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 The original of this book is in 
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 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924006842581 
 
A TRUE WOMAN 
 
A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 BY 
 
 BARONESS ORCZY 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE ELUSIVE PIMPERNEL," "I WILL REPAY," 
 
 "THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL," ETC. 
 
 "For like as the ground is given unto the wood 
 and the sea to his floods : even so they that dwell 
 upon the earth may understand nothing but that 
 which is upon the earth." — 2 Esdras iv. 21, 
 
 London: HUTCHINSON & CO! 
 Paternoster Row «S» «S«» <*» 1911 
 
 
All rights of dramatization strictly reserved^ a copyright 
 
 performance of a play of the same name and founded on 
 
 this novel having taken place. 
 
 rfi 
 
TO KATHERINE 
 LADY DEMPSTER METCALFE 
 
 Friends such as you are indeed the gift 
 of heaven. 
 
 To you therefore I inscribe this book, 
 both in remembrance of the 7th day of 
 November, 1894, which you helped to make 
 the happiest of my life, and because I feel 
 that, given the circumstances in life, you 
 would always act as and remain a true 
 woman. 
 
 Emmuska Orczy. 
 
 Snowfibld, 
 
 March, 191 1. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Which tells of a very commonplace incident . i 
 
 II. Once more the obvious . . . . 13 
 
 III. And now almost like a dream 16 
 
 IV. Nothing really tangible . 32 
 V. Just an obvious duty . . . 40 
 
 VI. Just a disagreeable old man . . . 47 
 
 VII. The part played by a five-pound note . 52 
 
 VIII. And thus the shadow descended . 62 
 
 IX. Which tells of the inevitable result . . 69 
 
 X. Life must go on just the same . . 77 
 
 XI. And there are social duties to perform . . 90 
 
 XII. Shall a man escape his fate ? . 99 
 
 XIII. They have no heart . ... 103 
 
 XIV. The tale had to be told . . . 114 
 XV. And many must be questioned . .122 
 
 XVI. And the puppets danced . . 130 
 
 XVII. And what of the secret? . . . 136 
 
 XVIII. It would not do, you know . . 144 
 
 XIX. Not all about it . . 150 
 
 XX. And that's the truth . . . . 162 
 
 XXI. Have another cigar . . 170 
 
 XXII. Then the miracle was wrought . 182 
 
 XXI I L Why all this mystery? . . . . 195 
 
 XXIV. A herd of cackling geese 199 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXV. The fog was dense, I couldn't rightly see . . 208 
 
 XXVI. The next witness, please . . . . 217 
 
 XXVII. And people went out to luncheon . . 223 
 
 XXVIII. Which tells of an unexpected turn of events . 236 
 
 XXIX. The world is so large . . . . 244 
 
 XXX. And then every one went home . . .255 
 
 XXXI. And there are people who do not care . . 260 
 
 XXXII. A man must act as he thinks best . . . 267 
 
 XXXIII. If you would only let yourself go . . . 273 
 
 XXXIV. Which only speaks of farewells . . . 287 
 XXXV. Which tells of pictures in the fire . . . 294 
 
 XXXVI. People don't do that sort of thing . . . 300 
 
 XXXVII. It is one human life against the other . . 314 
 
 XXXVIII. The hand of death was on him too . . 319 
 
 XXXIX. A mere woman fighting for the thing she loved 327 
 
 XL. And thus her hour had come . . . 338 
 
 XLI. Which tells of the contents of the notebook . 342 
 
 X L 1 1 . Which tells once more of commonplace incidents 349 
 
A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WHICH TELLS OF A VEKY COMMONPLACE INCIDENT 
 
 "VTO ! no ! she was not going to gush ! — Not even 
 -*- » though there was nothing in the room at this 
 moment to stand up afterwards before her as dumb 
 witness to a moment's possible weakness. Less than 
 nothing, in fact : space might have spoken and 
 recalled that moment . . . infinite nothingness might 
 at some future time have brought back the memory of 
 it . . . but these dumb, impassive objects ! . . . the 
 fountain pen between her fingers ! the dull, unin- 
 teresting hotel furniture covered in red velvet — an 
 uninviting red that repelled dreaminess and peace ! — 
 the ormolu clock which had ceased long ago to mark 
 the passage of time, wearied — as it no doubt was, poor 
 thing — by the monotonous burden of a bronze Psyche 
 gazing on her shiny brown charms, in an utterly blank 
 and unreflective bronze mirror, while obviously be- 
 moaning the fracture of one of her smooth bronze 
 thighs ! Indeed, Louisa might well have given way to 
 that overmastering feeling of excitement before all 
 
2 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 these things. They would neither see nor hear. They 
 would never deride, for they could never remember. 
 
 But a wood fire crackled in the small hearth . . . 
 and . . . and those citron-coloured carnations were 
 favourite flowers of his . . . and his picture did stand 
 on the top of that ugly little Louis Philippe bureau. 
 ... No ! no ! it would never do to gush — f or these 
 things would see . . . and though they might not 
 remember they would remind. 
 
 And Louisa counted herself one of the strong ones 
 of this earth. Just think of her name! Have you 
 ever known a Louisa who gushed, who called herself 
 the happiest woman on earth, who thought of a man — 
 just an ordinary man, mind you — as the best, the 
 handsomest, the truest, the most perfect hero of 
 romance that ever threw a radiance over the entire 
 prosy world of the twentieth century ? 
 
 Louisas, believe me, do no such thing. The Mays 
 and the Floras, the Lady Barbaras and Lady Edithas 
 look beatific and charming when — clasping their lily- 
 white hands together and raising violet eyes to the 
 patterned ceiling paper above them — they exclaim : 
 " Oh ! my hero and my king ! " 
 
 But Louisas would only look ridiculous if they be- 
 haved like that . . . Louisa Harris, too ! . . . Louisa, 
 the eldest of three sisters . . . the daughter of a 
 wealthy English gentleman with a fine estate in Kent, 
 an assured position, no troubles, no cares, nothing in 
 her life to make it sad, or sordid, or interesting . . . 
 Louisa Harris and romance ! . . . Why, she was not 
 even pretty. She had neither violet eyes nor hair of 
 
A VERY COMMONPLACE INCIDENT 3 
 
 ruddy gold. The latter was brown and the former 
 were grey. . . . How could romance come in the way 
 of grey eyes, and of a girl named Louisa ? 
 
 Can you conceive, for instance, one of those adorable 
 detrimentals of low degree and empty pockets, who 
 have a way of arousing love in the hearts of the beauti- 
 ful daughters of irascible millionaires, can you conceive 
 such an interesting personage, I say, falling in love 
 with Louisa Harris ? 
 
 I confess that I cannot. To begin with dear, kind, 
 Squire Harris was not altogether a millionaire, and not 
 at all irascible, and penniless owners of romantic 
 personalities were not on his visiting list. 
 
 Therefore Louisa, living a prosy life of luxury, got 
 up every morning, ate a copious breakfast, walked out 
 with the dogs, hunted in the autumn, skated in the 
 winter, did the London season and played tennis in 
 the summer, just like hundreds and hundreds of other 
 well-born, well-bred English girls of average means, 
 average positions, average education, hunt, dance, 
 and play tennis throughout the length and breadth 
 of this country. 
 
 There was no room for romance in such a life, no 
 time for it , . . the life itself was so full already — so 
 full of the humdrum of daily rounds, of common tasks, 
 that the heart which beat with such ordinary regularity 
 in the seemingly ordinary breast of a very ordinary 
 girl, did so all unconscious of the intense pathos which 
 underlay this very ordinary existence. 
 
 Vaguely Louisa knew that somewhere beyond even 
 the land of dreams, there lay all unknown, all mysteri- 
 
4 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 ous, a glorious world of romance : a universe peopled 
 by girlish imaginings, and the sensitive, creating 
 thoughts of poets, by the galloping phantasies of super- 
 excited brains, and the vague longings of ambitious 
 souls, a universe wherein dwelt alike the memories 
 of those who have loved and the hopes of those who 
 suffer. But when she thought of it all she did so as 
 one who from the arid plain gazes on the cool streams 
 and golden minarets which the fairy Fata Morgana 
 conjures on the horizon far away. She looked on it 
 as all unreal and altogether beyond her ken. She 
 shut her eyes to the beautiful mirage, her heart against 
 its childish yearnings. 
 
 Such things did not exist. They were not for her — 
 Louisa Harris. The little kitchenmaid at the Court, 
 who on Sunday evenings went off giggling, her chubby 
 face glowing with pride and the result of recent 
 ablutions, on the arm of Jim the third gardener, knew 
 more about that world of romance than well-bred, 
 well-born young ladies ever dreamed of in their 
 commonplace philosophy. 
 
 And Louisa Harris had always shut down the book 
 which spoke of such impossible things, and counted 
 herself one of the strong ones of the earth. 
 
 Therefore now with Luke's letter in her hand, in 
 which he tells her in a very few words that he loves her 
 beyond anything on earth and that he only waits the 
 day when he can call her his own, his very own dearly 
 loved wife, why should Louisa — prosy, healthy-minded, 
 healthy-bodied Louisa — suddenly imagine that the 
 whole world is transfigured — that the hotel room 
 
A VERY COMMONPLACE INCIDENT 5 
 
 is a kind of ante-chamber to heaven — that the red 
 velvet, uncompromising chairs are clouds of a roseate 
 hue, and that the bronze Psyche with the broken thigh 
 is the elusive fairy who with Morgana-like wand hath 
 conjured up this mirage of glorious visions which 
 mayhap would vanish again before long ? 
 
 She went up to the window and rested her forehead 
 against the cool pane. She might be ever so strong, she 
 could not help her forehead f eeling hot and her eyes being 
 full of tears . . . tears that did not hurt as they fell. 
 
 Outside the weather was indeed prosy and common- 
 place. Rain coming down in torrents and beating 
 against the newspaper kiosque over the way, on the 
 roofs of tramways and taxi-autos, making the electric 
 light peep dimly through the veil of wet, drowning by 
 its incessant patter, to which the gusts of a November 
 gale made fitful if loud accompaniment, the shouts 
 of the cochers on their boxes, the rattle of wheels 
 on the stone pavement, even at times the shrill whistle 
 for cabs emanating from the porch of the brilliantly 
 lighted Palace Hotel. 
 
 It was close on half -past six by the clock of the Gard 
 du Nord opposite. The express from Ostend had 
 just come in — very late, of course, owing to the gale 
 which had delayed the mail boat. Louisa, straining her 
 eyes, watched the excited crowd pouring out of the 
 station in the wake of porters and of piles of luggage 
 jabbering, shouting and fussing like an army of irre- 
 sponsible pigmies : men in blouses and men in im- 
 maculate bowler hats, women wrapped in furs, clinging 
 to gigantic headgear that threatened to leave the safe 
 
6 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 refuge of an elaborate coiffure or of well-fixed gar- 
 gantuan hatpins, midinettes in fashionable skirts and 
 high-heeled shoes, countrywomen in wool shawls that 
 flapped round their bulky forms like the wings of an 
 overfed bat ... all hurrying and jostling one another 
 in a mad endeavour to avoid the onrush of the in- 
 numerable taxi-autos, which in uncountable numbers 
 wound in and out of the slower-moving traffic like the 
 erratic thread of some living tangled skein. 
 
 Just the everyday prosy life of a small but ambitious 
 capital, struggling in the midst of an almost over- 
 powering sense of responsibility towards the whole of 
 Europe in view of its recent great Colonial expansion. 
 
 Louisa gave an impatient sigh. 
 
 Even the strong ones of the earth get wearied of the 
 daily round, the common task at times. She and aunt 
 were due to dine at the British Embassy at eight 
 o'clock ; it was only half-past six now, and obviously 
 impossible to sit another hour in this unresponsive 
 hotel room in the company of red velvet chairs and 
 the bronze Psyche. 
 
 Aunt, in conjunction with her maid, Annette, was 
 busy laying the foundations of an elaborate toilette. 
 Louisa was free to do as she pleased. She got a 
 serviceable ulster and a diminutive hat and sallied 
 forth into the streets. She did not want to think or to 
 dream, nor perhaps did she altogether wish to work 
 off that unusual feeling of excitement which had so 
 unaccountably transformed her ever since Luke's letter 
 had come. 
 
 All she wanted was to be alone, and to come out of 
 
A VERY COMMONPLACE INCIDENT 7 
 
 herself for a while. She had been alone all the after- 
 noon, save for that brief half-hour when aunt discussed 
 the obvious over a badly brewed cup of tea ; it was 
 not that kind of " alone "-ness which Louisa wanted 
 now, but rather the solitude which a crowded street 
 has above all the power to give. 
 
 There is a kind of sociability in any room, be it ever 
 so uncompromising in the matter of discomfort, but a 
 crowded street can be unutterably lonely, either 
 cruelly so or kindly, as the case may be. 
 
 To Louisa Harris, the commonplace society girl, 
 accustomed to tea-fights, to dances and to dinner 
 parties, the loneliness of this crowded little city was 
 eminently welcome. With her dark ulster closely 
 buttoned to the throat, the small hat tied under her 
 chin, with everything on her weatherproof and un- 
 fashionable, she attracted no notice from the passer-by. 
 
 Not one head was turned as, with a long breath of 
 delight, she sallied forth from under the portico of the 
 hotel out into the muddy, busy street ; not one glance 
 of curiosity or interest so freely bestowed in the streets 
 of foreign capitals on a solitary female figure if it be 
 young and comely, followed this very ordinary- 
 looking English miss. 
 
 To the crowd she was indifferent. These men and 
 women hurrying along, pushing, jostling and scurrying, 
 knew nothing of Luke, nor that she, Louisa Harris, 
 was the happiest woman on earth. 
 
 She turned back towards the Boulevards, meaning to 
 take a brisk walk all along the avenue of trees which 
 makes a circuit round the inner part of the town and 
 
8 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 which ultimately would lead her back to the Gard du 
 Nord and the Palace Hotel. It was a walk she had 
 often done before : save for one or two busy corners 
 on the way, it would be fairly solitary and peaceful. 
 
 Louisa stepped out with an honest British tread, 
 hands buried in the pockets of her serviceable ulster, 
 head bent against the sudden gusts of wind. She 
 did not mind the darkness of the ill-lighted, wide 
 Boulevard, and had every intention of covering the 
 two miles in a little more than half an hour. 
 
 How the time sped ! It seemed as if she had only just 
 left the hotel, and already surely not a quarter of a 
 mile away she could see ghmmering the lights of the 
 Place Namur, the half-way point of her walk. 
 
 She was in the Boulevard Waterloo, there where 
 private houses with closed portes-cocMres add nothing 
 to the municipal lighting of the thoroughfare. 
 
 Trams had been rushing past her in endless succes- 
 sion ; but now there was a lull. Close by her a taxi- 
 auto whizzed quickly past and came to a standstill 
 some hundred yards away, near to the pavement, 
 and not far from an electric light standard. 
 
 Louisa, with vacant eyes attached on that cab, 
 but with her mind fixed on a particular room in a 
 particular house in Grosvenor Square, where lived a 
 man of the name of Luke de Mountford, continued her 
 walk. Those same vacant eyes of hers presently 
 saw the chauffeur of the taxi-auto get down from his 
 box and open the door of the cab, and then her absent 
 mind was suddenly brought back from Grosvenor 
 Square, London, to the Boulevard Waterloo in Brussels, 
 
A VERY COMMONPLACE INCIDENT 9 
 
 by a terrible cry of horror which had broken from that 
 same chauffeur's lips. Instinctively Louisa hurried on, 
 but even as she did so a small crowd, which indeed 
 seemed to have sprung from nowhere, had already 
 gathered round the vehicle. 
 
 Murmurs of " What is it ? what is it ? " mingled with 
 smothered groans of terror, as curiosity caused one or 
 two of the more bold to peer into the gloomy depths 
 of the cab. Shrill calls brought a couple of gardiens 
 to the spot. In a moment Louisa found herself a 
 unit in an eager, anxious crowd asking questions, 
 conjecturing, wondering, horror-struck as soon as a 
 plausible and graphic explanation came from those 
 who were in the forefront and were privileged to see, 
 
 " A man . . . murdered . . ." 
 
 " But how '( " 
 
 " The chauffeur got down from his box . . . and 
 looked in . . . ah, mon Dieu ! " 
 
 " What did he see ? " 
 
 " A man ... he is quite young . . . only about 
 twenty years of age ..." 
 
 " Stabbed through the neck. ..." 
 
 " Stabbed ? . . . Bah . . . ! " 
 
 " Right through the neck, I tell you . . . just below 
 the ear. ... I can see the wound, quite small, as if 
 done with a skewer. ..." 
 
 " Allons ! . . . voyons! . . . voyons /" came in gruff 
 accents from the two portly gardiens who worked 
 vigorously with elbows and even feet to keep the 
 crowd somewhat at bay. 
 
 Louisa was on the fringe of the crowd. She could 
 
10 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 see nothing, of course . . . she did not wish to see that 
 which the chauffeur saw when first he opened the door 
 of his cab . . . but she stood rooted to the spot, 
 feeling that strange, unexplainable fascination which 
 one always feels, when one of those great life dramas 
 of which one reads so often and so indifferently 
 happens to be enacted within the close range of one's 
 own perception. 
 
 She gleaned a phrase here and there . . . saw the 
 horror-stricken faces of those who had seen, the placid, 
 bovine expression of the two gardiens, more inured 
 to such sights, and calmly taking notes by the light 
 of the electric standard. 
 
 " But to think that I drove that rascally murderer 
 in my cab, and put him down safe and sound not ten 
 minutes ago . . ." came with the adjunct of a loud 
 oath from the irate chauffeur. 
 
 " How did it all occur ? " 
 
 The gardiens tried to stem the flow of the driver's 
 eloquence ; such details should first be given to the 
 police — voyons ! . . . But what were two fat mouchards 
 against twenty stalwart idlers all determined to hear ? 
 . . . and then there were the women . . . they were 
 determined to know more. 
 
 Louisa bent her ear to listen. She was just outside 
 the crowd — not a part of it — and there was really no 
 morbid curiosity in her. It was only the call of the 
 imagination which is irresistible on those occasions — 
 a prosy, matter-of-fact, high-bred girl could not, just 
 then, tear herself away from that cab and the tragedy 
 which had been enacted therein in the mysterious 
 
A VERY COMMONPLACE INCIDENT 11 
 
 darkness whilst the unconscious driver sped along, 
 ignorant of the gruesome burden which he was dragging 
 to its destination. 
 
 " Voila I " he was saying with many ejaculations 
 and expletives, and a volley of excited gestures. " Out- 
 side the Pare, near the theatre, two bourgeois hailed 
 me, and one of them told me to draw up on the top of 
 the Gralerie St. Hubert, which I did. The same one — 
 the one who had told me where to go, got out, clapped 
 the door to and spoke a few words to his friend who 
 had remained inside." 
 
 " What did he say ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I couldn't hear, and I didn't listen . . . but 
 after that he told me to drive on to Boulevard Water- 
 loo, No. 34, and here I am." 
 
 " You suspected nothing ? " 
 
 " Nothing, how should I ? Two bourgeois get 
 into my cab. I see nothing ... I hear nothing . . . 
 one of them gets out and tells me to drive on further. 
 . . . How should I think there's anything wrong ? " 
 
 " What was the other man like . . . the one who 
 spoke to you . . . ? " 
 
 " Ma foi 1 1 don't know. ... It was raining so fast 
 and pitch dark just outside the Pare lights . . . and 
 he did seem to keep in the shadow . . . now I come 
 to think of it . . . and his cap— he wore a cap — was 
 pulled well over his face . . . and the collar of his 
 coat was up to his nose. It was raining so, I didn't 
 really see him properly ... I saw the other one 
 better . . . the one who has been murdered. ..." 
 
 But the rotund gardiens had had enough of this. 
 
12 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Moreover, they would hear all about it at full length 
 presently; as for the crowd ... it had no business to 
 know too much. 
 
 They hustled the excited driver back on to his 
 box, and themselves got into the cab beside It . . . 
 the dead man, stabbed in the neck from ear to ear . . . 
 the wound quite small as if it had been done with a 
 skewer. 
 
 The gardiens ordered the chauffeur to drive to the 
 Commissariat, and Louisa turned away with a slight 
 shiver down her spine and her throat choked with the 
 horror of what she had only guessed. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 ONCE MOEE THE OBVIOUS 
 
 YOU don't suppose for a moment, I hope, that a girl 
 like Louisa would allow her mind to dwell on 
 such horrors. Mysterious crimes in strange cities, 
 and in London too for the matter of that — are alas ! 
 of far too frequent occurrence to be quite as startling as 
 they should be. 
 
 A day or two later Louisa Harris and her aunt, 
 Lady Ryder, crossed over to England, They had spent 
 five weeks in Italy and one in Brussels, not with a view 
 to dreaming over the beauties of the Italian Lakes, or 
 over the art treasures collected in the museums of 
 Brussels, but because Lady Ryder had had a bronchial 
 catarrh which she could not shake off, and so her 
 doctor had ordered her a thorough change. Bellaggio 
 was selected, and Louisa accompanied her. They 
 stayed at the best hotels both in Bellaggio and in 
 Brussels, where Lady Ryder had several friends 
 whom she wished to visit before she went home. 
 
 Nothing whatever happened that should not have 
 happened ; everything was orderly and well managed ; 
 the courier and the maid saw to tickets and to luggage, 
 to hotel rooms and sleeping compartments. It was 
 obviously their mission in life to see that nothing 
 
 13 
 
14 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 untoward or unexpected happened — but only the 
 obvious. 
 
 It was clearly not their fault that Miss Harris had 
 seen a cab in which an unknown man happened to 
 have been murdered. 
 
 Louisa, with a view to preventing her aunt from 
 going to sleep after dinner and thereby spoiling her 
 night's rest, had told her of the incident which she had 
 witnessed in the Boulevard Waterloo, and Lady Ryder 
 was genuinely shocked. She vaguely felt that her 
 niece had done something unladylike and odd, which 
 was so unlike Louisa. 
 
 The latter had amused herself by scanning a number 
 of English papers in order to find out what was said in 
 London about that strange crime, which she had 
 almost witnessed-^the man stabbed through the neck, 
 from ear to ear, and the wound so small it might have 
 been done with a skewer. But with characteristic 
 indifference London paid but little heed to the mysteri- 
 ous dramas of a sister city. A brief account of the 
 gruesome discovery ... a figurative shrug of the 
 shoulders as to the incompetence of the Belgian 
 police, who held neither a clue to the perpetrator 
 of the crime nor to the identity of the victim. . . . 
 Just a stranger — an idler. Brussels was full of 
 strangers just now. His nationality ? Who knows ? 
 His individuality ? . . . there seemed no one to care. 
 The police were active, no doubt, but so far they had 
 discovered nothing. 
 
 Two men ! The murderer and the murdered en- 
 gulfed in that great whirlpool known as humanity, 
 
ONCE MORE THE OBVIOUS 15 
 
 small units of no importance, since no one seemed to 
 care. Interesting to the detective whose duty it was 
 to track the crime to its perpetrator. Interesting to 
 the reporter who could fill a column with accounts of 
 depositions, of questionings, of examinations. In- 
 teresting to the after-dinner talker who could ex- 
 patiate over the moral lessons to be drawn from the 
 conception of such a crime. 
 
 But the murdered man goes to his grave unknown ; 
 and the murderer wanders Cain-like on the face of the 
 earth ... as mysterious, as unknown, as silent as his 
 victim. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 AND NOW ALMOST LIKE A DREAM 
 
 EVERYTHING went on just as convention — 
 whose mouthpiece for the moment happened 
 to be Lady Ryder — desired, just as Louisa surmised 
 that everything would : the letters of congratulation, 
 the stately visits from and to Lord Radclyffe — Luke's 
 uncle — the magnificent diamond tiara from the latter, 
 the rope of pearls from Luke, the silver salvers and 
 inkstands, and enamel parasol handles from every- 
 body who was anybody in London society. 
 
 Louisa's portrait and that of Luke hastily and 
 cheaply reproduced in the halfpenny dailies, so that 
 she looked like a white negress with a cast in her 
 eye, and he like the mutilated hero of " L'homme qui 
 rit," the more elegant half-tone blocks in the six- 
 penny weeklies under the popular, if somewhat hack- 
 neyed heading of " The Earl of Radclyffe's heir and 
 his future bride, Miss Louisa Harris," it was all there, 
 just as it had been for hundreds of other girls and 
 hundreds of other young men before Louisa had dis- 
 covered that there was only one man in the whole 
 wide world, and that beyond the land of diamond 
 tiaras and of society weddings, there was a fairy 
 universe, immense and illimitable, whereon the sun 
 
 16 
 
AND NOW ALMOST LIKE A DREAM 17 
 
 of happiness never set, and whither no one dared 
 venture alone, only hand in hand with that other 
 being, the future mate, the pupil and teacher of love, 
 the only one that mattered. 
 
 And the wedding was to be in four weeks from this 
 day. The invitations were not out yet, for Louisa — 
 closely pressed by Luke — had only just made up her 
 mind half an hour ago about the date. Strangely 
 enough she had been in no hurry for the wedding day 
 to come. Luke had been so anxious, so crestfallen 
 when she put him off with vague promises, that she 
 herself could not account for this strange reticence 
 within her ... so unworthy a level-headed, conventional 
 woman of the world. 
 
 But the outer lobby of the fairy universe was sur- 
 passingly beautiful, and though the golden gates to 
 the inner halls beyond were ajar, and would yield 
 to the slightest pressure of Louisa's slender fingers, 
 yet she was glad to tarry awhile longer. Were they 
 not hand in hand ? What mattered waiting, since 
 eternity called beyond those golden gates ? 
 
 This morning, however, convention — still voiced by 
 Lady Ryder — was. more vigorous than was consistent 
 with outward peace. Louisa, worried by aunt, and 
 with the memory of Luke's expression of misery and 
 disappointment when last night she had again refused 
 to fix the wedding day, chided herself for her silly 
 fancies, and at eleven o'clock set out for a stroll in 
 Battersea Park, her mind made up, her unwonted fit of 
 sentimentality smothered by the louder voice of 
 common sense. 
 
18 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 She and Luke always took their walks abroad in 
 Battersea Park. In the morning hours they were 
 free there from perpetual meetings with undesired 
 company — all outside company being undesirable in 
 the lobby of the fairy universe. Louisa had promised 
 to meet Luke in the tropical garden at half-past 
 eleven. She was always punctual and he always before 
 his time ; she smart and business-like in her neat 
 tailor-made gown and close hat which defied wind and 
 rain, he always a little shamefaced when he took her 
 neatly gloved hand in his, as most English young men 
 are apt to be when sentiment for the first time happens 
 to overmaster them. 
 
