looks," John said, witheringly. "Any onewho was listening to our conversation would get the impression that shewas as ugly and voracious as a harpy."
"Yes, yes. She's quite good-looking. Very nice ankles."
"I haven't noticed her ankles," John said, austerely.
"You will, though," his brother replied with an encouraging laugh. "Bythe way, what's that rascal, Hugh, been doing? I hear you've replantedhim in the bosom of the family. Isn't Hugh rather too real for one ofyour Christmas parties?"
John, after some hesitation, had decided not to tell any of the othersthe details of Hugh's misdemeanor; he had even denied himself thepleasure of holding him up to George as a warning; hence the renewal ofhis interest in Hugh had struck the family as a mere piece ofsentimentality.
"Crutchley didn't seem to believe he'd ever make much of architecture,"he explained to James. "And I'm thinking of helping him to establishhimself in British Honduras."
"Bah! For less than he'll cost you in British Honduras you couldestablish me as the editor of a new critical weekly," James grunted.
"There is still time for Hugh to make something of his life," Johnreplied. He had not had the slightest intention of trying to score offhis eldest brother by this remark, and he was shocked to see what aspasm of ill will twisted up his face.
"I suppose your young woman is responsible for this sudden solicitudefor Hugh's career? I suppose it's she who has persuaded you that he haspossibilities? You take care, Johnnie. You can't manipulate the villainin life as you can on the stage."
Now, Miss Hamilton, though she had not met him, had shown just enoughinterest in Hugh to give these remarks a sting; and John must have beenobviously taken aback, for the critic at once recovered his good humorand proposed joining the ladies upstairs. Beatrice was sitting by thefire; her husband's absence had allowed her to begin the digestion of anunusually good dinner in peace, and the smoothness of her countenancemade her look more than ever like a cabinet photograph of the early'nineties. Miss Hamilton, on the other hand, seemed bored, and verysoon she declared that she must go home lest her mother should beanxious.
"Oh, you have a mother?" James observed in such a tone that John thoughtit was the most offensive remark of the many he had heard him make thatevening. He hoped that Miss Hamilton would not abandon him after thisfirst encounter with his relations, and he tried to ascertain herimpressions while she was putting on her things in the hall.
"I'm afraid you've had a very dull evening," he murmured,apologetically. "I hope my sister-in-law wasn't more tiresome thanusual. What did she talk about?"
"She was warning me--no, I won't be malicious--she was explaining to methe difficulties of an author's wife."
"Yes, poor thing; I'm afraid my brother must be very trying to livewith. I hope you were sympathetic?"
"So sympathetic," Miss Hamilton replied, with a mocking glance, "that Itold her I was never likely to make the experiment. Good night, Mr.Touchwood. To-morrow as usual."
She hurried down the steps and was gone before he could utter a word.
"I don't think she need have said that," he murmured to himself on hisway back to the library. "I've no doubt Beatrice was very trying; but Ireally don't think she need have said that to me. It wasn't worthrepeating such a stupid remark. That's the way things acquire an undueimportance."
With John's entrance the conversation returned to Miss Hamilton; but,though it was nearly all implied criticism of his new secretary, he hadno desire to change the topic. She was much more interesting than theweekly bills at Hill Road, and he listened without contradiction to hisbrother's qualms about her experience and his sister-in-law's regretsfor her lack of it.
"However," said John to his reflection when he was undressing, "they'vegot to make the best of her, even if they all think the worse. And thebeauty of it is that they can't occupy her as they can occupy a house. Imust see about getting Hugh off to the Colonies soon. If I don't findout about British Honduras, he can always go to Canada or Australia. Itisn't good for him to hang about in England."
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