 To-day she saw him coming towards her just the 
 same as on other days. He walked just as briskly and 
 held himself as erect as he always did, but the moment 
 that he was near enough for her to see his face she 
 knew that there was something very wrong in the 
 world and with him. Some one from the world of 
 eternity beyond had seen fit to push the golden gates 
 closer together, so that now they would not yield 
 quite so easily to the soft pressure of a woman's hand. 
 
 " What is it, Luke ? " she asked very quietly, as 
 soon as her fingers rested safely between his. 
 
 " What is what ? " he rejoined foolishly and speak- 
 ing like a child would, and with a forced, almost 
 inane-looking smile on his lips. 
 
 " What has happened ? " she reiterated more im- 
 patiently. 
 
 "Nothing," he replied, "that need worry you, I think. 
 Shall we sit down here ? You won't catch cold ? " And 
 
AND NOW ALMOST LIKE A DREAM 19 
 
 he indicated a seat well sheltered against the cold 
 breeze and the impertinent gaze of the passers-by. 
 
 " I never catch cold," said Louisa, smiling in spite of 
 herself at Luke's funny, awkward ways. " But we 
 won't sit down. Let us stroll up and down, shall we ? 
 You can talk better then, and tell me all about it." 
 
 " There's not much to tell at present. And no 
 occasion to worry." 
 
 " There's nothing that worries me so much as your 
 shilly-shallying, Luke, or the thought that you are 
 making futile endeavours to keep something from me," 
 she retorted almost irritably this time, for strangely 
 enough her nerves — she never knew before this that 
 she had any — were slightly on the jar this morning. 
 
 " I don't want to shilly-shally, little girl," he replied 
 gently, " nor to keep anything from you. There, will 
 you put your hand on my arm. 'Arry and 'Arriet, eh ? 
 . . . Well ! never mind. . . . There's no one to see." 
 
 He took her hand — that neatly-gloved small hand of 
 hers, and put it under his arm. For one moment it 
 seemed as if he would kiss that tiny and tantalizing 
 place just below the thumb where the pink palm shows 
 in the opening of the glove. Luke was not a demonstra- 
 tive lover, he was shy and English and abrupt, but 
 this morning — was it the breath of spring in the air, the 
 scent of the Roman hyacinths in that bed over there, 
 or merely the shadow of a tiny cloud on the uniform 
 blue of his life's horizon that gave a certain rugged 
 softness to his touch, as his hand lingered over that 
 neat glove which nestled securely in among the folds 
 of his coat sleeve ? 
 
20 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Now," she said simply. 
 
 " Have you," he asked with abrupt irrelevance, 
 " read your paper all through this morning ? " 
 
 " Not all through. Only the important headlines." 
 
 " And you saw nothing about a claim to a peerage ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Well ! that's all about it. A man has sprung up 
 from nowhere in particular, who claims to be my uncle 
 Arthur's son, and therefore heir-presumptive to the 
 title and all." 
 
 Luke heaved a deep sigh, as if with this brief if 
 ungrammatical statement his own heart had been un- 
 burdened of a tiresome load. 
 
 " Your uncle Arthur ? " she repeated, somewhat 
 bewildered. 
 
 " Yes. You never knew him, did you ? " 
 
 " No," she said, " I never knew him, though as a 
 baby I must have seen him. I was only three, I 
 think, when he died. But I never heard that he had 
 been married. I am sure father never knew." 
 
 " Nor did I, nor did Uncle Rad, nor any of us. The 
 whole thing is either a thunderbolt or a ... an 
 imposture." 
 
 " Tell me," she said, " a little more clearly, Luke 
 dear, will you ? I am feeling quite muddled." And 
 now it was she who led the way to the isolated seat 
 beneath that group of silver birch, whose baby leaves 
 trembled beneath the rough kiss of the cool April 
 breeze. 
 
 They sat down together, and on the gravelled path 
 in front of them a robin hopped half shyly, half im- 
 
AND NOW ALMOST LIKE A DREAM 21 
 
 pertinently about and gazed with tiny inquisitive 
 eyes on the doings of these big folk. All round them 
 the twitter of bird throats filled the air with its magic, 
 its hymn to the reawakened earth, and drowned in 
 this pleasing solitude the distant sounds of the busy 
 city that seemed so far away from this secluded nook 
 inhabited by birds and flowers, and by two dwellers 
 in Fata Morgana's land. 
 
 " Tell me firstly," said Louisa, in her most prosy, 
 most matter-of-fact tone of voice, " all that is known 
 about your uncle Arthur." 
 
 " Well ! up to now, I individually knew very little 
 about him. He was the next eldest brother to Uncle 
 Had, and my father was the youngest of all. When 
 Uncle Rad succeeded to the title, Arthur was heir- 
 presumptive, of course. But, as you know, he died — 
 as was supposed unmarried — nineteen years ago, and 
 my poor dear father was killed in the hunting field 
 the following year. I was a mere kid then and the 
 others were babies — orphans the lot of us. My mother 
 died when Edith was born. Uncle Rad was said to be 
 a confirmed bachelor. He took us all to live with him. 
 . . . And was father, mother, elder brother, elder 
 sister to us all. Bless him. . . ." 
 
 Luke paused abruptly, and Louisa too was silent. 
 Only the song of a thrush soaring upwards to the skies 
 called for that blessing which neither of them at the 
 moment could adequately evoke. 
 
 " Yes ! " said Louisa at last, " I knew all that." 
 
 Lord Radclyffe and his people were all of the same 
 world as herself. She knew all about the present man's 
 
22 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 touching affection for the children of his youngest 
 brother, but more especially for Luke, on whom he 
 bestowed an amount of love and tender care which 
 would have shamed many a father by its unselfish 
 intensity. That affection was a beautiful trait in an 
 otherwise not very lovable character. 
 
 " I dare say," resumed Luke after a little while, " that 
 I have been badly brought up. I mean in this way, 
 that if ... if the whole story is true ... if Uncle 
 Arthur did marry and did have a son, then I should 
 have to go and shift for myself and for Jim and Frank 
 and Edith. ... Of course, Uncle Had would do 
 what he could for us, but I should no longer be his 
 heir . . . and we couldn't go on living at Grosvenor 
 Square and . . ." 
 
 " Aren't you rambling on a little too fast, dear ? " 
 said Louisa gently, whilst she beamed with an almost 
 motherly smile — the smile that a woman wears when 
 she means to pacify and to comfort — on the troubled 
 face of the young man. 
 
 " Of course I am," he replied more calmly, " but I 
 can't help it. . . . For some days now I've had a sort 
 of feeling that something was going to happen . . . 
 that . . . well ! that things weren't going to go right. 
 And this morning when I got up, I made up my mind 
 that I would tell you." 
 
 " When did you hear first, and from whom ? " 
 
 " The first thing we heard was last autumn. There 
 came a letter from abroad for Uncle Rad. It hadn't 
 the private mark on it, so Mr. Warren opened it along 
 with the rest of the correspondence. He showed it to 
 
AND NOW ALMOST LIKE A DREAM 23 
 
 me. The letter was signed Philip de Mountford, 
 and began ' My dear uncle.' I couldn't make head or 
 tail of it ; I thought it all twaddle. . . . You've no 
 idea what sort of letters Uncle Had gets sometimes 
 from every kind of lunatic or scoundrel you can think 
 of, who wants to get something out of him. Well ! — 
 this letter at first looked to me the same sort of thing. 
 ... I had never heard of any one who had the right 
 to say ' dear uncle ' to Uncle Rad . . . but it had a 
 lot in it about blood being thicker than water and all 
 the rest of it, with a kind of request for justice and talk 
 about the cruelty of Fate. . . . The writer, however, 
 asserted positively that he was the only and legitimate 
 son of Mr. Arthur de Mountford, who — this he pro- 
 fessed to have only heard recently — was own brother 
 to the Earl of Radclyffe. The story which he went on 
 to relate at full length was queer enough in all con- 
 science. I remember every word of it, for it seemed 
 to get right away into my brain, then and there, as if 
 something was being hammered or screwed straight 
 into one of the cells of my memory never really to 
 come out again." 
 
 " And yet when . . . when we were first engaged," 
 rejoined Louisa quietly, "you never told me anything 
 about it." 
 
 " I'll tell you directly how that was. I remembered 
 and then forgot — if you know what I mean — and now 
 it has all come back. At the time I thought the letter 
 of this man who called himself Philip de Mountford 
 nothing but humbug — so did Mr. Warren, and yet he 
 and I talked it over and discussed it between us for 
 
24 A TRUE WOMAN - 
 
 ever so long. It all sounded so strange. Uncle Arthur 
 — so this man said who called himself Philip de Mount- 
 ford — had married in Martinique a half-caste girl 
 named Adeline Petit, who was this same Philip's 
 mother. He declares that he has all the papers — 
 marriage certificates or whatever they are called — to 
 prove every word he says. He did not want to trouble 
 his uncle much, only now that his mother was dead, 
 he felt all alone in the world and longed for the com- 
 panionship and affection of his own kith and kin. All 
 he wanted, he said, was friendship. Then he went on 
 to say that, of course, he did not expect his lordship to 
 take his word for all this, he only asked for an oppor- 
 tunity to show his dear uncle all the papers and other 
 proofs which he held that he was in real and sober 
 truth the only and legitimate son of Mr. Arthur de 
 Mountford, own brother to his lordship." 
 
 " How old is this man — this Philip de Mountford — 
 supposed to be ? " 
 
 " Well, he said in that first letter that the marriage 
 took place in the parish church of St. Pierre in Martin- 
 ique on the 28th of August, 1881. That he himself 
 was born the following year, and christened in the same 
 church under the name of Philip Arthur, and registered 
 as the son of Mr. Arthur Collingwood de Mountford 
 of Ford's Mount, in the county of Northampton, 
 England, and of Adeline de Mountford, nee Petit, his 
 wife." 
 
 " Twenty-four years ago," said Louisa thoughtfully, 
 " and he only claims kinship with Lord Radclyffe 
 now. . . ." 
 
AND NOW ALMOST LIKE A DREAM 25 
 
 " That's just," rejoined Luke, " where the curious 
 part of the story comes in. This Philip de Mountford — 
 I don't know how else to call him — said in his first letter 
 that his mother never knew that Mr. Arthur de Mount- 
 ford was anything more than a private English gentle- 
 man travelling either for profit or pleasure, but in any 
 case not possessed of either wealth or social position. 
 Between you and me, dear, I suppose that this Adeline 
 Petit was just a half-caste girl, without much know- 
 ledge of what goes on in the world, and why she should 
 have married Uncle Arthur I can't think ..." 
 
 " If she did marry him, you mean. . . ." 
 
 " If she did marry him, as you say," said Luke with a 
 singular want of conviction, which Louisa was not 
 slow to remark. 
 
 " You think that this young man's story is true, 
 then ? " 
 
 " I don't know what to think, and that's the truth." 
 
 " Tell me more," added Louisa simply. 
 
 " Well, this Philip's story goes on to say that his 
 father — Uncle Arthur — apparently soon tired of his 
 exotic wife, for it seems that two years after the 
 marriage he left Martinique and never returned to it 
 to the day of his death." 
 
 " Pardon," said Louisa in her prim little way, " my 
 interrupting you ; but have any of you — Lord Rad- 
 clyffe, I mean, or any of your friends — any recollection 
 of your uncle Arthur living at Martinique for a while ? 
 Two years seems a long time. ..." 
 
 "As a matter of fact, Uncle Arthur was a bit of a 
 wastrel, you know. He never would study for any- 
 
26 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 thing. He passed into the navy — very well, too, I 
 believe — but he threw it all up almost as soon as he 
 got his commission, and started roaming about the 
 world. I do know for a fact that once his people 
 had no news of him for about three or four years, 
 and then he turned up one fine day as if he had only 
 been absent for a week's shooting." 
 
 " When was that ? " 
 
 " I can't tell you exactly. I was only a tiny kid at 
 the time, not more than three years old I should say. 
 Yes, I do remember, now I come to think of it, that 
 Uncle Arthur was home the Christmas after my third 
 birthday. I have a distinct recollection of my dad 
 telling me that Uncle Arthur was one of my presents 
 from Father Christmas, and of my thinking what a 
 rotten present it was. Later on in the nursery all of us 
 children were rather frightened of him, and we used 
 to have great discussions as to where this uncle came 
 from. The Christmas present theory was soon exploded, 
 because of some difficulty about Uncle Arthur not 
 having been actually found in a stocking, and his being 
 too big anyway to be hidden in one, so we fell back on 
 Jim's suggestion that he was the man in the moon come 
 down for a holiday." 
 
 " You," she said, " had your third birthday in 1883." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That was the year, then, that your uncle Arthur 
 came home from his wanderings about the world, 
 during which he had never given any news of himself 
 or his doings to any member of his family." 
 
 " By Jove ! Loo, what a splendid examining 
 
AND NOW ALMOST LIKE A DREAM 27 
 
 magistrate you'd make ! " was Luke's unsophisticated 
 comment on Louisa's last remark. 
 
 But she frowned a little at this show of levity, and 
 continued quietly : 
 
 " And your uncle, according to this so-called Philip 
 de Mountford, was married in 1881 in Martinique, his 
 son was born in 1882, and he left Martinique in 1883 
 never to return." 
 
 " Hang it all, Loo ! " exclaimed the young man 
 almost roughly, " that is all surmise." 
 
 " I know it is, dear, I was only thinking." 
 
 " Thinking what ? " 
 
 " That it all tallies so very exactly, and that this . . . 
 this Philip de Mountford seems in any case to know a 
 great deal about your uncle Arthur, and his move- 
 ments in the past." 
 
 " There's no doubt of that ; and ..." 
 
 Luke paused a moment, and a curious blush spread 
 over his face. The Englishman's inborn dislike to 
 talk of certain subjects to his women-folk had got hold 
 of him, and he did not know how to proceed. 
 
 As usual in such cases, the woman — unmoved and 
 business-like — put an end to his access of shyness. 
 
 " The matter is — or may be — too serious, dear, for 
 you to keep any of your thoughts back from me at this 
 juncture." 
 
 " What I meant was," he said abruptly, " that this 
 Philip might quite well be Uncle Arthur's son, you 
 know, but it doesn't follow that he has any right to 
 call himself Philip de Mountford, or to think that he 
 is Uncle Rad's presumptive heir." 
 
28 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " That will, of course, depend on his proofs — his 
 papers and so on . . ." she assented calmly. " Has 
 any one seen them ? " 
 
 " At the time — it was some time last November — 
 that he first wrote to Uncle Rad, he had all his papers 
 by him. He wrote from St. Vincent — have I told you 
 that ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well ! it was from St. Vincent that he wrote. He 
 had left Martinique, I understand, in 1902, when St. 
 Pierre, if you remember, was totally destroyed by 
 volcanic eruption. It seems that when Uncle Arthur 
 left the French colony for good, he lodged quite a 
 comfortable sum in the local bank at St. Pierre in the 
 name of Mrs. de Mountford. Of course, he had no 
 intention of ever going back there, and anyhow he 
 never did, for he died about three years later. The 
 lady went on living her own life quite happily. Ap- 
 parently she did not hanker much after her faithless 
 husband. I suppose that she never imagined for a 
 moment that he meant to stick to her, and she cer- 
 tainly never bothered her head as to what his con- 
 nections or friends over in England might be. Amongst 
 her own kith and kin, the half-caste population of a 
 French settlement, she was considered very well off, 
 almost rich. After a very few years of grass-widow- 
 hood, she married again, without much scruple or 
 compunction, which proves that she never thought 
 that her English husband would come back to her. 
 And then came the catastrophe." 
 
 " What catastrophe ? " 
 
AND NOW ALMOST LIKE A DREAM 29 
 
 " The destruction of St. Pierre. You remember the 
 awful accounts of it. The whole town was destroyed. 
 Every building in the place — the local bank, the 
 church, the presbytery, the post-office — were burnt 
 to the ground ; everything was devastated for miles 
 around. And thousands perished, of course." 
 
 " I remember." 
 
 " Mrs. de Mountford and her son Philip were amongst 
 the very few who escaped. Their cottage was burned 
 to the ground, but she, with all a Frenchwoman's 
 sense of respect for papers and marks of identification, 
 fought her way back into the house, even when it was 
 tottering above her head, in order to rescue those 
 things which she valued more than her life, the proofs 
 that she was a respectable married woman and that 
 Philip was her lawfully begotten son. Her second 
 husband — I think from reading between the lines 
 that he was a native or at best a half-caste — was one 
 of the many who perished. But Mrs. de Mountford 
 and Philip managed to reach the coast unhurt and to 
 put out to sea in an open boat. They were picked up 
 by a fishing smack from Marie Galante and landed 
 there. It is a small island — French settlement, of 
 course — off Guadeloupe. They had little or no money, 
 and how they lived I don't know, but they stayed in 
 Marie Galante for some time. Then the mother died, 
 and Philip made his way somehow or other to Roseau 
 in Dominica, and thence to St. Vincent." 
 
 " When was that ? " 
 
 " Last year, I suppose." 
 
 " And," she said, meditating on all that she had 
 
30 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 heard, "it was in St. Vincent that he first realized 
 who he was ... or might be." 
 
 " Well ! in a British colony it was bound to happen. 
 Whether somebody put him up to it out there, or 
 whether he merely sucked the information in from 
 nowhere in particular, I can't say ; certain it is 
 that he did soon discover that the name he bore was 
 one of the best-known in England, and that his father 
 must, as a matter of fact, have been own brother to the 
 Earl of Radclyffe. So he wrote to Uncle Rad." 
 
 Louisa was silent. She was absorbed in thought, 
 and for the moment Luke had come to the end of what 
 he had to say — or rather of what he meant to say just 
 now. That there was more to come, Louisa well knew. 
 Commonplace women have a way of intuitively getting 
 at the bottom of the thoughts of people for whom they 
 care. Louisa guessed that beneath Luke's levity and 
 his schoolboyish slang — which grew more apparent 
 as the young man drew to the end of his narrative — 
 that beneath his outward flippancy there lay a deep 
 substratum of puzzlement and anxiety. 
 
 The story as told by Luke sounded crude enough, 
 almost melodramatic — right out of the commonplace 
 range of Louisa's usual everyday life. Whilst she sat 
 listening to this exotic tale of secret and incongruous 
 marriage and of those earthquakes and volcanic 
 eruptions which had seemed so remote when she had 
 read about them nine years ago in the newspapersTshe 
 almost thought that she must be dreaming, that she J 
 would wake up presently in her bed at the Langham 
 Hotel where Bhe was staying with aunt, and that she 
 
AND NOW ALMOST LIKE A DREAM 31 
 
 would then dress and have her breakfast and go out 
 to meet Luke, and tell him all about the idiotic dream 
 she had had about an unknown heir to the Earldom of 
 Radclyffe, who was a nigger — or almost so — and was 
 born in a country where there were volcanoes and 
 earthquakes. 
 
 How far removed from her at this moment did aunt 
 seem, and father, and the twins. Surely they could 
 not be of the same world as this exotic pretender 
 to Uncle Radclyffe's affection, and to Luke's hitherto 
 undisputed rights. And as father and aunt, and Mabel 
 and Chris were very much alive and very real, then 
 this so-called Philip de Mountford must be a creature 
 of dreams. 
 
 " Or else an impostor." 
 
 She had said this aloud, thus breaking in on her own 
 thoughts and his. A feeling of restlessness seized her 
 now. She was cold too, for the April breeze was biting 
 and had searched out the back of her neck underneath 
 the sable stole and caused her to shiver in the spring 
 sunshine. 
 
 " Let us walk," she said, " a little . . . shall we ? " 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 NOTHING REALLY TANGIBLE 
 
 THEY walked up the gravel walk under the chest- 
 nut trees, whereon the leafbuds, luscious-looking, 
 with their young green surface delicately tinged with 
 pink, looked over-ready to burst into fan-shaped full- 
 ness of glory. The well-kept paths, the orderly flower 
 beds and smoothly trimmed lawns looked all so simple, 
 so obvious beside the strange problem which fate had 
 propounded to these two young people walking up 
 and down side by side . . . and with just a certain 
 distance between them as if that problem was keeping 
 them apart. 
 
 And that intangible reality stood between them, 
 causing in Luke a vague sense of shame-facedness, as 
 if he were guilty towards Louisa . . . and in her a 
 feeling of irritation against the whole world around 
 her, for having allowed this monstrous thing to happen 
 — this vague shadow on life's pathway, on the life of 
 the only man who mattered. 
 
 People passed them as they walked — the curious, 
 the indifferent ; men with bowler hats pulled over 
 frowning brows, boys with caps carelessly worn at the 
 back of their heads, girls with numbed fingers thrust 
 in worn gloves, tip-tilted noses blue with cold, thin, 
 
 32 
 
NOTHING REALLY TANGIBLE 33 
 
 ill-fitting clothes scarce shielding attenuated shoulders 
 against the keen spring blast. 
 
 Just the humdrum, everyday crowd of London : the 
 fighters, the workers, toiling against heavy odds of 
 feeble health, insufficient food, scanty clothing, the 
 poor that no one bothers about, less interesting than the 
 unemployed labourers, less picturesque, less noisy . . . 
 they passed and had no time to heed the elegantly 
 clad figure wrapped in costly furs, or the young man 
 in perfectly tailored coat, who was even now preparing 
 himself for a fight with destiny, beside which the daily 
 struggle for halfpence would be but a mere skirmish. 
 
 Instinctively they knew — these two — the society girl 
 and the easy-going, wealthy man — that it was reality 
 with which they would have to deal. That instinct 
 comes, with the breath of Fate : a warning that her 
 decrees are serious, not to be lightly set aside but 
 pondered over, that her materialized breath would 
 not be a phantom or a thing to be derided. 
 
 Truth or imposture ? Which ? 
 
 Neither the man nor the girl knew as yet, but 
 Reality — whatever else it was. 
 
 They walked on for a while in silence. Another 
 instinct — the conventional one — had warned them 
 that their stay in the Park had been unduly prolonged ; 
 there were social duties to attend to, calls to make, 
 luncheon with Lord Radclyffe at Grosvenor Square. 
 
 So they both by tacit consent turned their steps 
 baok towards the town. 
 
 A man passed them from behind, walking quioker 
 than they did. As he passed, he looked at them both 
 
34 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 intently, as if desirous of arresting their attention. 
 Of course, he succeeded, for his look was almost 
 compelling. Louisa was the first to turn towards him, 
 then Luke did likewise ; and the passer-by raised his 
 hat respectfully with a slight inclination of head and 
 shoulders that suggested foreign upbringing. 
 
 Once more convention stepped in, and Luke mechani- 
 cally returned the salute. 
 
 " Who was that ? " asked Louisa, when the passer- 
 by was out of earshot. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Luke. " I thought it was 
 some one you knew. He bowed to you." 
 
 " No ! " she said, " to you, I think. Funny you 
 should not know him." 
 
 But silence once broken, constraint fled with it. She 
 drew nearer to Luke and once more her hand sought 
 his coat sleeve, with a light pressure quickly with- 
 drawn. 
 
 " Now, Luke," she said abruptly, reverting to the 
 subject, " how do you stand in all this ? " 
 
 " I ? " 
 
 " Yes. What does Lord Radclyffe say ? " 
 
 " He laughs the whole thing to scorn, and declares 
 that the man is an impudent liar." 
 
 " He saw," she asked, " the first letter ? The one 
 that came from St. Vincent ? " 
 
 " Yes. Mr. Warren and I did not think we ought 
 to keep it from him." 
 
 " Of course not," she assented. " Then he said 
 that the letter was a tissue of lies ? " 
 
 " From beginning to end." 
 
NOTHING REALLY TANGIBLE 35 
 
 " He refused," she insisted, " to believe in the 
 marriage of your uncle Arthur out there in Martin- 
 ique ? " 
 
 " He didn't go into details. He just said that the 
 whole letter was an impudent attempt at blackmail." 
 
 " And since then ? " 
 
 " He has never spoken about it." 
 
 " Until to-day ? " she asked. 
 
 " He hasn't spoken," he replied, insisting on the 
 word, " even to-day. Two or three times I think 
 letters came for him in the same handwriting. Mr. 
 Warren did not open them, of course, and took them 
 straight to Uncle Rad. They always bore foreign 
 postmarks, some from one place, some from another, 
 but Uncle Rad never referred to them after he had 
 read them, nor did he instruct Mr. Warren to reply. 
 Then the letters ceased, and I began to forget the 
 whole business. I didn't tell you, because Uncle Rad 
 told me not to talk about the whole thing. It was 
 beneath contempt, he said, and he didn't want the 
 tittle-tattle to get about." 
 
 " Then," she asked, " what happened ? " 
 
 " A week ago a letter came with a London postmark 
 on it. The address and letter were both typewritten, 
 and the latter covered four sheets of paper, and was 
 signed Philip de Mountford. Bar the actual story of 
 the marriage and all that, the letter was almost 
 identical to the first one which came from St. Vincent. 
 Mr. Warren had opened it, for it looked like a business 
 one, and he waited for me in his office to ask my 
 opinion about it. Of course, we had to give it to Uncle 
 
36 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Rad. It had all the old phrases in it about blood 
 being thicker than water, and about longing for 
 friendship and companionship and all that. There 
 was no hint of threats or demand for money or any- 
 thing like that." 
 
 " Of course not," she said, " whilst Lord Radclyffe 
 is alive, the young man has no claim." 
 
 " Only," he rejoined, " that of kinship." 
 
 " Lord Radclyffe need not do anything for him." 
 
 Already there was a note of hostility in Louisa's even 
 voice. The commonplace woman was donning armour 
 against the man who talked of usurping the loved one's 
 privileges. 
 
 " I wish," he insisted, " that I could have got the 
 letter from Uncle Rad to show you. It was so simple 
 and so sensible. All he asks is just to see Uncle Rad 
 personally, to feel that he has kindred in the world. 
 He knows — he says — that beyond goodwill, he has no 
 claim now. As a matter of fact he has something more 
 substantial than that, for Uncle Arthur had a little 
 personal property about £15,000 which he left to 
 us four children — Jim and Frank and Edie and 
 me — and which I for one wouldn't touch if I knew for 
 certain that this Philip was his son." 
 
 " But," she argued, " you say that the man does not 
 speak of money." 
 
 She hated the talk about money, for she had all that 
 contempt for it which women have who have never 
 felt the want of it. It would have been so simple if 
 the intruder had only wanted money. She would not 
 have cared a little bit if Luke had none, or was not 
 
NOTHING REALLY TANGIBLE 37 
 
 going to have any. It was his right which she would 
 not hear of being questioned. His right in Lord 
 Radclyffe's affections, in his household, and also his 
 rights in the future when Lord Radclyffe would be 
 gone. 
 
 " You are sure," she insisted, " that he does not 
 want money ? " 
 
 " I don't think," he replied, " that he does, just 
 now. He seems to have a little ; he must have had a 
 little, since he came over from St. Vincent and is 
 staying at a moderately good hotel in London. No. 
 He wants to see Uncle Rad, because he thinks that if 
 Uncle Rad saw him, blood would cry out in response. 
 It appears that now he has lodged all his papers of 
 identification with a London lawyer — a very good firm, 
 mind you — and he wants Uncle Rad's solicitor to see 
 all the papers and to examine them. That seems fair 
 to me. Doesn't it to you ? " 
 
 " Very fair indeed," she mused. 
 
 " What I mean," he added with great conviction, 
 " is that if those papers weren't all right and that, he 
 wouldn't be so anxious for Uncle Rad's solicitors to 
 have a look at them, would he 1 " 
 
 " No." 
 
 And after a while she reiterated more emphatically — 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " I must say," he concluded, " that the whole thing 
 simply beats me." 
 
 " But what does Lord Radclyffe say now ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " How do you mean, nothing ? " 
 
38 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Just what I say. He won't talk about the thing. 
 He won't discuss it. He won't answer any question 
 which I put to him. 'My dear boy, the man is a 
 palpable impudent impostor, a blackmailer,' And 
 that's all I can get out of him." 
 
 " He won't see the man ? " 
 
 " Won't hear of it." 
 
 " And won't he let his solicitor — Mr. Dobson, isn't 
 it ? — meet the other lawyer ? " 
 
 " He says he wouldn't dream of wasting old Dobson's 
 time." 
 
 " Then what's going to happen ? " 
 
 " I don't see," he said, " what is going to happen." 
 
 " Won't you have a talk about it with old Mr. 
 Dobson, and see what he says ? " 
 
 " I can't very well do that. Strictly speaking, it's 
 none of my business ... as yet. I couldn't consult 
 Uncle Rad's lawyers, without Uncle Rad's consent." 
 
 " Another one, then." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, obviously undecided 
 what to do. He had thought very little about himself 
 or his future in all this ; his thoughts had dwelt 
 mostly on Lord Radclyffe — father, mother, brother, 
 sister to them all. Bless him ! . . . and then he had 
 thought of her. He looked round him with eyes that 
 scarcely saw, for they really were turned inwards to 
 hisown simple soul, and to his loving heart. Right up 
 against that very simplicity of soul, a duty stood clear 
 and uncompromising, a duty yet to be performed, 
 the real aim and end of all that he had said so far. 
 But he did not know how best to perform such a duty. 
 
NOTHING REALLY TANGIBLE 39 
 
 Simple souls — unlike the complex physiological 
 phenomena of modern times — are apt to be selfless, 
 to think more of the feelings of others than of analysing 
 their own various sensations, and Luke knew that 
 what he considered his duty would not be quite so 
 obvious to Louisa, and that by fulfilling it he would 
 give her pain. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 JUST AN OBVIOUS DUTY 
 
 BUT it was she who gave him an opening. 
 " Luke," she said, " it's all very well, but the 
 matter does concern you in a way, far more so, in fact, 
 than it does Lord Radclyffe. Nothing can make any 
 difference to Lord Radclyffe, but if what this young 
 man asserts is all true, then it will make a world of 
 difference to you." 
 
 " I know that — that's just the trouble." 
 
 " You were thinking of yourself ? " 
 
 " No. I was thinking of you ? " 
 
 " Of me ? " 
 
 " Yes," he said now very abruptly, quite roughly and 
 crudely, not choosing his words lest they helped to 
 betray what he felt, and all that he felt. " If what 
 this man says is true, then I am a penniless nonentity 
 whom you are not going to marry." 
 
 " You are talking nonsense, Luke, and you know 
 it," was all that she said. And she said it very quietly, 
 very decisively. He was talking nonsense, of course, 
 for whatever happened or didn't happen, there was 
 one thing in the world that was absolutely, undeniably 
 impossible, and that was that she should not marry 
 Luke. 
 
 10 
 
JUST AN OBVIOUS DUTY 41 
 
 Whilst she, Louisa Harris, plain, uninteresting, 
 commonplace Louisa Harris was of this world, her 
 marriage with Luke must be. People — in this present- 
 day, matter-of-fact world — didn't have their hearts 
 wrenched out of them, they were not made to suffer 
 impossible and unendurable tortures ; then why should 
 she — Louisa Harris — be threatened with such a 
 cataclysm ? 
 
 " I am not," he was saying rather tonelessly, 
 " talking nonsense, Loo. I have thought all that 
 over. It's over eight days since that letter came ; 
 eight times twenty-four hours since I seemed in a way 
 to see all my future through a thick black cloud, and 
 I've had time to think. I saw you too through that 
 thick black cloud ... I saw you just as you are, 
 exquisite, beautiful, like a jewel that should for ever 
 remain in a perfect setting. I . . ." 
 
 He broke off abruptly, and — mechanically — his 
 hand went up to his forehead and eyes. Where was 
 he ? He gave a sudden, quaint laugh. 
 
 " What a drivelling fool you must think me, Loo." 
 
 She looked straight at him : pure of soul, simple of 
 heart, with a passion of tenderness and self-abnegation 
 as yet dormant beneath the outer crust of a conven- 
 tional education, and of commonplace surroundings, 
 but with the passion there, nevertheless. And it was 
 expressed in the sudden, strange luminosity of her 
 eyes — I would not have you think that they were 
 tears — as they met and held his own. 
 
 They didn't say anything more just then. People 
 of their type and class in England do not say much, 
 
42 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 you know, under such circumstances. They have been 
 drilled not to. Drilled and drilled from childhood 
 upwards, from the time when, after a fall and a cut 
 lip or broken tooth, the tears have to be held back, 
 lest the words " snivel " or " cry-baby " be mentioned. 
 But quietude does not necessarily mean freedom from 
 pain. A cut Up hurts worse when it is not wetted 
 with tears. 
 
 It was only the shadow that was hovering over these 
 two as yet : nothing really tangible. And the shadow 
 was not between them. She would not let it come 
 between them. If it covered him, it should wrap her 
 too. The commonplace woman had no fear of its 
 descent, only as far as it affected him. 
 
 "Nothing/' she said after a while, "could make a 
 difference to our marriage, Luke. Except, of course, 
 if you ceased to care." 
 
 " Or you, Loo," he suggested meekly. 
 
 " Do you think," she retorted, " that I should ? 
 Just because you had no money ? " 
 
 " Not," he owned, " because of that. But I should 
 be such a nonentity. I have no real profession, and 
 there are the others . . . Jim in the Blues costs a fear- 
 ful lot a year, and Frank in the diplomatic service must 
 have his promised allowance ... I have read for the 
 Bar, but beyond that what am I ? . . ." 
 
 " Your uncle's right hand," she retorted firmly, 
 " his agent, his secretary, his factotum all rolled into 
 one. You manage his estates, his charities, his corre- 
 spondence. . . . You write his speeches and control 
 his household. . . . Lord Radclyffe — every one says 
 
JUST AN OBVIOUS DUTY 43 
 
 it in London — would not be himself at all without 
 Luke de Mountford behind him. . . ." 
 
 " That's not what I mean, Loo." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that . . ." 
 
 He paused a moment, then added with seeming 
 irrelevance — 
 
 " We all know that Uncle Rad is a curious kind of 
 man. ... If this story turns out to be true, he would 
 still say nothing . . . but he would fret and fret . . . 
 and worry himself into his grave. . . ." 
 
 " The story," she argued obstinately, " will not turn 
 out to be true . . . It's not like you, Luke, to jump at 
 conclusions, or to be afraid of a nightmare." 
 
 " I am not afraid," he rejoined simply. " But I 
 must look at possibilities. Yes, dear," he continued 
 more forcibly, " it is possible that this story is true. . . . 
 No good saying that it is impossible . . . improbable, 
 if you like, but not impossible. Look at it how you 
 like, you must admit that it is not impossible. Uncle 
 Arthur may have married in Martinique ... he 
 was out there in 1881 ... he may have had a son. 
 . . . His telling no one about his marriage is not to be 
 wondered at. . . . He was always reticent and queer 
 about his own affairs. . . . This Philip may possibly 
 be Uncle Rad's sole and rightful heir . . . and I may 
 possibly be a beggar." 
 
 She uttered an exclamation of incredulity. Luke ! 
 ... a beggar ! . . . Luke ! the one man in all the 
 world, different to every other man ! . . . Luke ousted 
 by that stranger upstart ! . . . 
 
44 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 God had too muoh sense of humour to allow so 
 ridiculous a Fate to work her silly caprice. 
 
 " And," she said with scorn, " because of all these 
 absurd possibilities you talk of breaking off your 
 engagement to me. . . . Do you care so little as all 
 that, Luke ? " 
 
 He did not reply, but continued to walk beside her, 
 just a yard or so apart from her, turning his steps in the 
 direction of the gates, towards the Albert Bridge, their 
 nearest way home. She — meekly now, for already she 
 was sorry — turned to look at him. Something in his 
 attitude, the stoop of the shoulders, usually so square 
 and erect, the hands curiously clasped behind his back, 
 told her that her shaft — very thoughtlessly aimed — had 
 struck even deeper than it should. 
 
 " I am so sorry, dear," she said gently. 
 
 His look forgave her, even before the words were 
 fully out of her mouth, but with characteristic reticence, 
 he made no reply to her taunt. Strangely enough, she 
 was satisfied that he should say nothing. The look, 
 which did not reproach even whilst it tried to conceal 
 the infinite depth of the wound so lightly dealt, had 
 told her more than any words could do. Whatever 
 Luke decided to do, it would be from a sense of moral 
 obligation, that desire for doing the right thing — in the 
 worldly sense of the term — which is inherent in English- 
 men of a certain class. No sentiment save that of a 
 conventional one of honour would be allowed to sway 
 her destiny and his. 
 
 Conventionality — that same strained sense of honour 
 and duty — decreed that under certain mundane 
 
JUST AN OBVIOUS DUTY 45 
 
 circumstances a man and woman should not mate. 
 Differences of ancestry, of parentage, of birth and of 
 country, divergence of taste, of faith, of belief ... all 
 these matter not one jot. But let the man be beggared 
 and the woman rich, and convention steps in and says, 
 " It shall not be ! " 
 
 These two bowed to that decree : unconventional 
 in so far as that they both made the sacrifice out of the 
 intense purity of their sentiment to one another. They 
 made an absolutely worldly sacrifice for a wholly un- 
 worldly motive. Luke would as soon have thought of 
 seeing Louisa in a badly fitting serge frock, and paying 
 twopence for a two-mile ride in an omnibus, as he 
 would expect to see a diamond tiara packed in a 
 cardboard box : it would be unfair on the jeweller 
 who had made the tiara thus to subject it to rough 
 treatment ; and it would be equally unfair on the 
 Creator of Louisa to let her be buffeted about by the 
 cruder atoms of this world. 
 
 Louisa only thought of Luke, and that perhaps he 
 would feel happier in his mind if she allowed him to 
 make this temporary sacrifice. 
 
 There is such wonderful balm in self-imposed sacri- 
 fice! 
 
 " What," she asked simply, " do you want me to 
 say, Luke ? " 
 
 " Only that . . . that you won't give me up alto- 
 gether unless ..." 
 
 Here he checked himself abruptly. Was there ever 
 an Englishman born who could talk sentiment at 
 moments such as this ? Luke was no exception to 
 
46 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 that rule. There was so much that he wanted to say 
 to Louisa, and yet the very words literally choked 
 him before he could contrive to utter them. 
 
 " Don't," she said quietly, " let us even refer to 
 such things, Luke. I do not believe in this shadow 
 . . . and I cannot even understand why you should 
 worry about it . . . but whatever happens, I should 
 never give you up. Never. We will put off fixing the 
 day of our wedding — since we have made no announce- 
 ment this won't matter at all ; but I only agree to this 
 because I think that it is what you would like. ... I 
 fancy that it would ease your mind. ... As for 
 breaking our engagement in the future — in case the 
 worst happens — well, it shall not be with my consent, 
 Luke, unless you really ceased to care." 
 
 They had reached the gate close to the bridge. Life 
 pulsated all round them, the life of the big city, 
 callous, noisy, and cruel. Omnibuses, cabs, heavy vans 
 rattled incessantly past them. People jostled one 
 another, hurrying and scurrying, pigmies and ants 
 adding their tiny load of work, of care, of sorrow to the 
 titanic edifice of this living world. 
 
 Louisa's last words remained unanswered. Luke 
 had — by silence — said everything that there was to 
 say. They stood on the pavement for a moment, and 
 Luke hailed a passing taxi-cab. 
 
 At the corner opposite, an omnibus pulled up on its 
 way westwards. A man stepped off the kerb ready to 
 enter it. Louisa caught his eye, and he raised his hat — 
 the man who had passed them in the Park just now. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 JUST A DISAGREEABLE OLD MAN 
 
 THE luncheons at Grosvenor Square were always 
 rather dull and formal. But Louisa did not mind 
 that very much. She was used to dull and formal affairs : 
 they were part and parcel of her daily life. London 
 society is full of it. The dull and formal dominate, 
 the others — vulgar if more lively — were not worth 
 cultivating. 
 
 Then, she almost liked Lord Radclyffe, because he 
 was so fond of Luke. And even then " almost " was a 
 big word. No one — except Luke — could really like 
 the old man. He was very bad-tempered, very dicta- 
 torial, a perfect tyrant in his own household. His 
 opinions no one dared contradict, no one cared to 
 argue with him, and his advanced Tory views were so 
 rabid that he almost made perverts from the cause, of 
 all those whom he desired to convince. 
 
 And even these were few, for Lord Radclyffe had no 
 friends and very few acquaintances. He had a strange 
 and absolute dislike for his fellow-men. He did not like 
 seeing people, he hated to exchange greetings, to talk 
 or to mingle with any crowd that was purely on pleasure 
 bent. He went up to the House and made speeches — 
 political, philanthropic, economic speeches which Luke 
 
 47 
 
48 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 prepared for him and which he spoke without enthu- 
 siasm or any desire to please. This he did not because 
 he liked it or took any interest in things political, 
 philanthropic, or economic, but only because he con- 
 sidered that a man in his position owed certain duties 
 to the State — duties which it would be cowardly to 
 shirk. 
 
 But he really cared nothing for the thoughts of 
 others, for their opinions, their joys or their sorrows. 
 He had schooled himself not to care, to call philanthropy 
 empty sentiment, politics senseless ambition, economics 
 grasping avarice. 
 
 His was a life entirely wrapped up in itself. In youth 
 he had been very shy : a shyness caused at first by a 
 serious defect of speech which, though cured in later 
 years, always left an unconquerable diffidence, an 
 almost morbid fear of ridicule in its train. 
 
 Because of this, I think, he had never been a sports- 
 man — or rather never been an athlete, for he was 
 splendid with a gun and the finest revolver shot in 
 England, so I've been told, and an acknowledged 
 master of fence — but with bat, ball or racquet he was 
 invariably clumsy. 
 
 He had always hated to be laughed at, and therefore 
 had never gone through the rough mill of a tyro in 
 athletics or in games. Arthur, one of his brothers, had 
 been a blue at Oxford, the other one, James — you 
 remember James de Mountford ? — was the celebrated 
 cricketer ; but he, the eldest, always seemed to remain 
 outside that magic oirole of sport, the great ring of many 
 links which unites Englishmen one to another in a way 
 
JUST A DISAGREEABLE OLD MAN 49 
 
 that no other conformity of tastes, of breeding, or of 
 religion can ever do. 
 
 Because of this diffidence too, no doubt, he had never 
 married. I was told once by an intimate friend of his, 
 that old Rad — as he was universally called — had 
 never mustered up sufficient courage to propose to any 
 woman. And as he saw one by one the coveted matri- 
 monial prizes — the pretty girls whom at different 
 times he had admired sufficiently to desire for wife — 
 snapped up by more enterprising wooers, his dour 
 moroseness grew into positive chronic ill-humour. 
 
 He liked no one and no one liked him ; and during 
 sixty years of life he had succeeded in eliminating from 
 his entire being every feeling of sentiment — save one. 
 He had to all appearances an absolutely callous heart ; 
 he cared neither for dog nor horse — he ordered a 
 splendid mare to be shot without the slightest com- 
 punction, after she had carried him in the hunting field 
 and in the Park faithfully and beautifully for over 
 eight years, just beoause she had shied at a motor-car 
 and nearly thrown him. He was not cruel, you know, 
 just callous in all respects save one : void of all 
 sentiment — he called it sentimentality — save in his 
 affection for Luke. 
 
 Luke had been — ever since he was a growing lad — 
 the buffer in the establishment, between the irascible 
 master and the many subordinates. From Mr. Warren 
 — the highly paid and greatly snubbed seoretary — 
 down to the maids below stairs, one and all brought 
 troubles, complaints, worries to Mr. Luke. No one 
 dared approach his lordship. A word out of season 
 
50 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 brought instant dismissal ; and no one thought of 
 leaving a place where, besides excellent wages, there 
 was the pleasure of waiting on Mr. Luke. — Never Mr. 
 de Mountford, you notice . . . always Mr. Luke. He 
 had grown up amongst the household ; Winston, the 
 old coachman, had taught him to ride — Mary, now 
 housekeeper, then a nurse, had bathed him in a wash- 
 hand basin when he was less than eighteen inches long. 
 Therefore the atmosphere of the gloomy old house 
 pleased Louisa Harris. With the perfect and uncon- 
 soious selfishness of a woman in love, she gauged 
 everything in life just as it affected Luke. She even 
 contrived to like Lord Radclyffe. He trod on every 
 one of her moral and spiritual corns, it is true ; he 
 had that lofty contempt for the entire feminine sex 
 which pertains to the Oriental more than to the more 
 civilized Western races; he combated her opinions, 
 both religious and political, without any pretence at 
 deference ; he smoked very strong cigars in every room 
 in the house, without the slightest regard for the 
 feelings of his lady visitors ; he did or left undone a 
 great many other things which would tend to irritate 
 and even to offend a woman accustomed to the 
 conventional courtesies of daily social life ; but when 
 Luke entered a room where but a moment ago Lord 
 Radclyffe had been venting his chronic ill-humour 
 on an offending or innocent . subordinate, the old 
 man's dour face would become transfigured, ir- 
 radiated with a look of pride and of joy at sight of the 
 man on whom he had lavished all the affection of which 
 his strong nature was capable. 
 
JUST A DISAGREEABLE OLD MAN 51 
 
 Luke could do no wrong. Luke was always right 
 He could argue with his lordship, contradict him, obtain 
 anything he liked from him. Eternal contradictions 
 of human nature : the childless man in perfect adora- 
 tion before a brother's son, the callous, hard-hearted 
 misanthrope soft as wax in the hands of one man. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE PART PLAYED BY A FIVE-POUND NOTE 
 
 AND it was into this atmosphere of gloom and of 
 -£*■ purposeless misanthropy that Louisa Harris 
 brought this morning the cheering sunshine of her own 
 indomitable optimism. 
 
 She knew, of course, from the first that the subject 
 which interested every one in the house more than any 
 other subject could ever do was not to be mentioned in 
 Lord Radclyffe's presence. But she was quite shrewd 
 enough to see that dear old Luke — unsophisticated 
 and none too acute an observer — had overestimated 
 his uncle's indifference to the all-absorbing matter. 
 
 The old man's face — usually a mirror of contemptu- 
 ous cynicism — looked, to the woman's keener insight, 
 distinctly troubled, and his surly silence was even 
 more profound than hitherto. 
 
 He hardly did more than bid Louisa a curt " How 
 de do ? " when she entered, and then relapsed into 
 moroseness wholly unbroken before luncheon was 
 announced. 
 
 Jim — " in the Blues " — was there when she arrived, 
 and Edie came in a few moments later, breathless 
 and with hat awry and tawny hair flying in all direc- 
 
 52 
 
PART PLAYED BY A FIVE-POUND NOTE 53 
 
 tions, straight from a tussle with the dogs and the 
 sharp east wind in the Park. 
 
 Evidently no secret had been made before these two 
 of the strange events which had culminated this very 
 morning in their brother's avowal to Louisa, and the 
 postponement sine die of the wedding. But equally 
 evidently these young creatures, absorbed in their own 
 life, their own pursuits and amusements, were not in- 
 clined to look on the matter seriously. 
 
 Their sky had been so absolutely cloudless throughout 
 their lives that it was impossible for them at the 
 moment to realize that the dark shadow on the distant 
 horizon might possibly conceal thunder in its filmy 
 bosom. 
 
 Edie — just over twenty years of age and already 
 satiated with the excitement of three London seasons, 
 her mind saturated with novel-reading and on the 
 look-out for some new sensations — was inclined to look 
 on the affair as an exhilarating interlude between the 
 Shrove Tuesday dance at Wessex House and the first 
 Drawing-room in May. Jim — " in the Blues " — very 
 eligible as a possible husband for the daughters of 
 ambitious mammas, a trifle spoilt, a little slow of wit, 
 and not a little self-satisfied — dismissed the whole 
 incident as " tommy-rot." 
 
 When Louisa first greeted them, Edie had whispered 
 excitedly — 
 
 " Has he told you ? " 
 
 And without waiting for a direct reply had continued 
 with unabated eagerness — 
 
 " Awfully exciting, don't you think ? " 
 
54 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 But Jim, with the elegant drawl peculiar to his kind, 
 had suppressed further confidences by an authorita- 
 tive — 
 
 " Awful rot, I call it, don't you ? Luke is soft to 
 worry about it." 
 
 Strangely enough, at huicheon it was Lord Rad- 
 clyffe who brought up the subject - matter. Edie, 
 with the tactlessness of youth, had asked a point- 
 blank question — 
 
 " Well ! " she said, " when is that wedding to be, 
 and what are we bridesmaids going to wear ? I warn 
 you I won't have white — I hate a white wedding." 
 
 Then, as no answer came, she said impatiently — 
 
 " I wish you'd name the day, you two stupids. 
 Awfully soft, I call it, hanging about like this." 
 
 Luke would have said something then, but Louisa 
 interposed. 
 
 " It is all my fault, Edie," she said. " You know I 
 want to take the twins out myself this season. I must 
 give them a real good time before I marry." 
 
 " Bosh ! " remarked Edith unceremoniously. " Mabel 
 and Chris will have a far better time when you are 
 married and can present them yourself. Tell them 
 from me that it's no fun being ' out,' and the longer 
 they put it off the better they'll enjoy themselves 
 later on. Besides, Colonel Harris will take them 
 about." 
 
 " Father hates sitting up late. ..." hazarded 
 Louisa, somewhat lamely. 
 
 " The truth of the matter is," here broke in Lord 
 Radclyffe dryly, " that Luke has persuaded you to 
 
PART PLAYED BY A FIVE-POUND NOTE 5# 
 
 put off the wedding because of this d — d impostor 
 who seems to have set you all off by the ears." 
 
 Edie laughed and said " Bosh ! " Jim growled and 
 murmured " Rot ! " 
 
 Luke and Louisa were silent, the while Lord Rad- 
 clyffe's closely-set dark, piercing eyes wandered from 
 one young face to the other. Louisa, feeling uncom- 
 fortable beneath that none too amiable scrutiny, did 
 not know what to say, but Luke quietly remarked after 
 a while — 
 
 " You're right, uncle. It is my doing, but Loo 
 agrees with me, and we are going to wait until this 
 cloud is properly cleared up." 
 
 If any one else had spoken so clearly and decisively 
 in direct contradiction to the old man's obvious wishes 
 in the matter, the result would have been an outburst 
 of ill-humour and probably a volley of invectives, not 
 unmixed with more forcible language. But since it was 
 Luke who had spoken — and Luke could do no wrong — 
 Lord Radclyffe responded quite gently — 
 
 " My dear boy," he said, and it was really touching 
 to hear the hard voice soften and linger on the endear- 
 ing words, " I have told you once and for all that the 
 story of this so-called Philip de Mountford is a fabrica- 
 tion from beginning to end. There is absolutely no 
 reason for you to fret one single instant because of the 
 lies a blackmailer chooses to trump up. As for your 
 putting off your wedding one single hour because of 
 this folly, why, it is positive nonsense. I should have 
 thought you had more common sense . . , and Miss 
 Harris too, for the matter of that." 
 
56 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Luke was silent for a moment or two, while Edie 
 tossed her irresponsible head with the gesture of an 
 absolute " I told you so." Jim muttered something 
 behind his heavy cavalry moustache. Louisa, with 
 head bent and fingers somewhat restless and fidgety, 
 waited to hear what Luke would say. 
 
 " If only," he said, "you would consent, Uncle Rad, 
 to let Mr. Dobson go through this man's papers." 
 
 ' ' What were the good of wasting Mr. Dobson's time ? ' ' 
 retorted Lord Radclyffe, with surprisinggood humour. 
 " I know that the man is an impostor. I don't think 
 it," he reiterated emphatically, " I know it." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 Before the old man had time to reply, the butler — 
 sober, solemn Parker — came in with a card on a 
 salver, which he presented to his master. Lord 
 Radclyffe took up the card, and grunted as he glanced 
 at it. He always grunted when he was threatened with 
 visitors. 
 
 " Why," he said gruffly, and he threw the card 
 back on to the salver, " haven't you told Mr. 
 Warren ? " 
 
 " Mr. Warren," said solemn Parker, " is out, my 
 lord." 
 
 " Then ask Mr. Dobson to call another time." 
 
 " It's not Mr. Dobson hisself, my lord. But a young 
 gentleman from his office." 
 
 " Then tell the young gentleman from the office that 
 I haven't time to bother about him." 
 
 " Shall I see him, sir ? " asked Luke, ready to go. 
 
 " Certainly not," retorted the irasoible old man. 
 
PART PLAYED BY A FIVE-POUND NOTE 57 
 
 " Stay where you are. You have got Miss Harris to 
 entertain." 
 
 " The young gentleman," resumed Parker with 
 respectful insistence, " said he wouldn't keep your 
 lordship five minutes. He said he'd brought some 
 papers for your lordship's signature." 
 
 " The Tower Farm lease, Uncle Rad," remarked 
 Luke. 
 
 " I think, Mr. Luke," assented the butler, " that the 
 young gentleman did mention the word lease." 
 
 " Why has that confounded Warren taken himself 
 off just when I want him ? " was Lord Radclyffe's 
 gruff comment as he rose from the table. 
 
 " Let me go, sir," insisted Luke. 
 
 " No, hang it, boy, you can't sign my name — not yet, 
 anyway . . . I am not yet a helpless imbecile. . . . 
 Show the young man into the library, Parker. . . . 
 I can't think why Dobson is always in such a con- 
 founded hurry about leases . . . sending a fool of a 
 clerk up at most inconvenient hours. ..." 
 
 Still muttering half audibly, he walked to the 
 library door, which Parker held open for him, and 
 even this he did not do without surreptitiously taking 
 hold of Luke's hand and giving it a friendly squeeze. 
 For a moment it seemed as if Luke would follow 
 him, despite contrary orders. He paused, undecided, 
 standing in the middle of the room. Louisa's kind 
 grey eyes following his slightest movement. 
 
 Jim stolidly pulled the cigar-box towards him, and 
 Edie with chin resting in both hands looked sulky and 
 generally out of sorts. 
 
58 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Parker — silent and correct of mien — had closed the 
 library door behind his master, and now with noiseless 
 tread he crossed the dining-room and opened the other 
 door— the one that gave on the hall. Louisa instinc- 
 tively turned her eyes from Luke and saw — standing 
 in the middle of the hall — a young man in jacket suit 
 and overcoat, who had looked up, with palpitating 
 eagerness expressed in his face, the moment he caught 
 sight of Parker. 
 
 It was the same man who had lifted his hat to Luke 
 and to herself in Battersea Park this very morning. 
 Luke saw him too, and apparently also recognized 
 him. 
 
 " That's why he bowed to us, Luke ... in the 
 Park . . . you remember ? " she said as soon as the 
 door had once more closed on Parker and the 
 visitor. 
 
 "Funny that you didn't know him . . ." she 
 continued, since Luke had made no comment. 
 
 " I didn't," he remarked curtly. 
 
 " Didn't what ? " 
 
 " I did not, and do not know this man." 
 
 " Not Mr. Dobson's clerk ? " 
 
 Luke did not answer, but went out into the hall. 
 Parker was standing beside the library door, which he 
 had just closed, having introduced the visitor into his 
 lordship's presence. 
 
 " Parker," said Luke abruptly, " what made you 
 tell his lordship that that young gentleman came 
 from Mr. Dobson ? " 
 
 The question had come so suddenly that Parker — 
 
PART PLAYED BY A FIVE-POUND NOTE 59 
 
 pompous, dignified Parker — was thrown off his balance, 
 and the reply, which took some time in coming, 
 sounded unconvincing. 
 
 " The young gentleman," he said slowly, "told me, 
 Mr. Luke, that he came from Mr. Dobson." 
 
 " No, Parker," asserted Luke unhesitatingly, " he 
 did nothing of the sort. He wanted to see his lordship 
 and got you to help him concoct some lie whereby he 
 could get what he wanted." 
 
 A greyish hue spread over Parker's pink and flabby 
 countenance. 
 
 " Lord help me, Mr. Luke," he murmured tonelessly, 
 " how did you know ? " 
 
 "I didn't," replied Luke curtly. " I guessed. Now 
 I know." 
 
 " I didn't think I was doing no harm." 
 
 " No harm by introducing into his lordship's 
 presence strangers who might be malefactors ? " 
 
 Already Luke, at Parker's first admission, had gone 
 quickly to the library door. Here he paused, with his 
 hand on the latch, uncertain if he should enter. The 
 house was an old one, well-built and stout ; from 
 within came the even sound of a voice speaking quite 
 quietly, but no isolated word could be distinguished. 
 Parker was floundering in a quagmire of confused 
 explanations. 
 
 " Malefactor, Mr. Luke ! " he argued ; " that young 
 man was no malefactor. He spoke so nicely. And he 
 had plenty of money about him. I didn't see I was 
 doing no harm. He wanted to see his lordship, and 
 asked me to help him to it. . . ." 
 
60 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 "And," queried Luke impatiently, "paid you to 
 help him, eh ? " 
 
 " I thought," replied the man, loftily ignoring the 
 suggestion, " that taking in one of Mr. Dobson's cards 
 that was lying in the tray could do no harm. I thought 
 it couldn't do no harm. The young gentleman said his 
 lordship would be very grateful to me when he found 
 out what I'd done." 
 
 " And how grateful was the young gentleman to you, 
 Parker ? " 
 
 " To the tune of a five-pound note, Mr. Luke." 
 
 " Then, as you have plenty of money in hand, you 
 can pack up your things and get out of this house 
 before I've time to tell his lordship." 
 
 " Mr. Luke . . . ." 
 
 " Don't argue. Do as I tell you." 
 
 " I must take my notice from his lordship," said 
 Parker, vainly trying to recover his dignity. 
 
 " Very well. You can wait until his lordship has 
 been told." 
 
 " Mr. Luke . . ." 
 
 " Best not wait to see his lordship, Parker. Take my 
 word for it." 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Luke." 
 
 There was a tone of finality in Luke's voice which 
 apparently Parker did not dare to combat. The man 
 looked confused and troubled. What had seemed to 
 him merely a venial sin — the taking of a bribe for a 
 trivial service — now suddenly assumed giant pro- 
 portions ... a crime almost, punished by a stern 
 dismissal from Mr. Luke. 
 
PART PLAYED BY A FIVE-POUND NOTE 61 
 
 He went without venturing on further protest, and 
 Luke, left standing alone in the hall, once more put his 
 hand on the knob of the library door. This time he 
 tried to turn it. But the door had been locked from the 
 inside. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AND THUS THE SHADOW DESCENDED 
 
 FROM within, the hum of a man's voice — speaking 
 low and insistently — still came softly through. 
 Luke, with the prodigality of youth, would have given 
 ten years of his life for the gift of second sight, to know 
 what went on between those four walls beyond the door 
 where he himself stood expectant, undecided, and 
 more than vaguely anxious. 
 
 " Luke ! " 
 
 It was quite natural that Louisa should stand here 
 beside him, having come to him softly, noiselessly, 
 like the embodiment of moral strength, and a common 
 sense which was almost a virtue. 
 
 " Uncle Rad," he said quietly, " has locked himself 
 in with this man." 
 
 " Who is it, Luke ? " 
 
 " The man who calls himself Philip de Mountford." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " How does one," he retorted, " know such things ?" 
 
 " And Parker let him in ? " 
 
 " He gave Parker a five-pound note. Parker is only 
 a grasping fool. He concocted the story of Mr. Dobson 
 and the lease. He is always listening at keyholes, and 
 he knows that Mr. Dobson often sends up a clerk with 
 
 62 
 
AND THUS THE SHADOW DESCENDED 63 
 
 papers for Unole Rad's signature. Those things are 
 not very difficult to manage. If one man is deter- 
 mined and the other corruptible, it's done sooner or 
 later." 
 
 " Is Lord Radclyffe safe with that man, do you 
 think ? " 
 
 " God grant it," he replied fervently. 
 
 Jim and Edie made a noisy irruption into the hall, 
 and Luke and Louisa talked ostentatiously of in- 
 different things . . . the weather, Lent, and the newest 
 play, until the young people had gathered up coats 
 and hats and banged the street door to behind them, 
 taking their breeziness, their optimism away with 
 them out into the spring air, and leaving the shadows 
 of the on-coming tragedy to forgather in every angle 
 of the luxurious house in Grosvenor Square. 
 
 And there were Luke de Mountford and Louisa 
 Harris left standing alone in the hall ; just two very 
 ordinary, very simple-souled young people, face to 
 face for the first time in their uneventful life with the 
 dark problem of a grim " might be." A locked door 
 between them and the decisions of Fate, a world of 
 possibilities in the silence which now reigned beyond 
 that closed door. 
 
 They were, remember, wholly unprepared for it, 
 untrained for any such eventuality. Well-bred and 
 well brought up, yet were they totally uneducated in 
 the great lessons of life. It was as if a man absolutely 
 untutored in science were suddenly to be confronted 
 with a mathematical problem, the solution or non- 
 solution of which would mean life or death to him. 
 
64 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 The problem lay in silence beyond the locked door : 
 silence broken now and again by the persistently 
 gentle hum of the man's voice — the stranger's — but 
 never by a word from Lord Radclyffe. 
 
 " Uncle Rad," said Luke at last, in deep puzzlement, 
 " has never raised his voice once. I thought that 
 there would be a row . . . that he would turn the man 
 out of the house. . . . Dear old chap ! he hasn't 
 much patience as a rule." 
 
 " What shall we do, Luke ? " she asked. 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " You can't go on standing like that in the hall as 
 if you were eavesdropping. The servants will be coming 
 through presently." 
 
 " You are right, Loo," he said, " as usual. I'll go 
 into the dining-room. I could hear there if anything 
 suspicious was happening in the library." 
 
 " You are not afraid, Luke ? " 
 
 " For Uncle Rad, you mean ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " I hardly know whether I am or not. No," he 
 added decisively, after a moment's hesitation, " I am 
 not afraid of violence . . . the fellow whom we saw 
 in the Park did not look that sort." 
 
 He led Louisa back into the dining-room, where a 
 couple of footmen were clearing away the luncheon 
 things. The melancholy Parker placed cigar-box and 
 matches on a side table, and then retired silent and with 
 a wealth of reproach expressed in his round, beady 
 eyes. 
 
 Soon Luke and Louisa were alone. He smoked 
 
AND THUS THE SHADOW DESCENDED 65 
 
 and she sat in a deep arm-chair close to him saying 
 nothing, for both knew what went on in the other's 
 mind. 
 
 Close on an hour went by, and then the tinkle of a 
 distant bell broke the silence. Voices were heard some- 
 what louder of tone in the library, and Lord Radclyffe's 
 sounded quite distinct and firm. 
 
 " I'll see you again to-morrow," he said, " at Mr, 
 , , . tell me the name and address again, please," 
 
 The door leading from library to hall was opened, 
 A footman helped the stranger on with coat and hat. 
 Then the street door banged to again, and once more 
 the house lapsed into silence and gloom. 
 
 " I think I had better go now." 
 
 Louisa rose, and Luke said in matter-of-fact 
 tones — 
 
 " I'll put you into a cab." 
 
 " No," she said, " I prefer to walk. I am going 
 straight back to the Langham. Will you go to the 
 Ducies' At Home to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Yes," he said, " just to see you." 
 
 " You'll know more by then," 
 
 " I shall know all there is to know," 
 
 " Luke," she said, " you are not afraid ? " 
 
 It was the second time she had put the question to 
 him, but this time its purport was a very different 
 one. He understood it nevertheless, for he replied 
 simply — 
 
 " Only for you." 
 
 " Why for me ? " 
 
 " Because, Loo, you are just all the world to me . „ . 
 
66 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 and a man must feel a little afraid when he thinks he 
 may lose the world." 
 
 "Not me, Luke," she said, "you would not lose 
 me . . . whatever happened." 
 
 " Let me get you a cab." 
 
 He was English, you see, and could not manage to 
 say anything just then. The flood-gates of sentiment 
 might burst asunder now with the slightest word 
 uttered that was not strictly commonplace. Louisa 
 understood, else she had not loved him as she did. 
 It never occurred to her to think that* he was in- 
 different. Nay, more ! his sudden transition from 
 sentiment to the calling of a cab — from sentiment to 
 the trivialities of life, pleased her in its very essence of 
 incongruity. 
 
 " I said I would walk," she reminded him, 
 smiling. 
 
 Then she gave him her hand. It was gloveless, and 
 he took it in his, turning the palm upwards so that he 
 might bury his lips in its delicately perfumed depths. 
 His kiss almost scalded her flesh, his lips were burning 
 hot. Passion held in check will consume with inward 
 fire, whilst its expression often cools like the Nereid's 
 embrace. 
 
 He went to the door with her, and watched her 
 slender, trim figure walking rapidly away until it 
 disappeared round the corner of the Square. 
 
 When he turned back into the hall, he found himself 
 face to face with Lord Radclyffe. Not Uncle Rad — 
 but an altogether different man, an old man now with 
 the cynical lines round the mouth accentuated and 
 
AND THUS THE SHADOW DESCENDED 67 
 
 deepened into furrows, the eyes hollow and colourless, 
 the shoulders bent as if under an unbearable load. 
 
 " Uncle Rad," said Luke, speaking very gently, 
 forcing his voice to betray nothing of anxiety or 
 surprise, " can I do anything for you ? " 
 
 But even at sight of his nephew, of the man who had 
 hitherto always succeeded in dissipating, by his very 
 presence, every cloud on the misanthrope's brow, even 
 at sight of him Lord Radclyffe seemed to shrink within 
 himself, his face became almost ashen in its pallor, 
 and lines of cruel hardness quite disfigured his 
 mouth. 
 
 "I want to be alone to-day," he said dryly; "tell 
 them to send me up some tea in the afternoon. I'll 
 go to my room now. ... I shan't want any 
 dinner." 
 
 " But, sir, won't you . . . ? " 
 
 " I want to be alone to-day," the old man reiterated 
 tonelessly, " and to be left alone." 
 
 " Very well, sir." 
 
 Lord Radclyffe walked slowly towards the staircase. 
 Luke — his heart torn with anxiety and sorrow — 
 saw how heavy was the old man's step, how listless 
 his movements. The younger man's instinct drew him 
 instantly to the side of the elder. He placed an affec- 
 tionate hand on his uncle's shoulder. 
 
 " Uncle Rad," he said appealingly, " can't I do 
 anything for you ? " 
 
 Lord Radclyffe turned, and for a moment his eyes 
 softened as they rested on the face he loved so well. 
 His wrinkled hand sought the firm, young one which 
 
68 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 lingered on his shoulder. But he did not take it, 
 only put it gently aside, then said quietly — 
 
 " No, my boy, there's nothing you can do, except to 
 leave me alone." 
 
 Then he went upstairs and shut himself up in his own 
 room, and Luke saw him no more that day. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 WHICH TELLS OF THE INEVITABLE RESULT 
 
 A ND now a month and more had gone by, and the 
 -£*- whole aspect of the world and of life was changed 
 for Luke. Not for Louisa, because she, womanlike, had 
 her life in love and love alone. Love was unchanged, 
 or if changed at all it was ennobled, revivified, purified 
 by the halo of sorrow and of abnegation which glorified 
 it with its radiance. 
 
 For Luke the world had indeed changed. With the 
 advent of Philip de Mountford that spring afternoon 
 into the old house in Grosvenor Square, life for the other 
 nephew — -for Luke, once the dearly loved — became 
 altogether different. 
 
 That one moment of softness, when Lord Rad- 
 clyffe — a bent and broken old man — went from the 
 library up the stairs to his own room, determined to be 
 alone, and gently removed Luke's affectionate hand 
 from his own bowed shoulders, that one moment of 
 softness was the last that passed between uncle — almost 
 father — and nephew. After that, coldness and cyni- 
 cism : the same as the old man had meted out to 
 every one around him — save Luke — for years past. 
 Now there was no exception. Coldness and cynicism 
 to all, and to the intruder, the new-comer, to Philip de 
 
 69 
 
70 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Mountford, an unvarying courtesy, constant deference 
 that at times verged on impassive submission. 
 
 And the change, I must own, did not come gradually. 
 Have I not said that only a month had gone by ? and 
 Arthur's son, from the land of volcanoes and earth- 
 quakes, had already conquered all that he had come to 
 seek. He who had been labelled an impostor and a 
 blackmailer took — after that one interview — his place 
 in the old man's mind ... if not in his heart. Heaven 
 only knows — for no one else was present at that first 
 interview — what arguments he held, what appeals 
 he made. He came like a thief, bribing his way into 
 his uncle's presence, and stayed like a dearly loved 
 son, a master in the house. 
 
 And Luke was shut out once and for all from Lord 
 Radclyffe's mind and heart. Can you conceive that such 
 selfless affection as the older man bore to the younger 
 can live for a quarter of a century and die in one hour ? 
 Yet so it seemed. Luke was shut out from that inner- 
 most recess in Uncle Rad's heart which he had occu- 
 pied, undisputed, from childhood upwards. Now he 
 only took his place amongst the others : with Jim and 
 Edie and Frank, children of the younger brother, of 
 no consequence in the house of the reigning peer. 
 
 Luke with characteristic pride — characteristic indo- 
 lence, mayhap, where his own interests were at stake — 
 would not fight for his rightful position — his by right 
 of ages, twenty years of affection, of fidelity and com- 
 radeship. 
 
 The day following the first momentous interview 
 Lord Radclyffe spent in lawyers' company. Mr. 
 
TELLS OF THE INEVITABLE RESULT 71 
 
 Davies in Finsbury Court, then Mr. Dobson in Bedford 
 Row. The latter argued and counselled. Though 
 papers might be to all appearances correct and 
 quite in order, there was no hurry to come to a 
 decision. But Lord Radclyffe — with that same 
 dictatorial obstinacy with which he had originally 
 branded the claimant as an impostor and a black- 
 mailer, now clung to his reversed opinion. Convinced 
 — beyond doubt apparently — that Philip de Mountford 
 was his brother Arthur's son, he insisted on acknow- 
 ledging him openly as his heir, and on showering on him 
 all those luxuries and privileges which Luke had en- 
 joyed for so many years. 
 
 Indignant and mentally sore, Jim and Edie pro- 
 tested with all the violence of youth, violence which 
 proved as useless as it was ill-considered. Luke said 
 nothing, for he foresaw that the end was inevitable. He 
 set about making a home for his younger brothers and 
 sister to be ready for them as soon as the cataclysm 
 came, when Philip de Mountford, usurping every right, 
 would turn his cousins out of the old home. 
 
 Frank, absent at Santiago — a young attache out at 
 his first post — had been told very little as yet. Luke 
 had tried to break the news to him in a guarded letter, 
 which received but the following brief and optimistic 
 answer — 
 
 " Why, old man ! what's the matter with you ? 
 Worrying over such rubbish ? Take my advice and go 
 to Carlsbad. Your liver must be out of order." 
 
 But the catastrophe came nevertheless ; sooner even 
 than was expected. Edie's language grew very un- 
 
72 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 guarded in Philip's presence, and Jim " in the Blues " 
 did not watch over his own manners when the new 
 cousin was in the house. 
 
 One evening when Luke was absent — as was very 
 often the case now — and the family gathering con- 
 sisted of Lord Radclyffe — sullen and morose — Philip — 
 pleasantly condescending — and Jim and Edie — snubbed 
 and wrathful — a difference in political opinion between 
 the young people set a spark to the smouldering ashes. 
 
 Philip — still pleasantly condescending — did not say 
 much that evening, though he had been called a cad 
 and an upstart, and told to go back to his nigger 
 relations ; but the next morning Jim and Edie received 
 a curt admonition from Lord Radclyffe, during which 
 they were told that if such a disgraceful exhibition of 
 impertinence occurred again, they would have to go 
 and pitoh their tent elsewhere. 
 
 They brought their grievance to Luke : told him all 
 that they had treasured up in their rebellious young 
 hearts against the usurper, and much that they had 
 hitherto kept from the elder brother, who already, 
 God knows ! had a sufficient load of disappointment to 
 bear. 
 
 What could Luke do but promise that Jim and Edie 
 should in future have a house of their own, wherein 
 neither usurper nor upstart would have access, and 
 where they could nurse their wrath in peace and un- 
 snubbed? 
 
 For the first time since many, many days Luke was 
 alone with his uncle in the library. Philip was out, 
 and Lord Radclyffe was taken unawares. 
 
TELLS OF THE INEVITABLE RESULT 73 
 
 What Luke never would have dreamed of doing for 
 himself, he did for his brothers and sister : he made 
 appeal to his uncle's sense of right, of justice, and of 
 mercy. 
 
 " Uncle Rad," he said, " you have told us all so 
 often that this should be a home for us all. It doesn't 
 matter about me, but the others — Jim and Edie — they 
 haven't offended you, have they ? " 
 
 Lord Radclyffe was fretful and irritable. When 
 Luke first came in it had almost seemed as if he would 
 order him to go. Such an old man he looked — sour and 
 morose : his clothes hung more loosely than before 
 on an obviously attenuated frame. He seemed care- 
 worn and worried, and Luke's heart, which could not 
 tear itself away from the memories of past kindness, 
 ached to see the change. 
 
 " Would you," he asked insistently, " would you 
 rather we went away, Uncle Rad ? " 
 
 The old man shifted about uneasily in his chair. 
 He would not meet Luke's eyes any more than he 
 would take his hand just now. 
 
 " Jim and Edie," he said curtly, " are very ill- 
 mannered, and Philip feels ..." 
 
 He passed his tongue over his lips, which were 
 parched and dry. A look — it was a mere flash — almost 
 of appeal passed from his eyes to Luke. 
 
 " Then," said Luke simply, " it is this . . . this 
 Philip whom Jim and Edie have offended ? . . . Not 
 you, Uncle Rad ? " 
 
 " Philip is your uncle Arthur's son," rejoined Lord 
 Radclyffe, speaking like a fretful child in a thin voice 
 
74 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 that cracked now and again ; " he will be the head of 
 the family presently ..." 
 
 " Not," interposed Luke earnestly, " before many 
 years are past, I trust and pray for all our sakes, 
 Uncle Rad . . ." 
 
 " The sooner," continued the old man, not heeding 
 the interruption, " those young jackanapes learn to 
 respect him, the better it will be for them." 
 
 " Jim and Edie have been a little spoilt by your 
 kindness, sir. They are finding the lesson a little hard 
 to learn. Perhaps they had better go and study 
 elsewhere." 
 
 Lord Radclyffe made no reply. Silence was full of 
 potent meaning : of submission to another's more 
 dominant personality, of indifference to everything 
 save to peace and quiet. 
 
 Suppressing a sigh of bitter disappointment, Luke 
 rose to go. 
 
 " Then," he said, " the sooner I make all arrange- 
 ments the better. There's only the agreement for 
 the flat to sign, and we can move in next week." 
 
 " Where's the flat ? " queried the old man hesi- 
 tatingly. 
 
 " In Exhibition Road, Kensington ; close to the 
 Park. Edie loves the Park, and it won't be far from 
 barracks for Jim." 
 
 " But you've no furniture. . . . How will you 
 furnish a flat ? . . . Don't go yet," continued Lord 
 Radclyffe, seeing that Luke was preparing to take his 
 leave. " Philip won't be here till tea-time." 
 
 "I am afraid, sir, that I don't care to steal a few 
 
TELLS OF THE INEVITABLE RESULT 75 
 
 minutes of your company, just when Philip is absent. 
 ... I would rather not see you at all than see you on 
 sufferance." 
 
 " You are very obstinate and tiresome . . . and you 
 make it so difficult for me. ... I want to hear about 
 the furniture . . . and how you are going to manage." 
 
 " Loo is helping Edie to get what is wanted," replied 
 Luke, smiling despite the heavy weight of disappoint- 
 ment in his heart. It was pitiable to see the old man's 
 obvious feeling of relief in the absence of the man who 
 was exercising such boundless influence over him. 
 
 " But have you money, Luke ? " he asked. 
 
 " Not overmuch, sir, but enough." 
 
 " The £15,000 your father left you ? " 
 
 " Yes. And that's about all." 
 
 " And the £15,000 from your uncle Arthur ? " 
 
 " I don't know about that, sir. I think that should 
 go back to Uncle Arthur's son." 
 
 " Nonsense ! nonsense ! " retorted Lord Radclyffe 
 querulously. " I've talked to Dobson about that. 
 Your uncle Arthur left that money to you . . . and 
 not to his son. ... He had his own reasons for doing 
 this. . . . Dobson thinks so too." 
 
 "It is very kind of Mr. Dobson to trouble about 
 my affairs, but . . ." 
 
 " The money was left to you," persisted the old 
 man, " and to Jim and Edie and Frank." 
 
 " They will do whatever they like with their share, 
 but I could not touch a penny of Uncle Arthur's 
 money." 
 
 " What will you do ? " 
 
76 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " I don't know yet, uncle. I have only had a month 
 in which to think of so much . . . and there was the 
 new flat to see to." 
 
 Lord Radclyffe rose and shuffled towards Luke. He 
 dropped his voice, lest the library walls had ears. 
 
 " I'll not forget you, Luke . . . presently . . . when 
 I am gone . . . and that won't be long. . . . I'll 
 provide for you . . . my will. ..." 
 
 " Don't, Uncle Rad, for God's sake ! " and the cry 
 was wrung from a heart overburdened with pity and 
 with shame. 
 
 And without waiting to take more affectionate leave, 
 Luke hurried from the room* 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 LIFE MUST GO ON JUST THE SAME 
 
 THEY met at dances and at musical At Homes, for 
 the world wagged just as it had always done, and 
 here — don't you think ? — lies the tragedy of the com- 
 monplace. Luke and Louisa, with the whole aspect of 
 life changed for them, with a problem to face of which 
 hitherto they had no conception, and the solution of 
 which meant a probing of soul and heart and mind, 
 Luke and Louisa had to see the world pass them by, 
 the same as heretofore, with laughter and with tears, 
 with the weariness of pleasure, and the burdens of 
 disappointment. 
 
 The world stared at them — curious and almost 
 interested — searching wounds that had only just 
 begun to ache, since indifferent hands had dared to 
 touch them. And convention said : " Thou shalt not 
 seem to suffer, thou shalt pass by serene and unmoved, 
 thou shalt dance and sing and parade in Park or ball- 
 room ; thou art my puppet and I have nought to do 
 with thy soul." 
 
 So Luke and Louisa did as convention bade them, 
 and people stared at them and asked them inane 
 questions that were meant to be delicate, but were 
 supremely tactless. People, too, wondered what they 
 
 77 
 
78 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 meant to do, when the engagement would be duly 
 broken off or what Colonel Harris's — Louisa's 
 father's — attitude would be in all this. Some- 
 how after the first excitement consequent on Lord 
 Radclyffe's open acknowledgment of the claimant, 
 things had tamed off somewhat : Luke de Mountf ord 
 looked just the same as before, although a while ago he 
 had been heir to one of the first peerages in England 
 and now was a penniless son of a younger son. I don't 
 know whether people thought that he ought to look 
 entirely different now, or whether he should henceforth 
 wear shabby dress clothes and gloves that betrayed the 
 dry cleaner : certain it is that when Luke entered a 
 reception room, a dozen lips were ready — had they 
 dared or good breeding allowed — to frame the ques- 
 tions — 
 
 " Well ! and what are you going to do now ? " 
 
 Or— 
 
 " Do tell us how it feels to find oneself a beggar all of 
 a sudden." 
 
 Enterprising hostesses made great attempts to 
 gather all parties in their drawing-rooms. With 
 strategy worthy of a better cause they manoeuvred to 
 invite Philip de Mountford and Lord Radclyffe, and 
 Luke and Louisa — all to the same dinner-party, promis- 
 ing themselves and their other guests a subtle enjoy- 
 ment at sight of these puppets dancing to rousing 
 tunes, beside which the most moving problem play 
 would seem but tame entertainment. 
 
 But Philip de Mountford — though as much sought 
 after now as Luke had been in the past — declined to be 
 
LIFE MUST GO ON JUST THE SAME 79 
 
 made a show of for the delectation of bored society 
 
 women : he declined all invitations on his own and 
 
 Lord Radclyffe's behalf. 
 
 • So people had to be content to watch Luke and 
 
 Louisa. 
 
 They were together at the Ducies' At Home. There 
 was a crush, a Hungarian band from Germany, a 
 Russian singer from Bayswater, a great many diamonds, 
 and incessant gossip. 
 
 " Luke de Mountford is here . . . and Miss Harris. 
 Have you seen them ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ! we met on the stairs, and had a long 
 chat." 
 
 " How do they seem ? " 
 
 " Oh ! quite happy." 
 
 "They don't care." 
 
 " Do they mean to break off the engagement ? " 
 
 " I have heard nothing. Have you ? " 
 
 " Louisa Harris has a nice fortune of her own." 
 
 " And Lord Radclyffe will provide for Luke." 
 
 " I don't think so. He practically turned him out 
 of the house, you know," 
 
 " Not really ? " 
 
 " I know it for a positive fact. My sister has just 
 got a new butler, who left Lord Radclyffe's service the 
 very day Philip de Mountford first walked into the 
 house." 
 
 " Old Parker ; I remember him." 
 
 " He says Lord Radclyffe turned all the family out, 
 bag and baggage. They were so insolent to Philip." 
 
 " Then it's quite true ? " 
 
80 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " That this Philip is the late Arthur de Mountford's 
 son ? " 
 
 " Quite true, I believe. Lord Radclyffe openly ac- 
 knowledges it. He is satisfied, apparently." 
 
 " So are the lawyers, I understand." 
 
 " Oh ! how do you do, Miss Harris ? So glad to see 
 you looking so well." 
 
 This very pointedly, as Louisa, perfectly gowned, 
 smiling serenely, ascended the broad staircase, 
 
 " I have not been ill, Lady Keogh," 
 
 " Oh no ! of course not. And how is Mr. de Mount- 
 ford ? " 
 
 " You can ask him yourself." 
 
 And Louisa passed on to make way for Luke. And 
 the same remarks, the same questions repeated ad in- 
 finitum, until a popular waltz, played by the Hun- 
 garian gentlemen from Germany, drew the fashionable 
 crowd round the musicians' platform. 
 
 Then Luke and Louisa contrived to make good their 
 escape, and to reach the half-landing above the heads 
 of numerous young couples that adorned the stairs. 
 The hum of voices, the noise of shrill laughter, and 
 swish of skirts and fans masked their own whisperings. 
 The couples on the stairs were absorbed in their own 
 little affairs — they were sitting out here so that they 
 might pursue their own flirtations. 
 
 Luke and Louisa could talk undisturbed. 
 
 They spoke of the flat in Exhibition Road and of 
 the furniture that Louisa had helped Edie to select. 
 
 " There are only a few odds and ends to get now," 
 Louisa was saying, " coal-scuttles and waste-paper 
 
LIFE MUST GO ON JUST THE SAME 81 
 
 baskets : that sort of thing. I hope you don't think 
 that we have been extravagant. Edie, I am afraid, 
 had rather luxurious notions. ..." 
 
 " Poor Edie ! " 
 
 " Oh ! I don't think she minds very much. Life 
 at Grosvenor Square in the past month has not been 
 over-cheerful," 
 
 Then, as Luke made no comment, she continued, in 
 her own straightforward, matter-of-fact way — the 
 commonplace woman facing the ordinary duties of 
 life — 
 
 " Now that the flat is all in order you can all move 
 in whenever you like . . . and then, Luke, you must 
 begin to think of yourself." 
 
 " Of you, Loo," he said simply, 
 
 " Oh ! there's nothing," she said, " to think about 
 me." 
 
 " There you are wrong, Loo, and you must not talk 
 like that. Our engagement must be officially broken 
 off. . . , Colonel Harris has been too patient as it is," 
 
 " Father," she rejoined, " does not wish the engage- 
 ment broken off." 
 
 " All these people," he said, nodding in the direc- 
 tion of the crowd below, "will expect some sort of 
 announcement." 
 
 " Let them." 
 
 " Loo, you must take back your word," 
 
 " How does one take back one's word, Luke ? Have 
 you ever done it ? I shouldn't know how to," 
 
 She looked at him straight,. her eyes brilliant in the 
 glare of the electric lamps, not a tear in them or in 
 
82 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 his, her face immovable, lest indifferent eyes hap- 
 pened to be turned up to where these two interesting 
 people sat. Only a quiver round the lips, a sign that 
 passion palpitated deep down within her heart, below 
 the Bond Street gown and the diamond collar, the 
 soul within the puppet. 
 
 She held his glance, forcing him into mute acknow- 
 ledgment that his philosophy, his worldliness, was 
 only veneer, and that he had not really envisaged the 
 hard possibility of actually losing her. 
 
 Oh ! these men of this awful conventional world, 
 how cruel they can be in that proud desire to do what 
 is right . . , what their code tells them is right ! No 
 law of God or nature that ! — only convention, the 
 dictates of other men ! Hard on themselves, selfless 
 in abnegation, but not understanding that the dearest 
 gift they can bestow on a woman is the right for her 
 to efface herself, the right for her to be the giver of 
 love, of consolation, of sacrifice. 
 
 Commonplace, plain, sensible Louisa understood 
 everything that Luke felt ; those great luminous eyes 
 of hers, tearless yet brilliant, read every line on that 
 face drilled into impassiveness. 
 
 No one else could have guessed the precise moment 
 at which softness crept into the hard determination 
 of jaw and lips ; no ear but hers could ever have per- 
 ceived the subtle change in the quivering breath, from 
 hard obstinacy that drew the nostrils together, and 
 set every line of the face, to that indrawing of the 
 heavy air around caused by passionate longing which 
 hammered at the super-excited brain, and made the 
 
LIFE MUST GO ON JUST THE SAME 83 
 
 sinews crack in the mighty physical effort at self- 
 repression. 
 
 But, to all outward appearance, perfect calm, cor- 
 rect demeanour : — the attitude and tone of voice pre- 
 scribed by the usages of this so-called society, 
 
 " Loo," he said, " it is not fair to tempt me. I 
 should be a miserable cur if I held you to your word. 
 I am a penniless beggar — a wastrel now, without a 
 profession, without prospects, soon to be without 
 friends." 
 
 He seemed to take pleasure in recalling his defects, 
 and she let him ramble on. Women who are neither 
 psychological puzzles nor interesting personalities 
 have a way of listening patiently whilst a tortured soul 
 eases its burden by contemplating its own martyrdom. 
 
 " I am a penniless beggar," he reiterated. " I have 
 no right to ask any woman to share my future dull 
 and humdrum existence. A few thousands is all I 
 have. I think that Edie will marry soon, and then I 
 can go abroad. ... I must go abroad, ... I must 
 do something. . . ." 
 
 " We'll do it together, Luke." 
 
 " I feel," he continued, rebellious now and wrathful, 
 all the primary instincts alive in him of self-preserva- 
 tion and the desire to destroy an enemy, " I feel that 
 if I stayed in England I should contrive to be even 
 with that blackguard. . . . His rights ? By God ! I 
 would never question those . . . the moment I knew 
 that he was Uncle Arthur's son I should have been 
 ready to shake him by the hand, to respect him, to 
 stand aside, as was his due. . , . But his attitude ! 
 
84 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 . . . the influence he exercises over Uncle Rad ! . . . 
 His rancour against us all ! Jim and Edie ! what had 
 they done ? ... to be all turned out of the house like 
 a pack of poor relations . . . and poor Uncle Rad. 
 
 He checked himself, for she had put a hand on his 
 coat-sleeve, 
 
 " Luke, it is no use," she said. 
 
 " You are right, Loo ! and I am a miserable wretch. 
 ... If you only knew how I hate that man ! . . ." 
 
 " Don't," she said, " let us think of him." 
 
 " How can I help it ? He robs me of you." 
 
 " No," she rejoined, " not that." 
 
 Her hand still rested on his arm, and he took it 
 between both his. The couples in front of them, all 
 down the length of stairs, paid no heed to them, and 
 through the hum of voices from a distant room beyond 
 came softly wafted on the hot, still air the strains of 
 the exquisite Barcarolle from the "Contesd'Hoffmann." 
 
 Louisa smiled confidently, proudly. He held her 
 hand, and she felt that his — hot and dry — quivered 
 in every muscle at her touch. The commonplace 
 woman had opened the magic book of Love. She had 
 turned its first pages, the opening chapters had been 
 simple, unruffled, uncrumpled by the hand of men or 
 Fate. But now at last she read the chapter which all 
 along she knew was bound to reach her ken. The 
 leaves of the book were crumpled, Fate with cruel 
 hand had tried to blur the writing ; the psychological 
 problem of to-day — the one that goes by the name of 
 " modern woman " — would no doubt ponder ere she 
 
LIFE MUST GO ON JUST THE SAME 85 
 
 tried to read further ; she would analyse her feelings, 
 her thoughts, her sensations, she would revel over her 
 own heartache and delight in her own soul-agony. 
 But simple-minded, conventional Louisa did none of 
 these things. She neither ruffled her hair nor dressed 
 in ill-made serge clothes ; her dress was perfect and her 
 hand exquisitely gloved. She did nothing out of the 
 way, she only loved one man altogether beyond herself, 
 and she understood his passionate love for her, and all 
 that troubled him in this world in which they both 
 lived. 
 
 " I love that Barcarolle, don't you ? " she said after 
 a while. 
 
 " I did not hear it," he replied. 
 
 " Luke ! " 
 
 " It's no use, Loo," he said under his breath, " you 
 must despise me for being a drivelling fool ; but I have 
 neither eyes nor ears now. I would give all I have in 
 the world to He down there on the floor now before 
 you and to kiss the soles of your feet." 
 
 " How could I despise you, Luke, for that ? " 
 
 " Put your hand on my knee, just for a moment, 
 Loo ; I think I shall go mad if I don't feel your touch." 
 
 She did as he asked her, and he was silent until the 
 last note of the Barcarolle died away in a soft murmured 
 breath. 
 
 " What a cowardly wretch I am," he said, under 
 oover of the wave of enthusiastic applause which 
 effectually covered the sound of his voice to all save 
 hers. " I think I would .sell my soul for a touch of 
 your hand, and all the while I know that with every 
 
86 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 word I am playing the part of a coward. If Colonel 
 Harris heard me he would give me a sound thrashing. 
 A dog-whip is what I deserve." 
 
 " I have told you," she rejoined simply, " that 
 father does not wish our engagement to be broken off. 
 He sticks to your cause, and will do so through thick 
 and thin. He still believes that this Philip is an 
 impostor, and thinks that Lord Radclyffe has taken 
 leave of his senses." 
 
 She spoke quite quietly, matter-of-factedly now, 
 pulling by her serene calm Luke's soul back from the 
 realms of turbulent sensations to the prosy facts of 
 to-day. And he — in answer to her mute dictate and 
 with a movement — wholly instinctive and mechanical 
 —drew himself upright, and passed his hand over his 
 ruffled hair, and the jeopardized immaculateness of 
 shirt front and cuffs. 
 
 " Philip de Mountford," he said simply, "is no im- 
 postor, Loo. He has been perfectly straightforward ; 
 and Mr. Dobson for one, who has seen all his papers, 
 thinks that there is no doubt whatever that he is 
 Uncle Arthur's son. His clerk — Mr. Downing — went 
 out to Martinique, you know, and his first letters 
 came a day or two ago. All inquiries give the same 
 result, and Downing says that it is quite easy to trace 
 the man's life — step by step — from his birth in St. 
 Pierre, past the dark days of the earthquake and the 
 lonely life at Marie Galante. Mrs. de Mountford was 
 a half-caste native, as we all suspected, but the mar- 
 riage was unquestionably legal. Downing has spoken 
 to people in Martinique and also in Marie Galante, 
 
LIFE MUST GO ON JUST THE SAME 87 
 
 who knew her and her son, or at any rate of them. 
 I cannot tell you everything clearly, but there are a 
 great many links in a long chain of evidence, and so 
 far Mr. Dobson and his clerk have not come across a 
 broken one. That the Mrs. de Mountford who died at 
 Marie Galante was Uncle Arthur's wife, and that 
 Philip is his son, I am afraid no one can question. He 
 has quite a number of letters in his possession, which 
 Uncle Arthuf wrote after he had practically abandoned 
 wife and child. I think it was the letters that con- 
 vinced Uncle Rad." 
 
 " Lord Radclyffe," she remarked dryly, " has taken 
 everything far too much for granted." 
 
 " He is convinced, Loo . . . and that's all about 
 it." 
 
 " He is," she retorted more hotly than was her 
 wont, " acting in a cruel and heartless manner. Even 
 if this Philip is your uncle Arthur's son, even if he is 
 heir to the peerage and the future head of the family, 
 there was no reason for installing him in your home, 
 Luke, and turning you and the others out of it." 
 
 " I suppose," rejoined Luke philosophically, " the 
 house was never really our home. What Uncle Rad 
 gave freely, he has taken away again from us. I don't 
 suppose that we have the right to complain." 
 
 " But what will become of you all ? " 
 
 " We must scrape along. Frank must have his 
 promised allowance or he'll never get along in the 
 service, and five hundred pounds a year is a big slice 
 out of a thousand. Jim, too, spends a great deal : 
 Uncle Rad never stinted him with money, for it was he 
 
88 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 who wanted Jim to be in the Blues. Now he may have 
 to exchange into a less expensive regiment. I th ink 
 Edie will marry soon. . . . Reggie Duggan has been 
 in love with her for the past two years . . . she may 
 make up her mind now," 
 
 " But you, Luke ? " 
 
 He did not know if he ought to tell her of his plans : — 
 the ostrich farm out in Africa — the partnership 
 offered to him by a cousin of his mother's who was 
 doing remarkably well, but who was getting old and 
 wanted the companionship of one of his kind. ... It 
 was a living anyway . . . but a giving up of every- 
 thing that had constituted life in the past . . . and 
 the giving up of his exquisite Loo. . . . How could 
 he ask her to share that life with him ? . . . the 
 primitive conditions . . . the total absence of luxuries 
 . . . the rough, everyday existence ? 
 
 And Loo so perfectly dressed, so absolutely modern 
 and dainty . . . waited on hand and foot. ... 
 
 But she insisted, seeing that he was hesitating and 
 was trying to keep something from her. 
 
 " What about you, Luke ? " 
 
 He had not time to reply, for from the hall below a 
 shrill voice called to them both by name. 
 
 " Mr. de Mountford, Miss Harris, the young people 
 want to dance . . . you'll join in, won't you ? " 
 
 Already he was on his feet, every trace of emotion 
 swept away from his face, together with every crease 
 from his immaculate dress clothes, and every stray 
 wisp of hair from his well-groomed head. Not a man, 
 torn with passion, fighting the battle of life against 
 
LIFE MUST 60 ON JUST THE SAME 89 
 
 overwhelming odds, casting away from him the hand 
 which he would have given his last drop of blood to 
 possess — only the man of the world, smiling while his 
 very soul was being wrung — only the puppet dancing 
 to the conventional world's tune. 
 
 "Dancing?" he said lightly. "Rather . . . Lady 
 Ducie, may I have this first waltz ? No ? . . . oh, 
 I say, that's too bad. . . . The first Lancers, then ? 
 . . . Good ! Loo, may I have this dance ? " 
 
 And the world went on just the same. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 AND THERE AEE SOCIAL DUTIES TO PERFORM 
 
 THE first November fog. 
 The world had wagged on in its matter-of-fact 
 way for more than six months now, since that day in 
 April when Philip de Mountford — under cover of lies 
 told by Parker — had made his way into Lord Rad- 
 clyffe's presence — more than five months since the 
 favoured nephew had been so unceremoniously thrust 
 out of his home. 
 
 Spring had yielded to summer, summer given way 
 to autumn : and already winter was treading hard 
 on autumn's heels. The autumn session had filled 
 London with noise and bustle, with political dinner- 
 parties and monster receptions, with new plays at all 
 the best theatres, and volumes of ephemeral literature. 
 
 And all that was — to-night — wrapped in a dense fog, 
 the first of the season, quite a stranger too in London, 
 for scientists had asserted positively that the era of 
 the traditional " pea-souper " was over : the metro- 
 polis would know it no more. 
 
 Colonel Harris was in town with his daughter 
 Louisa, and swearing at London weather in true 
 country fashion. He declared that fogs paralysed 
 
 90 
 
SOCIAL DUTIES TO PERFORM 91 
 
 his intellect, that he became positively imbecile, not 
 knowing how to fight his way in the folds of such a 
 black pall. Taxi-cab drivers he mistrusted : in fact he 
 had all an old sportsman's hatred of mechanically 
 propelled vehicles, whilst he flatly refused to bring 
 valuable horses up to town to catch their death of 
 cold whilst waiting about in the fog. 
 
 So Luke had promised to pilot the party as far as 
 the Danish Legation, where they were to dine to-night 
 — this was the only condition under which Colonel 
 Harris would consent to enter one of those confounded 
 motors. 
 
 Colonel Harris had remained loyal to the core to 
 Luke and to his fortunes. It is a way old sportsmen 
 have ; and he had never interfered by word or in- 
 nuendo in Louisa's actions with regard to her engage- 
 ment. His daughter was old enough, he said, to know 
 her own mind. She liked Luke, and it would be shabby 
 to leave him in the lurch, now that the last of the society 
 rats were scurrying to leave the sinking ship. They 
 were doing it too in a mighty hurry. The invitations, 
 which the penniless younger son received towards the 
 end of the London season, were considerably fewer than 
 those which were showered on him at its beginning, 
 before the world had realized that Philip de Mountford 
 had come to stay, and would one day be Earl of Rad- 
 clyffe with a rent roll of £80,000 a year, and the sore 
 need of a wife. 
 
 It had begun with the bridge parties. Luke would no 
 longer play — since he could no longer afford to lose a 
 quarter's income at one sitting. Uncle Rad used to 
 
92 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 shrug indifferent shoulders at such losses, and place 
 blank cheques at the dear boy's disposal. Imagine 
 then how welcome Luke was at bridge parties, and how 
 very undesirable now. 
 
 Then he could no longer make return for hospitable 
 entertainments. He had no home to which to ask 
 smart friends : Lord Radclyffe, though a monster of 
 ill-humour, gave splendid dinner-parties at which 
 Luke was quasi host. Now it was all give and no take ; 
 and the givers retired one by one, quite unregretted 
 by Luke, who thus was spared the initiative of turning 
 his back on his friends. They did the turning, quite 
 politely but very effectually. Luke scarcely noticed 
 how he was dropping out of his former circle. He was 
 over-absorbed and really did not care. Moreover his 
 dress clothes were getting shabby. 
 
 To-night at the Langham, when he arrived at about 
 seven o'clock so as to have an undisturbed half-hour 
 with Loo, Colonel Harris greeted him with outstretched 
 hand and cordial welcome — 
 
 " Hello ! Luke my boy ! how goes it with you ? " 
 
 Louisa said nothing, but her eyes welcomed him, 
 and she drew him near to her, on to the sofa in front 
 of the fire, and allowed her hand to rest in his, for she 
 knew how he loved the touch of it. People were 
 beginning to say that Louisa Harris was getting old : 
 she never had been good-looking, poor thing ! but 
 always smart, very smart . . . now she was losing 
 her smartness, and what remained ? 
 
 She had come up to town this autumn in last 
 autumn's frocks ! and the twins were after all being 
 
SOCIAL DUTIES TO PERFORM 93 
 
 chaperoned by their aunt. Would that absurd engage- 
 ment never be broken off ? Fancy Louisa Harris 
 married to a poor man ! Why ! she did not know how 
 to do her hair, and dresses were still worn fastened at 
 the back, and would be for years to come ! Louisa 
 Harris and no French maid, cheap corsets and cleaned 
 gloves ! it was unthinkable, 
 
 Perhaps the engagement was virtually broken 
 off , , . anyhow the wedding could never take 
 place. 
 
 Unless Philip de Mountford happened to die. 
 
 But it did not look as if the engagement was broken 
 off. Not at any rate on this raw November evening, 
 when there was a dense fog outside, but a bright, cheery 
 fire and plenty of light in the little sitting-room at the 
 Langham, and Luke sat on the sofa beside Louisa, and 
 plain Louisa — in last autumn's gown — looking at 
 him with her candid, luminous eyes. 
 
 " How is Lord Radclyffe ? " asked Colonel Harris. 
 
 " Badly," replied Luke, " I am afraid. He looks 
 very feeble, and his asthma, I know, must bother him. 
 He was always worse in foggy weather." 
 
 " He ought to go to Algeciras. He always used 
 to." 
 
 " I know," assented Luke dejectedly. 
 
 " Can't something be done ? Surely, Luke, you 
 haven't lost all your influence with him." 
 
 " Every bit, sir. Why, I hardly ever see him." 
 
 " Hardly ever see him ? " ejaculated Colonel Harris, 
 and I am afraid that he swore. 
 
 " I haven't been to Grosvenor Square for over six 
 
94 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 weeks. I am only allowed to see him when Philip is 
 out, or by special permission from Philip. I won't go 
 under such conditions." 
 
 " How that house must have altered ! " 
 
 " You wouldn't know it, sir. All the servants have 
 gone, one after the other ; they had rows with Philip 
 and left at a month's notioe. I suppose he has no idea 
 how to set about getting new ones. . , . I know I 
 shouldn't ! . . . There's only a man and his wife, a 
 sort of charwoman who cleans and cooks, and the man 
 is supposed to look after Uncle Bad, but he doesn't 
 do it, for he is half seas over most of the time." 
 
 " Good God ! " murmured Colonel Harris. 
 
 " They have shut up all the rooms, except the library 
 where Uncle Had and Philip have their meals when 
 they are at home. But they lunoh and dine at their 
 club mostly. . . ." 
 
 " What club do they go to ? I called in at the 
 Athenseum last night, thinking to find Radclyffe there, 
 but the hall-porter told me that he never went there 
 now." 
 
 " No. He and Philip have joined some new club in 
 Shaftesbury Avenue — The Veterans', I think it's 
 called." 
 
 " Some low, mixed-up kind of place ! Old Rad- 
 clyffe must be out of his senses ! " 
 
 " He likes it, so he tells me, because people don't 
 come and bother him there." 
 
 " I should think not, indeed ! I wouldn't set foot 
 in such a place." 
 
 " He goes there most evenings, and so does Philip 
 
SOCIAL DUTIES TO PERFORM 95 
 
 . . . and it's so bad for Uncle Rad to be out late these 
 foggy nigbts." 
 
 " You ought to make an effort and stop it, Luke." 
 
 " I have made many efforts, sir. But, as a matter 
 of fact, I had made up my mind to make a final one 
 to-night, Uncle Rad ought to go abroad, and I 
 thought I would try to impress this on Philip. He 
 can't be a bad man. . . ." 
 
 " Oh ! can't he ? " was Colonel Harris's muttered 
 comment. 
 
 " At any rate, if I have no influence, he has, and he 
 must exert it and get Uncle Rad down to Algeciras 
 or anywhere else he likes, so long as it is well 
 south." 
 
 Luke paused awhile, his face flushed with this ex- 
 pression of determination, which must have caused 
 his pride many a bitter pang. Then he resumed, more 
 quietly — 
 
 " It's rather humiliating, isn't it, to go to that man 
 as a suppliant ? " 
 
 " Don't go as a suppliant, my boy. You must in- 
 sist on your uncle being properly looked after." 
 
 Colonel Harris thought all that sort of thing so easy. 
 One always does before one has had a genuine tussle 
 with the unpleasant realities of life ; to the good 
 country squire with an assured position, an assured 
 income, assured influence, it seemed very easy indeed 
 to insist. He himself never had to insist : things oc- 
 curred round him and at his word, as it were, of them- 
 selves. 
 But Louisa, knowing how matters stood, made no 
 
96 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 suggestion. She knew that Luke would do his best, 
 but that that best was but of little avail now. As 
 Philip de Mountford arranged, so it would all come 
 about. 
 
 Friends and well-wishers could but pray that the 
 intruder was not a bad man, and that he had his 
 uncle's health at heart. 
 
 She gave the signal to go, saying simply — 
 " We mustn't be late for dinner, father, must we ? " 
 And she rose to go, held back by the hand, by 
 Luke's fervent insistence. 
 
 He could not accustom himself to part from her, as 
 he often had to do. It seemed absurd, but undeniable. 
 He was supremely happy in her company, and snatched 
 as much of it as ever he could ; but the wrench was 
 always awful, and Louisa — subtly comprehensive — 
 was conscious of the terrible pain which she gave him 
 at every parting. She felt the repercussion of it in all 
 her nerves, although her sound common sense con- 
 demned the sensation as unreal. 
 
 To-night the feeling was even stronger than it had 
 ever been before. At her first suggestion that it was 
 time to go, an elusive current passed from him to her. 
 He had been holding her hand, and his had been cool 
 and only slightly on the quiver from time to time, 
 when her own fingers pressed more markedly against 
 his. But now, all at once, it seemed as if a sudden 
 current of lava had penetrated his veins ; his hand 
 almost scorched her own, and though visibly it did 
 not move, yet she felt the pulses throbbing and trem- 
 bling beneath the flesh. The look of misery in his face 
 
SOCIAL DUTIES TO PERFORM 97 
 
 made her own heart ache, though she tried to smile 
 with easy gaiety. 
 
 " To-morrow we go to the Temple Show together, 
 don't forget, Luke." 
 
 Her words seemed to recall him from another world, 
 and he quickly enough pulled himself together and 
 helped her on with her cloak. Colonel Harris, with 
 the gentle tactfulness peculiar to kind hearts, had 
 loudly announced that he would be waiting in the hall. 
 
 " Anything the matter, Luke ? " she asked as soon 
 as her father had gone from the room. 
 
 He contrived to smile and to look unconcerned. 
 
 " Not particularly," he replied. 
 
 " You seem different to-night, somehow." 
 
 " How different ? " 
 
 " I can't explain. But you are not yourself." 
 
 " Myself more than ever. My adoration for you is 
 more uncontrolled — that is all." 
 
 She wrapped herself up in her furs ; for it was 
 silence that gave the best response. And then he said, 
 quite calmly — 
 
 " Will you go first ? I'll switch off the light." 
 
 " Father will be waiting downstairs," she rejoined. 
 
 Then she went past him and out through the door, 
 and he had to go back to the mantelpiece where one 
 of tiie electric light switches was. He turned off the 
 light ; the room remained in darkness, save where the 
 dying embers of the fire threw a red glow on the sofa 
 where she had sat with him, and the footstool on 
 which her evening shoe had rested. 
 
 And the conventional man of the world, schooled 
 
98 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 from childhood onwards to discipline and self-control, 
 fell on both knees against that mute footstool, and, 
 leaning forward, he pressed his burning lips against 
 the silk cushions of the sofa, which still bore the im- 
 press and the fragrance of her exquisite shoulders. 
 Then he too went out of the room. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 SHALL A MAN ESCAPE HIS FATE ? 
 
 ON the way to the Danish Legation Colonel Harris 
 asked Luke what his plans were for the 
 evening. 
 
 " I shall," replied Luke, " call at Grosvenor Square, 
 I may find Uncle Rad, or Philip, or both at home. I 
 mean to have a good tussle about this wintering 
 abroad. . . , It's really most important," 
 
 " I call it criminal," retorted Colonel Harris, " keep- 
 ing a man in London who has been used to go 
 south in the winter for the past twenty years at 
 least." 
 
 " Uncle Rad is still fairly well now, though I do 
 think he looks more feeble than usual. He ought to 
 go at once." 
 
 " But," suggested Louisa, " he oughtn't to go 
 alone." 
 
 " No, He certainly ought not." 
 
 " Would Mr. de Mountford go with him ? " 
 
 " I don't think so." 
 
 " This new man of his, then ? " 
 
 " That," said Luke hotly, " would be madness. 
 The man is really a drunkard." 
 
100 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " But somebody ought to go." 
 
 " Edie would be only too willing ... if she is 
 allowed." 
 
 " Edie ? " exclaimed Louisa. 
 
 And she added, with a smile — 
 
 " What will Reggie Duggan have to say to 
 that ? " 
 
 " Nothing," he replied quietly. " Reggie Duggan 
 has cried off." 
 
 " You don't mean that." 
 
 " He has given up Edie, who has little or nothing a 
 year, and become engaged to Marian Montagu, who 
 has eight thousand pounds a year of her own." 
 
 " Poor Edie ! " murmured Louisa ; whilst Colonel 
 Harris's exclamation was equally to the point and far 
 more forcible, and more particularly concerned the 
 Honourable Reginald Duggan. 
 
 " Yes ! " rejoined Luke, " it has hit her hard, 
 coming on the top of other things. There's no gain- 
 saying the fact, is there, Colonel Harris, that we four 
 brothers and sister owe something to Uncle Arthur's 
 son ? " 
 
 " The handle of a riding whip," came from out the 
 depths of Colonel Harris's fur coat. " Stupid way 
 parsons have of saying that to wish a man dead is 
 tantamount to murder. I am committing murder now 
 for the matter of that, for I wish that blackguard were 
 buried in one of his native earthquakes." 
 
 " Would to God," added Luke, " that wishing alone 
 would do it." 
 
 There was so much wrath, such hatred and con- 
 
SHALL A MAN ESCAPE HIS FATE ? 101 
 
 tempt, contained in those words that Louisa instinc- 
 tively whispered — 
 
 " Hush, Luke ! don't talk like that." 
 
 And Colonel Harris somewhat ostentatiously cleared 
 his throat and said — 
 
 " Don't let us think of that confounded Philip." 
 
 Luke took leave of Colonel Harris and of Louisa at 
 the door of the Danish Legation. He waited on the 
 carpeted kerb beneath the awning until he saw her 
 white evening cloak disappear in the doorway. 
 
 The fog had become very dense. Just here, where 
 a number of carriage lamps threw light around, one 
 could distinguish faces and forms immediately close 
 to one ; but as Luke turned away from the brilliant 
 lights he realized how thick was the pall which en- 
 veloped London to-night. He looked at his watch ; 
 it was close upon eight. The next few minutes brought 
 him to the door of Lord Radclyffe's house. 
 
 He rang, but obtained no answer ; he rang "again 
 and again, and finally came to the conclusion that his 
 uncle and cousin were, as usual, dining out, and that 
 the elderly couple who did perfunctory service in the 
 house were either asleep or out of earshot, or had taken 
 the opportunity of seeking amusement in a neighbour- 
 ing public-house. 
 
 But Luke was worried about Lord Radclyffe ; more- 
 over, he had made up his mind that he would speak 
 to him and to Philip to-night with regard to the im- 
 perative wintering abroad for the old man. 
 
 The Veterans' Club was unknown to Luke, but 
 Shaftesbury Avenue was not. He turned into Oxford 
 
102 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Street, and as taxi-cabs were now a forbidden luxury 
 he hailed a passing omnibus and jumped into it, and 
 thus was rapidly conveyed into the very heart of the 
 fog, which had found its haven around Piccadilly 
 Circus. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THEY HAVE NO HEART 
 
 AS to what occurred in the heart of the fog on that 
 -£*- night in November, four years ago, most of you, 
 no doubt, will remember. Those who do not I must 
 refer to the morning papers of the following day. 
 
 A perfect harvest for journalists. Gossip and detail 
 sufficient to fill column upon column of newspaper : 
 gossip that grew as the hours sped on, and the second 
 day of fog pursued its monotonous course. 
 
 A man had been found murdered in a taxi-cab, his 
 throat stabbed through from ear to ear, the jugular 
 pierced, life absolutely extinct — the murderer vanished. 
 
 Drama in the midst of reality. 
 
 Such things are, you know. No amount of so-called 
 realistic literature, no amount of sneers at what is 
 dubbed melodrama, will prevent this fact occurring — 
 and occurring very frequently in the streets of a 
 mighty city. 
 
 Just a man murdered, and the murderer disappeared. 
 A very real thing that, and London has had to face 
 such facts often enough, more often than has an 
 audience at Drury Lane or the Adelphi. The superior- 
 minded critic who spells British Drama with a capital 
 B and D, and pronounces it Pritish Trama, sat in the 
 
 103 
 
104 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 stalls of a London theatre on this very same foggy 
 evening in November, four years ago. The play was 
 one that did not appeal to the superior-minded critic ; 
 it was just a simple tale of jealousy which led to the 
 breaking of that great commandment : " Thou shalt 
 do no murder ! " 
 
 And the superior-minded critic yawned behind a 
 well-gloved hand and dubbed the play melodramatic, 
 unreal, and stagey, quite foreign to the life of to-day. 
 But just at that hour — between nine and ten o'clock — 
 a man was murdered in a taxi-cab, and his murderer 
 vanished in the fog. 
 
 London doesn't dub such events melodrama, she 
 does not sneer at them or call them unreal. She knows 
 that they are real : there is nothing stagey or artificial 
 about them : they have even become commonplace. 
 
 They occur so often ; and most often whilst society 
 dines or dances, and the elect applaud with languid 
 grace the newest play by Mr. Bernard Shaw. 
 
 Only in this case the event gained additional in- 
 terest. The murdered man was a personality. Some 
 one whom everybody that was anybody had talked 
 about, gossiped, and discussed for the past six months. 
 Some one whom few had seen, but many had heard 
 about — Philip de Mountford, the son of the late 
 Arthur de Mountford — Radclyffe's newly found heir, 
 you know. 
 
 The news spread as only such news can spread, and 
 when society poured out from theatres, from houses 
 in Grosvenor Square, or from the dining-room of the 
 Carlton, every one had heard the news. 
 
THEY HAVE NO HEART 105 
 
 It was as if the sprite of gossip had been busy whis- 
 pering in over-willing ears. 
 
 " Philip de Mountford has been murdered." 
 
 " He was found in a taxi-cab ; his throat was cut 
 from ear to ear." 
 
 " No, no ! not cut, I understand. Pierced through 
 with a sharp instrument — a stiletto, I presume." 
 
 " How horrible ! " 
 
 " Poor Lord Radclyffe . . . such a tragedy ! . . ." 
 
 " He'll never live through it." 
 
 " He has looked very feeble lately." 
 
 " The scandal round the late Arthur's name broke 
 him up, I think." 
 
 " It seems Arthur de Mountford had married a 
 negress." 
 
 " No, no ! Philip did not look like a half-caste. I 
 saw him once or twice. He was dark, but nice-looking." 
 
 " Still ! there was some scandal about the mar- 
 riage." 
 
 " Nothing to what this scandal will be ! " 
 
 " What scandal ? " 
 
 " Seek whom the crime benefits, you know." 
 
 " Then you think . . . ? You really think Luke de 
 Mountford did it ? " 
 
 " I thought so the moment I heard the story." 
 
 " I've always thought that Luke de Mountford a 
 queer sort of fellow." 
 
 " And he took his cousin's advent very badly." 
 
 "Well, one can't wonder at that exactly ... to 
 lose a future peerage all of a sudden . . . and he has 
 no private fortune either ..." 
 
106 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Poor beggar." 
 
 " I heard there were awful rows between the cousins 
 until Lord Radclyffe himself turned Luke and the others 
 out of the house." 
 
 " And now Philip de Mountford has been murdered." 
 " And the police will seek him whom the crime 
 benefits." 
 
 " It certainly looks very suspicious." 
 " A real cause cilSbre. , . . Won't it be exciting ? " 
 " Something to read about in one's morning papers." 
 " I shall try and get reserved seats for the trial. . . . 
 I hate a crush, don't you ? " 
 
 " Will they hang him, do you think ? " 
 "If he is found guilty . . . English justice is no 
 respecter of persons." 
 " How awful." 
 
 And tittle-tattle, senseless talk, inane remarks were 
 wafted on the grimy wings of the fog. They penetrated 
 everywhere, in the lobbies of the theatres, the boudoir 
 of madame, and the smoking-room of my lord. They 
 penetrated to the magnificent reception rooms of the 
 Danish Legation, and Louisa heard the remarks even 
 before she knew the full details of the story. Louisa 
 had a well-trained contralto voice, and had been asked 
 to sing in the course of the evening. Just as she stood 
 in an outer room selecting her music, she heard a group 
 of idlers — men and women — talking over the mys- 
 terious murder in the taxi-cab. 
 
 They had at first been unconscious of her presence. 
 She had her back towards them, turning over the 
 leaves of her song. Suddenly there was a hush in the 
 
THEY HAVE NO HEART 107 
 
 conversation; one of the chatterboxes must have 
 pointed her out to the others. 
 
 Whereupon Louisa, serene and smiling, a roll of 
 music in her hand, joined the merry group. 
 
 " Please," she said, " don't stop. I have heard 
 nothing yet. And of course I want to know." 
 
 One of the men laughed inanely, and the ladies 
 murmured silly nothings. 
 
 " Oh 1 " said some one, " it mayn't be true. Such 
 lots of wild rumours get about." 
 
 " What," asked Louisa placidly, " mayn't be true ? 
 Some one said just now that Philip de Mountford has 
 been murdered." 
 
 " Well," murmured one of the ladies, " they say it 
 was Mr, de Mountford, but they can't be sure, can 
 they ? " 
 
 The group was dissolving ; almost, it seemed, as if it 
 had vanished into thin air. When Louisa first heard 
 them talking there were about a dozen men and women, 
 a brilliant throng of gaily plumaged birds ; now the 
 ladies remembered that they wanted to hear the 
 latest infant prodigy, who had been engaged to enter- 
 tain the guests at the post-dinner reception to-night, 
 and the men, too, feeling uncomfortable and awkward, 
 made good their escape. 
 
 People — the pleasure-loving people of to-day — have 
 no use for latent tragedy ; excitement, yes ! and 
 drama, but only from the secure distance of a private 
 seat at an Old Bailey trial. The murder of Philip de 
 Mountford could be discussed with quite an amount 
 of enjoyment between a dinner-party and a ball 
 
108 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 supper, but not in Louisa Harris's presence ! By Gad ! 
 too much of a good thing you know ! 
 
 Within a very few minutes Louisa found her- 
 self almost alone, just the one or two near her to 
 whom she had directly spoken, and — fortunately — 
 Colonel Harris in the doorway, come to look for his 
 daughter. 
 
 " The infant with the violin," he said as soon as he 
 caught sight of Louisa, " is just finishing his piece, 
 poor little rat ! You promised you would sing next, 
 Loo. What songs have you got ? " 
 
 " I was just making a selection when you came, 
 father. What would you like me to sing ? " 
 
 With an unexpressed sigh of relief the last two of 
 the original group of gossips dwindled away into the 
 reception room beyond, congratulating themselves on 
 having successfully engineered their exit. 
 
 " Dooced awkward, don't you know, Miss Harris 
 asking questions." 
 
 " I suppose she doesn't realize . . ." 
 
 " She will soon enough . . ." 
 
 " She ought to have broken off her engagement 
 long ago." 
 
 " Isn't it awful ? . . . poor thing ! " 
 
 Louisa, left alone with her father, could allow her 
 nerves to ease their fearful tension. She had no need 
 to hide from him the painful quiver of her lips, or the 
 anxious frown across her brow. 
 
 " Do you know," she asked, " anything about this 
 awful business, father ? " 
 
 " There's a lot of gossip," he replied ; his voice was 
 
THEY HAVE NO HEART 109 
 
 not only gruff, but hoarse, which showed that he was 
 strangely moved. 
 
 " But," she insisted, " some truth in the gossip ? " 
 
 " They say Philip de Mountford has been murdered." 
 
 " Who says so ? " 
 
 " Some people have come on from the theatres, and 
 men from the clubs. The streets are full of it . . . and 
 evening papers have brought out midnight editions, 
 which are selling like hot cakes." 
 
 " And do they say that Luke has killed Philip de 
 Mountford ? " 
 
 "No" — with some hesitation — "they don't say that." 
 
 " But they hint at it." 
 
 " Newspaper tittle-tattle." 
 
 " How much is actual fact ? " 
 
 " I understand," he explained, " that at nine o'clock 
 or thereabouts two men in evening dress hailed a 
 passing taxi-cab just outside the Lyric Theatre in 
 Shaftesbury Avenue and told the chauffeur to drive 
 to Hyde Park Corner, just by the railings of the Green 
 Park. The driver drew up there and one of the two 
 men got out. As he reclosed the door of the cab he 
 leaned toward the interior and said cheerfully, " Slong, 
 old man. See you to-morrow." Then he told the 
 chauffeur to drive on to 1 Cromwell Gardens, opposite 
 the Museum, and turning on his heel disappeared in the 
 fog. When the chauffeur drew up for the second time 
 no one alighted from the cab. So he got down from his 
 box and opened the door." 
 
 " The other man," murmured Louisa vaguely, " was 
 in the cab . . . dead ! . . ." 
 
110 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " That's about it." 
 
 " With his throat pierced from ear to ear by a sharp 
 instrument which might have been a skewer." 
 
 " You have heard it all, then ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! " she said hurriedly. 
 
 The room was swaying round her ; the furniture 
 started hopping and dancing, Louisa, who had never 
 fainted in her life, felt as if the floor was giving way 
 under her feet. Memory was unloading one of her 
 store-houses, looking over the contents of a hidden 
 cell, wherein she had put away a strange winter scene 
 in Brussels, a taxi-cab, the Hi-lighted boulevard, the 
 chauffeur getting down from his box and finding a man 
 crouched in the further corner of the cab — dead — with 
 his throat pierced from ear to ear by an instrument 
 which might have been a skewer. And memory was 
 raking out that cell, clearing it in every corner ; trying 
 to find the recollection of a certain morning in Batter- 
 sea Park a year ago when Louisa recounted her 
 impressions of that weird scene, told the tale of this 
 crime, which she had almost witnessed. Memory 
 found a distinct impression that she had told the tale 
 at full length, and with all the details which she knew. 
 She remembered talking it all over, and that when 
 she did so, the ground in Battersea Park was crisp 
 with the frost under her feet, and an inquisitive robin 
 perched himself on the railings and then flew away, 
 accompanying her and another all the way along as far 
 as the gates, 
 
 Two pictures, vivid and distinct : that evening in 
 Brussels, and the morning in Battersea Park, her first 
 
THEY HAVE NO HEART 111 
 
 meeting with Luke after his letter to her — the letter 
 which had come to her in the Palace Hotel and which 
 had made her the happiest woman in all the world. 
 Memory — satisfied — had at last emptied the store- 
 house of that one cell and left Louisa Harris standing 
 here, staring at her father, her ears buzzing with 
 the idle and irresponsible chatter of society jaok- 
 daws, her mind seeing all that had happened outside 
 1 Cromwell Gardens : the cab stopping, the chauffeur 
 terrified, the crowd collecting, the police taking notes. 
 Her mind saw it as if her bodily eyes had been there, 
 and all that her father told her seemed but the re- 
 capitulation of what she knew already. 
 
 "Where," she said after a while, "is the dead man 
 now ? " 
 
 " I don't know," he replied, " I should imagine 
 they would keep the body at the police station until 
 the morning. I don't suppose they'd be such mugs 
 as to disturb Lord Radclyffe at this time of night; 
 the shock might kill the old man." 
 
 " I suppose they are quite sure that it is Philip de 
 Mountford who was killed ? " 
 
 "Why, yes! he had his pocketbook, his cards, his 
 letters on him, and money too , , . robbery was not 
 the object of the crime. . , , " 
 
 " It was Philip de Mountford then ? " 
 
 " Good God, yes ! of whom were you thinking ? " 
 
 " I was thinking of Luke," she replied simply. 
 
 The old man said nothing more, Had he spoken 
 at all then it would have been to tell her that he too 
 was thinking of Luke, and that there was perhaps 
 
112 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 not a single person in the magnificent house at that 
 moment who was not — in some way or other — thinking 
 of Luke. 
 
 The hostess came in, elegant and worldly, with 
 banal words to request the pleasure of hearing Miss 
 Harris sing. 
 
 " It is so kind of you," she said, " to offer. I have 
 never heard you, you know, and people say you have 
 such a splendid voice. But perhaps you would rather 
 not sing to-night ? " 
 
 She spoke English perfectly, but with a slight 
 Scandinavian intonation, which seemed to soften the 
 banality of her words. Being foreign, she thought 
 less of concealing her sympathy, and was much less 
 fearful of venturing on delicate ground. 
 
 She held out a small exquisitely-gloved hand and laid 
 it almost affectionately on the younger woman's arm. 
 
 " I am sure you would rather not sing to-night," 
 she said kindly. 
 
 " Indeed, Countess, why should you think that ? " 
 retorted Louisa lightly. " I shall be delighted to sing. 
 I wonder which of these new songs you would like 
 best. There is an exquisite one by Guy d'Hardelot. 
 Shall I sing that ? " 
 
 And Her Excellency, who so charmingly repre- 
 sented Denmark in English society, followed her 
 guest into the reception room : she admired the 
 elegant carriage of the English girl, the slender figure, 
 the soft abundant hair. 
 
 And Her Excellency sighed and murmured to 
 herself — 
 
THEY HAVE NO HEART 113 
 
 " They are stiff, these English ! and oh ! they have 
 no feelings, no sentiment ! " 
 
 And a few moments later, when Louisa Harris's 
 really fine voice, firm and clear, echoed in the wide 
 reception room, Her Excellency reiterated her im- 
 pressions — 
 
 " These English have no heart ! She sings and her 
 lover is suspected of murder ! Bah ! they have no 
 heart ! " 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE TALE HAD TO BE TOLD 
 
 AND whilst the morning papers were unfolded by 
 -£*- millions of English men and women, and the 
 details of the mysterious crime discussed over eggs 
 and bacon and buttered toast, Philip de Mountford, the 
 newly found heir-presumptive to the Earldom of Rad- 
 clyffe, was lying in the gloomy mortuary chamber of a 
 London police court, whither he had been conveyed 
 in the same cab whose four narrow walls jealously 
 guarded the secret of the tragedy which had been 
 enacted within their precincts. 
 
 Lord Radclyffe had been aroused at ten o'clock the 
 previous night by representatives of the police, who 
 came to break the news to him. It was not late, and 
 the old man was not yet in bed. He had opened the 
 front door of his house himself ; his servants, he ex- 
 plained curtly, were spending their evening more 
 agreeably elsewhere. 
 
 The house — even to the police officer — appeared 
 lonely and gloomy in the extreme, and the figure of 
 the old man — who should have been surrounded by 
 every luxury that rank and wealth can give — looked 
 singularly pathetic as he stood in his own doorway, 
 evidently unprotected and uncared for, and sus- 
 
 114 
 
THE TALE HAD TO BE TOLD 115 
 
 piciously demanding what his late visitors' business 
 might be. 
 
 Very reluctantly, on hearing the latter's status, he 
 consented to admit them. He did not at first appear 
 to suspect that anything wrong might have hap- 
 pened, or that anything untoward could occasion this 
 nocturnal visit ; in fact, he seemed unconscious of the 
 lateness of the hour. 
 
 He walked straight into the library, where he had 
 obviously been sitting, for an arm-chair was drawn to 
 the fire, a reading-lamp was alight on the table, and 
 papers and magazines lay scattered about. 
 
 The police officer in plain clothes, who stood with 
 his subordinate, somewhat undecided, hardly knew 
 how to begin. It was a hard task to break such awful 
 news to this lonely old man. 
 
 At last it was done ; the word " accident " and 
 " your nephew " were blurted out by the man in com- 
 mand. But hardly were these out of his lips than 
 Lord Radclyffe — livid and trembling — had jumped to 
 his feet. 
 
 " Luke ! " he contrived to exclaim, and his voice 
 was almost choked, his lips and hands trembled, beads 
 of perspiration stood upon his forehead : " something 
 has happened to Luke." 
 
 " No, no, my lord ! that's not the name. . . . 
 Philip was on the card and on the letters. . . . Philip 
 de Mountford , . . that was, I think, the poor gentle- 
 man's name." 
 
 "And an accident has happened to Mr. Philip de 
 Mountford ? " 
 
116 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 The voice was quite different now. No longer 
 choked with anxiety : calm, and as if mildly interested 
 in passing events. It was obvious, even to the strangers 
 present, that one nephew was of far greater moment 
 than the other. 
 
 " I am afraid, my lord, that it's worse than an 
 accident, . . ." 
 
 The officer paused a moment, satisfied that he was 
 doing all that was necessary and possible to mitigate 
 the suddenness of the blow. 
 
 " It's foul play," he said at last, " that's what it 
 was." 
 
 " Foul play ? What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 "Mr. Philip de Mountford has been murdered, my 
 lord ... his body now lies at the police station, . . . 
 Would you wish him conveyed home at once, my lord ? 
 ... or wait until after the inquest ? " 
 
 There was silence in the room for a moment or two, 
 while the old-fashioned clock ticked stolidly on, At 
 the awful announcement — which, indeed, might have 
 felled a younger and more vigorous man — Lord Rad- 
 clyffe had not moved. He was still standing, his hand 
 resting on the table beside the piled-up newspapers. 
 The light of the lamp, veiled by a red shade, illumined 
 the transparent delicacy of the high-bred hand, the 
 smooth, black surface of the coat, and the glimmering 
 whiteness of the shirt-front, with its single pearl stud. 
 The face itself was in shadow, and thus the police 
 officer saw little or nothing of that inward struggle for 
 self-mastery which was being put so severely to the 
 test. 
 
THE TALE HAD TO BE TOLD 117 
 
 Lord Radclyffe, face to face with the awful event, 
 strove by every power at his command to remain dig- 
 nified and impassive. The lessons taught by genera- 
 tions of ancestors had to bear fruit now, when a 
 representative of the ancient name stood confronting 
 the greatest crisis that one of his kind has ever had 
 to face. The brutal, vulgar fact of a common murder, 
 the realities of a sordid life brought within the four 
 walls of a solemn, aristocratic old house. 
 
 For a moment before he spoke again the old man 
 looked round about him — the tall mahogany book- 
 cases filled with silent friends, the busts of Dryden 
 and of Milton, the globes in their mahogany casings : 
 all heirlooms from the generations of de Mountfords 
 who had gone before. 
 
 It seemed as if the present bearer of the historic 
 name called all these mute things to witness this 
 present degradation. A crime had smirched the 
 family escutcheon ; for to some minds — those who 
 dwell on empyrean heights to which the matter-of-fact 
 sordidness of everyday life never reaches — to those 
 minds the victim is almost as horrible as the assassin. 
 
 Lord Radclyffe, however, fought his own battle 
 silently. Not with one tremor or one gasp would he 
 let the two men see what he felt. Conventionality 
 wielded her iron rod in this shabby old library, just as 
 she had done in the ballroom of the Danish Legation, 
 and whilst not two hundred yards away Louisa Harris 
 sang Guy d'Hardelot's songs and smilingly received 
 praise and thanks for her perfect performance, so here 
 the old man never flinched. 
 
118 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 He gave to his nerves the word of command, and as 
 soon as he had forced them to obey, he looked straight 
 at the police officer and said quite calmly — 
 
 " Please tell me all that I ought to know." 
 
 He sat in his high-baoked chair, curtly bidding the 
 two men to sit down ; he made no attempt to shade 
 his face and eyes ; once the battle fought and won he 
 had nothing more to hide : his own face rigid and still, 
 his firm mouth and smooth brow were mask enough to 
 conceal the feelings within. 
 
 The officer gave the details at full length : he told 
 Lord Radclyffe all that was known of the mysterious 
 crime. The old man listened in silence until the man 
 had finished speaking, then he asked a few questions. 
 
 " You have a clue of course ? " 
 
 " I think so, my lord," replied the officer guardedly. 
 
 " Can I help in any way ? " 
 
 " Any information, my lord, that you think might 
 help us would, of course, be gladly welcomed." 
 
 " The man who hailed the cab in Shaftesbury 
 Avenue. . . . What was he like ? . . . I could help 
 you if 1 knew." 
 
 " I'll have his description properly written out, my 
 lord, and bring it you in the morning." 
 
 " Can't you tell me now ? Every moment lost is 
 irretrievable in cases like these." 
 
 " I am afraid, my lord, that I cannot tell you defi- 
 nitely now. There's a dense fog outside . . . and . . ." 
 
 " The chauffeur's descriptions are vague," inter- 
 posed Lord Radclyffe, with a sneer ; " the eternal ex- 
 cuses for incompetence." 
 
THE TALE HAD TO BE TOLD 119 
 
 " My lord ! " protested the man. 
 
 " All right ! all right ! No offence meant, I assure 
 you. . . . You must pardon an old man's irritability . . . 
 the news you have brought me does not make for 
 evenness of temper. ... I rely on your department 
 to clear this matter up with the least possible 
 scandal. . . ." 
 
 " I am afraid that scandal is inevitable," retorted 
 the officer dryly, for he still felt sore at Lord Radclyffe's 
 ill-tempered thrust ; " we shall have to rake up a great 
 deal of what might be unpleasant to many parties." 
 
 " Why should it be unpleasant ? " 
 
 " We shall have to know something of the murdered 
 man's past, of his associates before . . . before he was 
 able to establish his claim to your lordship's considera- 
 tion." 
 
 " I have no doubt that the late Philip de Mountford 
 had many undesirable associates in the past," re- 
 marked Lord Radclyffe curtly. 
 
 The silence which followed was tantamount to a 
 dismissal. The officer rose to go. He felt nettled at 
 the old man's obvious sneers : they had been like a 
 cold douche over his enthusiasm, for the case had 
 already drifted into his hands and it promised to be the 
 most interesting and most sensational criminal case of 
 modern times. 
 
 "You have not," he said before taking his leave, "told 
 me, my lord, what you wish done about the body." 
 
 " Surely," replied Lord Radclyffe querulously, " it 
 is too late now to make any arrangements. What is 
 the time ? " 
 
120 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Half-past ten, my lord." 
 
 " Surely to-morrow morning we can discuss all 
 that." 
 
 " Just as you wish, of course." 
 
 " To-morrow morning ... as early as you like. 
 . . . My servants will be at home then . . . the house 
 will be ready . . . and I can make arrangements . . . 
 or else we'll wait, as you say, until after the in- 
 quest." 
 
 The sound of a bell broke the silence that ensued. 
 
 " You must excuse me," said his lordship dryly ; 
 " my servants are out, and there's some one at the 
 front door." 
 
 " I can hear footsteps below stairs, my lord," re- 
 marked the officer. 
 
 " Ah ! I believe you're right. Those two black- 
 guards must have come home and I didn't know 
 it. . . . They do pretty much as they like." 
 
 Shuffling, uncertain footsteps were heard across the 
 hall. The officer said hurriedly — 
 
 " One more thing, my lord . . . you will pardon me 
 asking, but . . . you had not thought of — er — 
 offering a reward . . . ? " 
 
 " What for ? " 
 
 " The apprehension of the murderer ... or useful 
 information that would lead to conviction. . . ." 
 
 " Oh ! ah ! yes ! a reward, by all means. ... Of 
 course, I'll give a reward to stimulate incompetence, 
 eh?" 
 
 " What will your lordship make it ? " asked the 
 officer, determined this time to show no resentment. 
 
THE TALE HAD TO BE TOLD 121 
 
 " Two hundred . . . five hundred . . . have what 
 you like ... so long as you get that brute." 
 
 " Five hundred, my lord, would stimulate us all." 
 
 " Very well ! " said Lord Radclyffe briefly. " Good 
 evening." 
 
 " Good evening, my lord. And to-morrow morning 
 we'll be ready for the body to be taken away, if you 
 wish it. . . . But the inquest will be the day after, 
 so perhaps it might be best to wait until then . . . 
 the Coroner's Court, Victoria, my lord . . . South 
 Kensington, you know . . . everything will be all 
 right. . . . Good evening, my lord." 
 
 The two men took their leave, glad enough to have 
 done with the unpleasant interview. 
 
 As they walked to the door that gave from the 
 library on the hall it was opened from the outside, and 
 a seedy-looking man, dressed in shabby evening clothes 
 that bore many traces of past libations, walked un- 
 ceremoniously midway into the room. 
 
 " Will you see Mr. Luke de Mountford ? " he 
 muttered, addressing his master. 
 
 "Certainly not," replied his lordship. "It's much 
 too late. Ask Mr. Luke to call again to-morrow. And 
 you and your wife can go to bed." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 AND MANY MUST BE QUESTIONED 
 
 BY the time the police officers reached the outer 
 hall door, Luke had received his order of dis- 
 missal. He stood on the step for a moment — unde- 
 cided what to do — and saw the two men coming out 
 of his uncle's study. 
 
 They raised their hats as they met him on the door- 
 step, and one of them said politely — 
 
 " Mr. Luke de Mountford ? " 
 
 " That is my name," replied Luke. 
 
 "Mine is Travers — attached to Scotland Yard. 
 Could I ask you a few questions ? . . ." 
 
 " Certainly . . . but not in my uncle's house, I 
 think. ..." 
 
 " Of course not . . . where do you suggest ? " 
 
 " Here on the doorstep if you like. . . ," 
 
 " Hardly. Might I trouble you to step into a cab 
 with me and to come as far as Victoria Police Court ? " 
 
 " It's very late, isn't it ? ... I have an engage- 
 ment at eleven . . . close by here. . . ." 
 
 He was going to fetch Colonel Harris and Louisa 
 at the Danish Legation and pilot them home to the 
 Langham. 
 
 " It's an important matter, Mr. de Mountford," re- 
 
 122 
 
AND MANY MUST BE QUESTIONED 123 
 
 torted the man. " Are you lodging anywhere near 
 here ? " 
 
 " In Exhibition Road, Kensington." 
 
 " Ah ! close to Cromwell Road ? " 
 
 " Not far." 
 
 " Then where shall it be, Mr. de Mountford ? " 
 
 " Why not in the cab ? " remarked Luke. 
 
 " Just as you like." 
 
 The taxi-oab which had brought the police officers 
 was standing some few paces further on, its strong 
 lights only just piercing the intensity of the fog : and 
 its throbbings, as the taxi-meter marked off two- 
 pences with unerring rapidity, filled the night with 
 their strangely familiar sound. 
 
 The three men got into the cab, the officer telling 
 the chauffeur to remain stationary until told to move 
 on. 
 
 " I know very little about the business, Mr. — er — 
 Travers," remarked Luke as soon as all three of them 
 had stowed themselves fairly comfortably in the in- 
 terior of the vehicle. " I suppose it is about this 
 ghastly affair that you wanted to speak to me." 
 
 " Yes, sir. It was about that. I thought you could 
 give us some information about the late Mr. de Mount- 
 ford's past life, or his former friends." 
 
 " I know nothing," retorted Luke dryly, " of my 
 cousin's past or present fife. He did not confide in me." 
 
 " But you were good friends ? " interposed the 
 other quickly. 
 
 " We knew each other very little." 
 
 " And to-night ? " 
 
124 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " I saw him at his Club." 
 
 " Where was that ? " 
 
 " The Veterans' in Shaftesbury Avenue." 
 
 " About what time ? " 
 
 " Between eight and nine." 
 
 " You had some talk with him ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Pleasant talk ? " asked the officer indifferently. 
 
 " Family affairs," rejoined Luke dryly. 
 
 " And you parted from him ? " 
 
 " Somewhere about nine." 
 
 " In the Club ? " 
 
 " In the Club." 
 
 " The doorstep ? " 
 
 "No. The lobby." 
 
 " He was alone then ? I mean . . . besides your- 
 self there was no one with him ? " 
 
 "No one. The hall-porter stood there, of course." 
 
 " No one joined him afterwards ? " 
 
 " That I cannot say. When I parted from him he 
 was alone." 
 
 " You know that Mr. Philip de Mountford was 
 murdered in a taxi-cab between Shaftesbury Avenue 
 and Hyde Park Corner, soon after nine o'clock ? " 
 
 " I have heard most of the details of that extra- 
 ordinary crime." 
 
 " And you can throw no light on it at all ? " 
 
 " None. How could I ? " 
 
 " Nothing," insisted the police officer, " occurs to 
 you at this moment that might help us in any way 
 to trace the murderer ? " 
 
AND MANY MUST BE QUESTIONED 125 
 
 " Nothing whatever," 
 
 The man was silent. It seemed as if he was meditat- 
 ing how best to put one or two more questions. Up to 
 now these had been curt and to the point, and as 
 they followed one another in quick succession there 
 was a marked difference in the attitude both of the 
 questioner and the questioned. The police officer had 
 started by being perfectly deferential — just like a man 
 accustomed to speak with people whose position in the 
 world compelled a certain regard, He had originally 
 addressed Luke as " sir," just as he had invariably 
 said " my lord " to Lord Radclyffe, but now he spoke 
 much more curtly; there was a note of demand in 
 every question which he put, a peremptoriness of 
 manner which did not escape the observation of his 
 interlocutor. 
 
 As the one man became more aggressive, so did 
 Luke also change his manner. There had been affable 
 courtesy in his first reply to the questions put to him, 
 a desire to be of help if help was needed, but with his 
 senses attuned by anxiety and nerve strain to dis- 
 tinguish subtle differences of manner and of intention, 
 he was quick enough to notice that he himself was, 
 as it were, in a witness-box, with a counsel ready 
 enough to bully, or to trip up any contradictory state- 
 ment. 
 
 Not that Luke realized the reason of this change. 
 The thought that he could be suspected of a crime 
 was as far removed from his ken as the desire to 
 visit the moon. He could not understand the officer's 
 attitude, it puzzled him, and put him on his guard — 
 
126 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 but it was just the instinct of self-preservation, of 
 caution which comes to men who have had to fight 
 the world, and who have met enemies where they 
 least expected to find one. 
 
 " Do you remember," now resumed Travers after 
 that slight pause, which had seemed very long to Luke, 
 but as a matter of fact had only lasted a short minute, 
 " whether you saw Mr. Philip de Mountford speaking 
 with any one when you left him in the lobby of the 
 Club ? " 
 
 " I told you," said Luke impatiently, " that he was 
 alone, except for the hall-porter." 
 
 " Alone in the whole Club-house ? " 
 
 " Alone," reiterated Luke with measured emphasis, 
 " in the lobby of the Veterans' Club." 
 
 " How many rooms has the Club ? " 
 
 "I don't know; it was the first time I had ever 
 been there," 
 
 " Did you know any of the staff ? " 
 
 " No , . . since I had never been there before." 
 
 " You were not known to any member of the staff." 
 
 " Not that I know of." 
 
 " You were shown into the Club-rooms without being 
 known there at all ? " 
 
 " The Veterans' Club is a new one, and its rules 
 apparently are not very strict. I asked if Mr. de 
 Mountford was in the Club and was told that I should 
 find him in the smoking-room, and I did." 
 
 "How long did your interview with Mr. de Mount- 
 ford last ? " 
 
 " About three-quarters of an hour, I should say." 
 
AND MANY MUST BE QUESTIONED 127 
 
 " And it was of a perfectly amicable nature." 
 
 " Of a perfectly indifferent nature," corrected 
 Luke. 
 
 " And after the interview what did you do ? " 
 
 " I walked out of the Club." 
 
 " But after that ? " 
 
 " I walked about." 
 
 " In the fog ? " This in an undisguised torie of 
 surprise. 
 
 " In the fog." 
 
 " In what direction ? " 
 
 " Really," here rejoined Luke, with a sudden show 
 of resentment, " Mr, — er — Travers, I fail to see how 
 my movements can be of concern to you." 
 
 He was certainly not going to tell this man that he 
 had made his way through the fog as far as the resi- 
 dence of the Danish Minister, and that he had walked 
 up and down for over an hour outside that house like 
 a love-sick fool, like a doting idiot, because he knew 
 that if he waited patiently he would presently hear 
 the faint echo of a well-trained contralto voice whose 
 mellowness would come to him through the closed 
 windows of the brilliantly illumined mansion, and 
 would ease for a moment the wild longing of his heart. 
 
 What the man near him said in answer to his retort 
 he really could not say. He had not heard, for in a 
 moment his thoughts had flashed back to that lonely 
 vigil in the fog, to the sound of her voice, which came, 
 oh ! so faintly to his ear, and then to the first breath 
 of gossip that came from the passers-by, the coachmen 
 and chauffeurs who had drawn up in long rows along 
 
128 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 the kerb, the idlers who always hang about outside in 
 the cold and the damp when a society function is in 
 progress, the pickers-up of unconsidered trifles, lost or 
 willingly bestowed. 
 
 From these he had first heard the news : vaguely at 
 first, for he did not — could not realize that the amazing 
 thing which was being commented on and discussed 
 had anything to do with him. The talk was of murder, 
 and soon the name of de Mountford was mentioned. 
 The details he got were very confused ; and the open 
 allusions as to " seek whom the crime will benefit " 
 never really reached his brain, which was almost numb 
 with the violence of the shock. 
 
 His first thought after that was to go and see Uncle 
 Rad ; he had, for the moment, almost forgotten Louisa. 
 Every other interest in life sank to nothingness beside 
 the one clear duty ; Uncle Rad would be alone, the 
 awful news must be broken very gradually to Uncle 
 Rad. He had hurried to Grosvenor Square, only to 
 find that emissaries of the police had forestalled him 
 in his duty. 
 
 All this he could not explain to the man Travers. 
 It would have sounded lame and barely plausible. 
 Nowadays men do not walk outside houses wherein 
 their liege-lady dwells, and if they do, they do not 
 choose a foggy night for the sentimental dalliance. 
 He was thankful, therefore, that Travers put no 
 further questions to him, and merely said with a return 
 to his original politeness — 
 
 "lam greatly obliged to you, sir. I don't think I 
 need detain you any longer. . . . You said you had 
 
AND MANY MUST BE QUESTIONED 129 
 
 an engagement later on . . . won't you keep this 
 cab ? " 
 
 Luke thanked him, but refused the offer of the cab. 
 
 " It is close by," he said. 
 
 " May I call on you to-morrow morning, sir ? " 
 
 " If it is necessary." 
 
 " I am afraid so. . . . You see, we don't like to 
 trouble Lord Radclyffe, and we must try and obtain 
 knowledge of certain facts and verify others." 
 
 " Quite so. Well, to-morrow then." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Your address is . . . ? " 
 
 " Fairfax Mansions, Exhibition Road." 
 
 " Such a nice neighbourhood. . . , No fog there to- 
 night, I think." 
 
 " I hope not. Good night." 
 
 " Good night, sir." 
 
 Luke made his escape from the cab. He was afraid 
 of missing Louisa and her father. His thoughts were 
 somewhat in a whirl, and — being overburdened with 
 matters of paramount importance — were inclined to 
 dwell on trifles. 
 
 " I ought," he reflected, " to have taken that man's 
 cab. It might be difficult to get another, and Colonel 
 Harris hates waiting in a crowded hall." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 AND THE PUPPETS DANCED 
 
 A ND so he went to meet Louisa and Colonel Harris 
 -£*- at the Danish Legation, and found them a taxi- 
 cab, and generally saw to their comparative comforts. 
 
 There was no restraint between the three of them. 
 It was as natural to them all to avoid speaking of 
 important matters on the doorstep of a neighbour's 
 house as it was to eat or drink or breathe. So Luke 
 asked if the dinner had been enjoyable and the recep- 
 tion crowded, and Colonel Harris comfortably com- 
 plained of both. He hated foreign cooking, and society 
 crushes, and had endured both to-night. No doubt 
 the terrible events of this night, as yet mere shadows — 
 hardly admitted to be real — were weighing on the kind 
 old man's usual hearty spirits. 
 
 But so versed were they all in the art of make-believe, 
 that each one individually was able to register in the 
 innermost depths of an anxious heart the firm convic- 
 tion that the other " had not heard." 
 
 Luke was convinced that the gruesome and sordid 
 news could not have penetrated within the gorgeous 
 mansion where Loo, in an exquisite gown, had sung 
 modern songs in her pure contralto voice. He felt sure 
 that neither Loo nor Colonel Harris had heard that 
 
 130 
 
AND THE PUPPETS DANCED 131 
 
 Philip de Mountford had been murdered in a taxi-cab, 
 and that police officers had thought fit to speak to him 
 — Luke — in tones of contemptuous familiarity. Nay 
 more ! now that he himself sat thus opposite good- 
 natured, prosy, sensible Colonel Harris, he began to 
 think that he must have been dreaming, that the 
 whole thing could not have occurred, but that he had 
 imagined it all whilst leaning against the garden- 
 railings trying to strain his ears so that they should 
 hear the soft, faint echo of that pure contralto voice. 
 
 Perhaps the wish had been father to the thought ; 
 whilst gazing up at those brilliantly illumined windows, 
 he might in his heart of hearts have wished the non- 
 existence of Philip . . . not his death, but the annihi- 
 lation of the past few months, the non-advent of the 
 intruder ; and, thus wishing, he may have imagined 
 the whole thing — the murder in the cab, the police 
 officer on the doorstep of the old home in Grosvenor 
 Square. 
 
 A sense of supreme well-being encompassed him 
 now. Loo sat opposite to him. He could not dis- 
 tinguish her face in the gloom, only the outline of her 
 head with the soft brown hair perfectly dressed by the 
 hand of an accomplished maid. Loo, the personifica- 
 tion of modernity, of ordinary commonplace life, but 
 exquisite — just the woman whom he loved with every 
 fibre of his heart, every tendril of his being, and every 
 sense within him. A soft perfume of sweet peas clung 
 to her gown and was wafted to his nostrils. He closed 
 his eyes, and drew in a long breath of supreme delight. 
 Now and then as the cab gave a jerk his knee came in 
 
132 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 contact with hers, and down on the ground quite close 
 to his own there rested a small neatly shod foot, the 
 sole of which he would have given his heart's blood to 
 kiss. 
 
 Oh yes ! he was quite, quite happy ; this was 
 reality : his exquisite Louisa, the outline of her perfect 
 head, the touch of her knee, the scent of sweet peas 
 which intoxicated him and whipped his senses to mad- 
 ness and to dreams. ... It was reality, and the other 
 was only the wild phantasmagoria of a wild imagina- 
 tion — the insane thought born of insane desire. In 
 the darkness which enveloped him and Loo, he could, 
 you see, give free rein to himself. The world was not 
 gaping, conventionality held no sway within these 
 four narrow walls, the puppet could loosen the string 
 which had forced it to dance; it could lie placid for 
 a while, dead to the world, but enjoying its own exist- 
 ence and its own vitality. 
 
 And Loo, watching him in that same darkness which 
 concealed him entirely, save to her eyes of watchful- 
 ness, believed that he had heard nothing as yet. She 
 vaguely combated the desire to tell him everything 
 then and there, so that he should hear the worst and 
 the best from her lips rather than through indifferent 
 channels later on. 
 
 But with that subtle perception peculiar to her — 
 the modern, commonplace woman of the world — she 
 divined that he was living for the moment in a world 
 of his own, from which it were sacrilege to try and drag 
 him away. 
 
 Just then the cab drew up outside the Langham 
 
AND THE PUPPETS DANCED 133 
 
 Hotel. The everyday world had returned with its 
 flaring electric lights, its hall-porters, its noise and 
 bustle, and chased away the illusions of the past few 
 moments. Luke jumped out, ready to help Loo down 
 — a happy second that, for her hand must needs rest 
 in his. 
 
 The glare of the electric lamp above fell full on his 
 face, which was serene, placid, the usual mask of 
 supreme indifference ; only Louisa read beyond the 
 mask, and as her hand rested in his for just a thought 
 longer than conventionality allowed, she realized that 
 he knew everything : the murder, the horror, and the 
 suspicion which had touched him already with the 
 tip of its sable wing. 
 
 Her eyes and the pressure of her hand bade him 
 " good night," and she passed on into the lighted hall 
 of the hotel. He followed Colonel Harris into the 
 lobby. 
 
 " You have heard ? " he asked quickly and in a 
 whisper, lest Loo should hear. 
 
 " Yes," replied the other. 
 
 " And Louisa ? Does she know ? " 
 
 " Gossip was all over the confounded place," was 
 Colonel Harris's muttered comment. 
 
 " But you've heard no details ? " 
 
 "No. Have you?" 
 
 " Very little. Only what the police officer chose to 
 tell me." 
 
 " Then," queried the old man, " it's an absolute 
 fact ? " 
 
 " Absolute, unfortunately." 
 
134 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " H'm ! As to that . . . Have you seen your 
 uncle ? " 
 
 " No. I went round as soon as I knew, but the 
 police had forestalled me and broken the news to him." 
 
 " But why didn't you see him ? " 
 
 " He sent word that he would rather I came back in 
 the morning. Philip's influence still prevalent, you 
 see." 
 
 " Well ! It's a confounded business," ejaculated 
 Colonel Harris, with hearty convictibn ; " but I'm not 
 going to lament over it. After all said and done, it's 
 a very simple way out of an impossible situation." 
 
 " A very horrible way." 
 
 " Bah ! " 
 
 And the good-natured old man shrugged his shoulders 
 with a gesture of supreme indifference. 
 
 " Well ! " said Luke quietly, " it's late now, sir. 
 You'll want to get to bed." 
 
 " Well ! " retorted the other, with a touch of 
 joviality, " it's an ill wind . . . you know." 
 
 " Good night, sir." 
 
 " Good night, my boy. How will you get back ? " 
 
 " Oh ! a taxi is the quickest. Edie might have 
 heard something, and be anxious, I must hurry home 
 now." 
 
 Louisa was standing in the hall at the top of the 
 steps. Luke raised his hat to her, and having shaken 
 hands with Colonel Harris quietly turned to go, and 
 was soon lost in the gloom beyond. 
 
 No one who had been standing in the lobby of the 
 hotel would have guessed that these three people who 
 
AND THE PUPPETS DANCED 135 
 
 had talked and bowed and shaken hands so quietly 
 were facing one of life's most appalling, most over- 
 whelming tragedies. 
 
 The world's puppets had been strung up again, 
 because indifferent eyes were there to watch and gape, 
 and in the presence of these modern Bulls of Bashan 
 the puppets danced to the prevalent tune. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AND WHAT OP THE SECRET ? 
 
 WHEN Luke arrived at his uncle's house early the 
 next morning, he was met in the hall by Dr. 
 Newington, who was descending the stairs and who 
 gravely beckoned to the young man to follow him into 
 the library. 
 
 " They called me in last night," he said in reply 
 to Luke's quick and anxious query. " The butler — 
 or whatever he may be — told me that he was busy 
 fastening up the front door, preparatory to going to 
 bed, when he heard a heavy thud proceeding from the 
 library. He found his master lying full length on 
 the floor : the head had come in violent contact, as he 
 fell, with the corner of this table ; blood was trickling 
 from a scalp wound and Lord Radclyffe himself was 
 apparently in a swoon. The man is a regular coward 
 and a fool besides. He left his master lying just as he 
 had fallen, but fortunately he knew me and knew 
 where to find me, and within ten minutes I was on the 
 spot, and had got Lord Radclyffe into bed." 
 " Is it," asked Luke, " anything serious ? " 
 " Lord Radclyffe has not been over strong lately. 
 He has had a great deal to put up with, and at his 
 age the system is not sufficiently elastic — or — how 
 
 136 
 
AND WHAT OF THE SECRET? 137 
 
 shall I put it ? — sufficiently recuperative to stand either 
 oonstant nerve strain or nagging worries." 
 
 " I don't know," interposed Luke stiffly, " that 
 my uncle has had either nerve strain or worry to put 
 up with." 
 
 " Oh ! " rejoined the doctor, whose gruff familiarity 
 seemed to Luke's sensitive ear to be tainted with 
 the least possible note of impertinence, " I am an old 
 friend of your uncle's, you know, and of all your 
 family ; there isn't much that has escaped my obser- 
 vation during the past year." 
 
 " You have not yet told me, doctor," said Luke, a 
 shade more stiffly than before, " what is the matter 
 with Lord Radclyffe." 
 
 There was distinct emphasis on the last two words. 
 
 Dr. Newington shrugged his shoulders good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 " Your uncle has had something in the nature of a 
 stroke," he said bluntly, and he fixed his keen light- 
 coloured eyes on those of Luke, watching the effect 
 which the news — baldly and crudely put — would have 
 on the young man's nerves. He was a man with 
 what is known as a fashionable practice. He lived 
 in Hertford Street, and his rounds were encircled by 
 the same boundaries as those of the rest of Mayfair. 
 He had had plenty of opportunity of studying those 
 men and women who compose the upper grades of 
 English society. They and their perfect sangfroid, 
 their well-drilled calm under the most dire calamities 
 or most unexpected blows, had often cost him as- 
 tonishment when he was a younger man, fresh from 
 
138 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 hospital work, and from the haunts of humbler folk, 
 who had no oause or desire to hide the depth of their 
 feelings. Now he was used to his fashionable patients 
 and had ceased to wonder, and Luke's impassiveness 
 on hearing of his uncle's sudden illness did not neces- 
 sarily strike him as indifference. 
 
 " Is it serious ? " asked Luke. 
 
 " Serious. Of course," assented the doctor. 
 
 " Do you mean that Lord Radclyffe's life is in 
 danger ? " 
 
 " At sixty years of age, life is always in danger." 
 
 " I don't mean that," rejoined Luke with a slight 
 show of impatience. " Is Lord Radclyffe in im- 
 mediate danger ? " 
 
 " No. With great care and constant nursing, he may 
 soon rally, though I doubt if he will ever be as strong 
 and hearty as he was this time last year." 
 
 " Then what about a nurse ? " 
 
 " I'll send one down to-day, but . . ." 
 
 " Yes ? " 
 
 " Lord Radclyffe's present household is . . . well, 
 hardly adequate to the exigencies of a long and serious 
 illness ... he ought to have a day and a night 
 nurse ... I can send both . . . but they will want 
 some waiting on and, of course, proper meals and 
 ordinary comforts. . . ." 
 
 " I can see to all that. . . . Thank you for your 
 advice. . . ." 
 
 "A good and reliable cook is also' necessary . . . 
 who understands invalid cooking ... all that is 
 most important." 
 
AND WHAT OF THE SECRET? 139 
 
 " And shall be attended to at once. ... Is there 
 anything else ? " 
 
 "Perfect rest and quiet, of course, is the chief 
 thing." 
 
 " I shan't worry him, you may be sure . . . and no 
 one else is likely to come near him." 
 
 "Except the police," remarked the doctor dryly. 
 
 " The police ? " 
 
 The grave events of the night before, and those 
 that were ready to follow one another in grim array 
 for the next few days, had almost fled from Luke's 
 memory in face of the other — to him more serious — 
 calamity : his uncle's illness. 
 
 " Oh ! ah ! yes ! " he said vaguely, " I had for- 
 gotten." 
 
 " The nurses," rejoined the doctor with, a pompous- 
 ness which somehow irritated Luke, " will have my 
 authorization to forbid any one having access to 
 Lord Eadclyffe for the present. I will write out the 
 certificate now, and this you can present to any one 
 who may show a desire to exercise official authority 
 in the matter of interviewing my patient." 
 
 "I dare say that I can do all that is necessary at 
 the inquest and so on. . . . Lord Radclyffe need not 
 be worried." 
 
 " He mustn't be worried. To begin with, he would 
 not know any one, and he is wholly unable to answer 
 questions." 
 
 " That settles the matter, of course. So, if you will 
 write the necessary certificate, I'll see the police autho- 
 rities at once on the subject. . . . Would Lord Rad- 
 
140 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 clyffe know me, do you think ? " added the young 
 man after a slight pause of hesitancy. 
 
 " Well," replied the doctor evasively, " I don't 
 think I would worry him to-day. We'll see how he 
 gets on. . . ." 
 
 " He'll probably ask for me." 
 
 " That is another matter, and if he does, you must, 
 of course, see him. . . . But unless there is a marked 
 improvement during the day, he won't ask for any 
 one." 
 
 Luke was silent for a moment or two while the 
 doctor sat down at the writing-table and sought for 
 pen and ink. 
 
 " Very well," he said after a while, " we'll leave it 
 at that. Lord Radclyffe — I can promise you this — 
 shall on no account be disturbed without permission 
 from you. How soon will the nurse arrive ? " 
 
 " Within the hour. The night nurse will come after 
 tea." 
 
 Dr. Newington wrote out and signed the usual 
 medical certificate to the effect that Lord Radclyffe's 
 state of health demanded perfect quietude and rest 
 and that he was unable to see any one or to answer 
 any questions. He read his own writing through 
 very carefully, then folded the paper in half and 
 handed it to Luke. 
 
 " This," he said, " will make everything all right. 
 And I'll call again in a couple of hours' time. You 
 won't forget the cook ? " 
 
 " No, I won't forget the cook." 
 
 When the doctor had taken his leave, Luke stood 
 
AND WHAT OF THE SECRET? 141 
 
 for a moment quietly in the library : lie folded up the 
 medical certificate which he had received at the hands 
 of Dr. Newington and carefully put it away in his 
 pocket-book. 
 
 " You won't forget the cook." 
 
 I don't think that ever in his life before had Luke 
 realized the trivialities of life as he did at this moment. 
 Remember that -he was quite man of the world enough, 
 quite sufficiently sensible and shrewd and English, 
 to have noticed that the degree of familiarity in 
 the doctor's manner had passed the borderland of 
 what was due to himself; the tone of contemptuous 
 indifference savoured of impertinence. And there 
 was something more than that. 
 
 Last night when Luke wandered up and down 
 outside the brilliantly lighted windows of the Danish 
 Legation, trying to catch a few muffled sounds of 
 the voice he so passionately loved to hear, he heard 
 the first rumours that an awful crime had been com- 
 mitted which, for good or ill, would have such far- 
 reaching bearings on his own future ; but he had also 
 caught many hints, vague suggestions full of hidden 
 allusions, of which the burden was : " Seek whom the 
 crime benefits." 
 
 Luke de Mountford was no fool. Men of his stamp 
 — we are accustomed to call them commonplace — 
 take a very straight outlook on fife. They are not 
 hampered by the psychological problems which affect 
 the moral balance of a certain class of people of to- 
 day, they have no sexual problems to solve. Theirs 
 is a steady, wholesome and clean life, and the mirrors 
 
142 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 of nature have not been blurred by the breath of 
 psychologists. Luke had never troubled his head 
 about his neighbour's wife, about his horse or his ass 
 or anything that is his, therefore his vision about the 
 neighbour himself had remained acute. 
 
 Although I must admit that at this stage the thought 
 that he might actually be accused of a low and sordid 
 crime never seriously entered his head, he nevertheless 
 felt that suspicion hovered round him, that some 
 people at any rate held it possible that since he would 
 benefit by the crime, he might quite well have con- 
 templated it. 
 
 The man Travers thought so certainly, the doctor 
 did not deem it impossible . . . and of course there 
 would be others. 
 
 No wonder that he stood and mused. Once more 
 the aspect of life had changed for him. He was back 
 in that position from which the advent of the un- 
 known cousin had ousted him so easily — the cousin 
 who had come, had seen and had conquered the one 
 thing needful : the confidence and help of Uncle Rad. 
 
 By what means he had succeeded in doing that had 
 been the great mystery which had racked Luke's mind 
 ever since he felt his uncle's affection slipping away 
 from him. 
 
 Uncle Rad, who had loudly denounced the man as 
 an impostor and a blackmailer before he set eyes on 
 him, was ready to give him love and confidence the 
 moment he saw him ; and Luke was discarded like an 
 old coat that no longer fitted. The affeotion of years 
 was turned to indifference ; and what meant more still, 
 
AND WHAT OF THE SECRET? 143 
 
 the habits of a lifetime, were changed. Lord Radclyffe, 
 tyrannical and didactic, became a nonentity in his own 
 household. The grand seigneur, imbued with every in- 
 stinct of luxury and refinement, became a snuffy old 
 hermit, uncared-for, not properly waited on, feeding 
 badly and living in one room. 
 
 All this Philip de Mountford had accomplished en- 
 tirely by his mere presence. The waving of a wand — 
 a devil's wand — and the metamorphosis was complete ! 
 What magic was there in the man himself? what in 
 the tale which he told ? what subtle charm did he 
 wield, that the news of his terrible death should strike 
 the old man down as some withered old tree robbed of 
 its support ? 
 
 Now he lay dead, murdered ! only God knew as yet 
 by whom. People suspected Luke, because Fate had 
 given a fresh turn to her wheel and reinstated him in 
 the pleasing position from which the intruder had 
 ousted him. 
 
 Luke de Mountford was once more heir-presumptive 
 to the Earldom of Radclyffe, and the stranger had 
 taken the secret of his success with him to the grave. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 IT WOULD NOT DO, YOU" KNOW 
 
 SINCE Lord Radclyffe was too ill to attend to any- 
 thing or to see any one, it devolved upon Luke 
 to make what arrangements he thought fitting for the 
 lying-in-state and the subsequent obsequies of the 
 murdered man. For the present Philip de Mountford 
 lay in the gloomy mortuary chamber of the Victoria 
 police court., Luke had sent over massive silver 
 oandelabra, flowers and palms, and all the parapher- 
 nalia pertaining to luxurious death. 
 
 The dead man lay — not neglected — only unwatched 
 and alone, surrounded by all the evidences of that 
 wealth which he had come a very long way to seek, but 
 which Pate and a murderer's hand had snatched with 
 appalling suddenness from him. 
 
 And in the private sitting-room at the Langham, 
 Louisa Harris sat opposite her father at breakfast, a 
 pile of morning papers beside her plate, she herself 
 silent and absorbed. 
 
 " That's a queer tale," Colonel Harris was saying, 
 " the papers tell about that murder in Brussels a year 
 ago . . . though I must say that to my mind there 
 appears some truth in what they say. What do you 
 think, Louisa ? " 
 
 144 
 
IT WOULD NOT DO, YOU KNOW 145 
 
 " I hardly know," she replied absently, " what to 
 think." 
 
 " The details of that crime, which was committed 
 about a year ago, are exactly the same as those which 
 relate to this infernal business of last night." 
 
 " Are they really ? " 
 
 No one could have said — and Louisa herself least of 
 all — why she was unwilling to speak on that subject. 
 She had never told her father, or any one, for a matter 
 of that, except . . . that she had been so near to the 
 actual scene of that mysterious crime in Brussels, and 
 that she had known its every detail. 
 
 " And I must say," reiterated Colonel Harris em- 
 phatically, " that I agree with the leading article in 
 The Times. One crime begets another. If that hooli- 
 gan — or whatever he was— in Brussels had not invented 
 this new and dastardly way of murdering a man in a 
 cab and then making himself scarce and sending the 
 cab spinning on its way, no doubt Philip de Mountford 
 would be alive now. Not that that would be a matter 
 for great rejoicings. Still, a crime is a crime, and if we 
 were going to allow blackguards to be murdered all 
 over the place by other blackguards, where would law 
 and order be ? " 
 
 He was talking more loudly and volubly than was 
 his wont, and he took almost ostentatiously quantities 
 of food on his plate, which it was quite obvious he 
 never meant to eat. He also steadily avoided meeting 
 his daughter's eyes. But at this juncture she put both 
 elbows on the table, rested her chin in her hands, and 
 looked straight across at her father. 
 
 L 
 
146 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " It's no use, dear," she said simply. 
 
 " No use what ? " he queried, with ungrammatical 
 directness. 
 
 " No use your pretending to talk at random and to 
 be eating a hearty breakfast, when your thoughts are 
 just as much absorbed as mine are." 
 
 " H'm ! " he grunted evasively, but was glad enough 
 to push aside the plateful of eggs and bacon which, 
 indeed, he had no desire to eat, 
 
 " You have," she continued gently, " read all the 
 papers, just as I have, and you know as well as I do 
 what to read between the lines when they talk of 
 ' clues ' and of ' certain sensational developments.' " 
 
 " Of course I do," he retorted gruffly ; " but it's all 
 nonsense." 
 
 " Of course it is. But worrying nevertheless." 
 
 " I don't see how such rubbish can worry you." 
 
 " Not," she said, " for myself. But for Luke. He 
 must have got an inkling by now of what is going 
 on." 
 
 " Of eourse he has. And if he has a grain of sense 
 he'll treat it with the contempt it deserves." 
 
 " It's all very well, father. But just think for a 
 moment. Place yourself in Luke's position. The very 
 idea that you might be suspected, must in itself be 
 terrible." 
 
 " Not when you are innocent," he rejoined, with the 
 absolute certitude of a man who has never been called 
 upon to face any really serious problem in life. " I 
 shouldn't care what the rabble said about me, if I had 
 a clear conscience." 
 
IT WOULD NOT DO, YOU KNOW 147 
 
 Louisa was silent for a moment or two, then she 
 said — 
 
 "Luke is different somehow. He has been different 
 lately." 
 
 " He has had a lot to put up with, with old Radclyffe 
 going off his head in that ridiculous way." 
 
 But Louisa did not reply to that suggestion. She 
 knew well enough that it was neither Lord Radclyffe's 
 unkindness, nor the arrogance of the new cousin that 
 had changed and softened Luke's entire nature. 
 
 The day that he had sat beside her on the stairs at 
 Lady Ducie's ball, the completeness of the change had 
 been fully borne in on her. When Luke said to her : 
 " I would give all I have in the world to lie on the 
 ground before you and to kiss the soles of your feet," 
 she knew that Love had wrought its usual exquisite 
 miracle, the absorption of self by another, the utter 
 sinking of the ego before the high altar of the loved 
 one. She knew all that, but dear old Colonel Harris 
 had forgotten — perhaps he had never known. 
 
 That knowledge comes to so few nowadays. Life, 
 psychology, and sexual problems have taken the 
 place of the divine lesson which has glorified the world 
 since the birth of Lilith. 
 
 All that Louisa now remarked to her kind and 
 sensible father was — 
 
 " You know, dear, suspicion has killed a man before 
 now. It was but a very little while ago that a noble- 
 hearted gentleman preferred death to such dishonour." 
 
 "You've got your head," he retorted, "full of non- 
 sense, Loo. Try and be a sensible woman now, and 
 
148 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 think of it all quietly. Is there anything you would 
 like me to do, for instance ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you will." 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " Couldn't you see Uncle Ryder ? " 
 
 " At Scotland Yard, you mean ? " 
 
 "He is at the head of the Criminal Investigation 
 Department, isn't he ? " 
 
 " I've always understood so." 
 
 " Would he see you, do you think ? at his office ? " 
 
 " Tom not see me ? " exclaimed Colonel Harris, 
 " Of course he would. What do you want me to see 
 him about ? " 
 
 " He could tell you exactly how matters stood with 
 regard to ... to Luke, couldn't he ? " 
 
 " He could. But would he ? " 
 
 " You can but try." 
 
 " It's a great pity your aunt is out of town, you 
 might have heard a good deal from her." 
 
 " Oh ! Sir Thomas never tells aunt anything that's 
 professional," said Louisa, with a smile. " She'd be 
 for ever making muddles." 
 
 " I am sure she would," he assented, with deep 
 conviction. 
 
 " Do you think I might go with you ? " 
 
 " What ? To Tom's ? I don't think he would like 
 that, Loo ; and it wouldn't quite do, you know." 
 
 " Perhaps not," she agreed, with hardly even a sigh 
 of disappointment. She was so accustomed, you see, 
 to being thwarted by convention, whenever impulse 
 carried her out of the bounds which the world had 
 
IT WOULD NOT DO, YOU KNOW 149 
 
 prescribed. Moreover, she expected to see Luke soon. 
 He would be sure to come directly after an early visit 
 to Grosvenor Square. 
 
 She helped her father on with his coat. She was 
 almost satisfied that he should go alone. She would 
 have an hour with Luke, if he came early, and it was 
 necessary that she should have him to herself, before 
 too many people had shouted evil and good news, 
 congratulations, opprobrium, and suspicions at him. 
 
 Colonel Harris, she knew, would get quite as much, 
 if not more, information out of his brother-in-law, Sir 
 Thomas Ryder, than he could do if she — a mere 
 woman — happened to be present at the interview. 
 Sir Thomas would trust Colonel Harris with pro- 
 fessional matters which he never would confide to a 
 woman, and Louisa trusted her father implicitly. 
 
 She knew that — despite the grumblings and crusti- 
 ness peculiar to every Englishman when he is troubled 
 with domestic matters whilst sitting at his own break- 
 fast-table — her father had Luke's welfare just as much 
 at heart as she had herself. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 NOT ALL ABOUT IT 
 
 COLONEL HARRIS sent in his card to Sir 
 Thomas Ryder. He had driven over from the 
 Langham in a hansom — holding taxi-cabs in even 
 more whole-hearted abhorrence than before. He 
 inquired at once if Sir Thomas was in his private 
 sanctum, and if so whether he might see him. 
 
 Curiously enough the Chief, usually quite inacces- 
 sible to the casual visitor — whether relative or stran- 
 ger — received his brother-in-law immediately. 
 
 " Hello, Will," he said by way of greeting. The 
 way Englishmen have of saying that they are pleased 
 to see one another. 
 
 " Hello ! " responded Colonel Harris in the same 
 eloquent tone. 
 
 And the two old boys shook hands. 
 
 Sir Thomas then resumed his official chair behind 
 his huge desk and motioned his brother-in-law to an 
 arm-chair close by. 
 
 " Have a cigar," said the host. 
 
 ""Thanks*" rejoined the other. 
 
 The box was handed across, a havana selected. 
 
 The cigars were lighted, and for quite three minutes 
 the two men smoked in silence. One of them had 
 
 150 
 
NOT ALL ABOUT IT 151 
 
 come here to find out how much of his daughter's 
 happiness lay in jeopardy, the other knew what was 
 in the balance, the danger of his niece's happiness, 
 the terrible abyss of misery which yawned at her 
 feet. 
 
 But both sat there and enjoyed their cigar. They 
 were dressed with scrupulous care, in the uniform 
 prescribed by the world in which they lived as being 
 suitable for gentlemen of their position and of their 
 age : frock-coats and dark grey trousers, immaculate 
 collar and tie with pearl pin. Both wore a seal ring 
 on the little finger of the left hand, and a watch chain 
 of early Victorian design. They might be twins but 
 for their faces . . . convention had put a livery on 
 them which they would on no account have dis- 
 carded. 
 
 But the faces were very different. Colonel Harris 
 carried his sixty years as easily as if they had been 
 forty. There were not many lines on his round, 
 chubby face, with its red cheeks and round, childlike 
 eyes. The heavy cavalry moustache — once auburn, 
 now almost white — hid the expression of the mouth, 
 but one felt, judging by the eyes and the smooth fore- 
 head which continued very far now on to the back of 
 his head, that if one were allowed a peep below that 
 walrus-like face adornment that one would see a mouth 
 that was kind and none too firm, the mouth of a man 
 who had led other men perhaps, but who had invariably 
 been led by his womenfolk. 
 
 Now Sir Thomas Ryder was — or rather is, for he is 
 still in perfect health and full vigour — a very different 
 
152 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 type of man. You have no doubt seen him about 
 town, for he takes a constitutional in the Park every 
 day on his way to his work, and he goes to most first 
 nights at the theatres, and if so you will have admired 
 the keen, sharp face, the closely set eyes, the mobile 
 mouth free from moustache or beard : the face is 
 furrowed all over, especially round the eyes, yet he 
 does not look old — that is because of the furrows : 
 they form a wonderful network round his eyes, giving 
 them an expression of perpetual keen amusement. 
 The hair is pale in colour — not white, but faded — 
 and scanty. Sir Thomas wears it carefully brushed 
 across the top of his head, with a parting on the left 
 side. 
 
 He has a trick when he is thinking deeply of passing 
 his hand — which is white, slender, and tapering — over 
 that scanty covering of what, — but for it, — would be 
 a bald cranium. 
 
 Some people said that Sir Thomas Ryder was a 
 man without any sentiment, others that he was a 
 slave to red tape ; but no one denied the incontro- 
 vertible fact that he was the right man in the right 
 place. 
 
 He looked the part and always acted it, and fewer 
 blunders had undoubtedly been committed in the 
 detective department of the Metropolitan Police 
 since Sir Thomas Ryder took the guiding reins in 
 his hands. 
 
 " I suppose," he said at last, " that you've come to 
 see me about this de Mountford business." 
 
 " I have," replied Colonel Harris simply. 
 
NOT ALL ABOUT IT 153 
 
 " Well ! it's not a pleasant business." 
 
 " I know that. The papers are full of it, and it's all 
 a confounded damnable business, Tom, and that's all 
 about it." 
 
 " Unfortunately it's not ' all about it,' " rejoined 
 Sir Thomas dryly. 
 
 " That's what Louisa says. Women are so queer 
 about things of that sort, and the papers are full of 
 twaddle. She is anxious about Luke." 
 
 " I don't wonder." 
 
 " But it's all nonsense, isn't it ? " 
 
 " What is ? " 
 
 Colonel Harris did not reply immediately ; for one 
 thing he did not know exactly how to put his own 
 fears and anxieties into words. They were so horrible 
 and so far-fetched that to tell them plainly and baldly 
 to his brother-in-law, to this man with whom he was 
 soberly smoking a cigar in a sober-looking office, 
 whilst hansoms and taxi-cabs were rattling past in 
 the street below within sight and hearing, seemed 
 little short of idiocy. He was not a man of deep pene- 
 tration — was Colonel Harris — no great reader of 
 thoughts or of character. He tried to look keenly 
 at Sir Thomas's shrewd face, but all he was conscious 
 of was a network of wrinkles round a pair of eyes which 
 seemed to be twinkling with humour. 
 
 Humour at this moment ! Great heavens above ! 
 
 " I wish," he blurted out somewhat crossly at last, 
 "you'd help me out a bit, Tom. Hang it all, man, 
 all this officialism makes me dumb." 
 
 "Don't," said Sir Thomas blandly, "let it do that, 
 
154 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Will " ; and the speaker's eyes seemed to twinkle even 
 more merrily than before. 
 
 "Well then, tell me something about Luke." 
 
 " Luke de Mountford," mused the other, as if the 
 name recalled some distant impression. 
 
 " Yes, Luke de Mountford, who is engaged to 
 Louisa, your niece, man, and she's breaking her 
 heart with all the drivel these newspapers talk and 
 I couldn't bear it any longer, so I've come to you, 
 Tom, and you must tell me what truth there is in the 
 drivel, and that's all I want to know." 
 
 Sir Thomas Ryder seemed, whilst the other thus 
 talked volubly, to have suddenly made up his mind 
 to say more than had originally been his intention. 
 Anyway, he now said with abrupt directness — 
 
 " If, my good Will, by ' drivel ' you mean that in 
 the matter of the assassination of Philip de Mountford, 
 in a taxi-cab last night, grave suspicion rests on his 
 cousin Luke, then there's a great deal of truth in the 
 drivel." 
 
 Colonel Harris received the sudden blow without 
 much apparent emotion. He had been sitting in an 
 arm-chair with one hand buried in his trouser-pocket, 
 the other holding the cigar. 
 
 Now he merely glanced down at the cigar for a 
 moment and then conveyed it to his lips. 
 
 " What," he asked, " does that mean exactly ? " 
 
 " That unless Luke de Mountford will within the 
 next forty-eight hours answer certain questions more 
 satisfactorily than he has done hitherto, he will be 
 arrested on a charge of murder." 
 
NOT ALL ABOUT IT 155 
 
 " That is impossible," protested Colonel Harris 
 hotly. 
 
 " Impossible ? Why ? " 
 
 "Because . . . because . . . Hang it all, man! you 
 know Luke de Mountford. Do you believe for a mo- 
 ment that he would commit such a dastardly crime ? 
 Why, the boy wouldn't know how to plan such vil- 
 lainy, let alone carry it through." 
 
 " My dear Will," rejoined the other quietly, " the 
 many years that I have spent at this desk have 
 taught me many things. Among others I have learnt 
 that every man is more or less capable of crime, it only 
 depends what the incentive — the temptation if you 
 like to call it so — or the provocation happens to 
 be." 
 
 " But here there was no provocation, no tempta- 
 tion, no . . ." Colonel Harris paused abruptly. He 
 felt rather than saw his brother-in-law's eyes in their 
 framework of wrinkles resting with obvious sense 
 of amusement upon his wrathful face. No temptation ? 
 and what of a peerage and a fortune lost, that could 
 only be regained by the death of the intruder ? No 
 provocation, and what of the brother and sister 
 turned out of the old home ? The good, simple-minded 
 man had sense enough to see that here — if he wished 
 to speak up for Luke — he was on the wrong track. 
 
 " What questions," he said abruptly, " does Luke 
 not answer satisfactorily ? " 
 
 " How he spent certain hours of yesterday even- 
 ing." 
 
 " He was dancing attendance on Louisa and me." 
 
156 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Oh ! was he ? Well, that's satisfactory enough. 
 At what time did you part from him ? " 
 
 " Well ! he escorted us to the Danish Legation, 
 where we were dining." 
 
 " At what time was that ? " 
 
 " Eight o'clock dinner." 
 
 " But he was not dining at the Danish Legation ? " 
 
 " No. He came and fetched us again soon after 
 eleven." 
 
 " That's right, but between whiles ? " 
 
 " Between whiles ? " 
 
 " Yes. Between eight and soon after eleven ? " 
 
 " Well ! . . . I suppose ... I don't know . . . 
 Yes, of course I do ! what a stupid ass I am. . . . 
 Luke told me himself that he was going to see his uncle 
 at the Something Club in Shaftesbury Avenue. . . ." 
 
 " The Veterans' ? " 
 
 " Yes, that's it . . . the Veterans'. Luke wanted 
 to persuade old Radclyffe to go abroad for the benefit 
 of his health . . . Algeciras — that was it. . . ." 
 
 " Quite so," rejoined Sir Thomas dryly, " and Luke 
 de Mountford went to the Veterans' Club in Shaftes- 
 bury Avenue, and he asked to see Lord Radclyffe, 
 who was more or less of an habitue at that hour. On 
 being told that Lord Radclyffe was not there that 
 evening, but that Mr. de Mountford was in the smoking- 
 room, Luke elected to go in and presumably to have a 
 talk with his cousin." 
 
 " I didn't know that," said Colonel Harris. 
 
 " No. But we did. Let me tell you what followed. 
 The hall-porter of the Club showed Luke into the 
 
NOT ALL ABOUT IT 157 
 
 smoking-room, and less than five minutes later he 
 heard loud and angry words proceeding from that room. 
 That a quarrel was going on between the two cousins 
 was, of course, obvious. One or two members of the 
 Club remarked on the noise, and one gentleman 
 actually opened the smoking-room door to see what 
 was going on. He seems to have heard the words 
 ' blackguard ' and ' beggar ' pleasingly intermingled 
 and flying from one young man to the other. This 
 witness knew Philip de Mountford very well by sight, 
 but he had never seen Luke. But remember that 
 Luke denies neither the interview nor the quarrel. 
 The former lasted close on an hour, and Lord Rad- 
 clyffe's journey to Algeciras was the original topic 
 of discussion. At about nine o'clock Luke emerged 
 from the smoking-room. The hall-porter saw him. 
 He was then very pale, and almost tottered as he 
 walked. Men do get at times intoxicated with rage, 
 you know, Will." 
 
 " I know that, and I can well imagine what hap- 
 pened at that interview. Radclyffe had become such 
 a confounded fool that he would not move or do any- 
 thing without this Philip's permission : and Luke was 
 determined to get him down to Algeciras at once. 
 As Philip was at the Club, he thought that he would 
 tackle him then and there." 
 
 " Quite so. He did tackle him. And equally of 
 course the two men quarrelled." 
 
 " But hang it all, one's not going to murder every 
 man with whom one quarrels." 
 
 " Stop a moment, Will. As you say, one does not 
 
158 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 murder every man with whom one quarrels. But you 
 must admit that this is altogether an exceptional case. 
 There was more than a mere quarrel between these 
 two men. There was deadly enmity . . . justified 
 enmity, I'll own, on Luke's side. . . . We have already 
 come across — it was not very difficult — two or three 
 of the servants who were in Lord Radclyffe's ho,use 
 before Luke and his brother and sister were finally 
 turned out of it. They all have tales to tell of the 
 terrible rows which used to go on in the house between 
 the cousins. You, Will, must know how Luke hated 
 this Philip de Mountford." 
 
 Again Colonel Harris was silent. What was the 
 use of denying suoh an obvious truth ? 
 
 " You wanted," continued the other man quietly, 
 " to hear the truth, Will, and you've got it. For 
 Louisa's sake, for all our sakes in fact, I made up 
 my mind to tell you all . . . or most . . . that is 
 officially known to me at this moment. You must 
 get Louisa out of town at once — take her abroad 
 if you can, and keep English newspapers away from 
 her." 
 
 " She won't come," said Colonel Harris firmly. 
 
 " Oh, yes she will, if you put it the right way." 
 
 Which saying on the part of the acute chief of our 
 Criminal Investigation Department was but a further 
 proof — if indeed such proofs were still needed nowa- 
 days — of how little clever men know of commonplace 
 women. 
 
 " The case will be extremely unpleasant," resumed 
 Sir Thomas, who was quite unconscious of the ignorance 
 
NOT ALL ABOUT IT 159 
 
 which he had just displayed. " It will be hateful for 
 you, and quite impossible for Louisa." 
 
 " Always supposing," retorted the other, " that 
 Luke is guilty, which neither I nor Louisa will admit 
 for a moment." 
 
 " That," rejoined Sir Thomas, " is as you please." 
 
 He put down his cigar, crossed one leg over the 
 other, leaned back in his chair, and folded his tapering 
 hands together, putting finger to finger, with the 
 gesture of one who is dealing with a youthful mind, 
 and has much to explain. 
 
 " Look here," Will, he resumed, " I have three men 
 standing in my outer office at the present moment. 
 Two of them have come back after having questioned 
 the past servants of the Grosvenor Square household. 
 There was the butler Parker, and an elderly house- 
 keeper, both of whom are in service in the West End. 
 The woman tried to screen Luke and to make light 
 of the many quarrels which broke out between the 
 cousins on all possible occasions : but she broke down 
 under our fellows' sharp questions. She had to admit 
 that the arrogance of the one man often drove the 
 other to unguarded language, and that she had on 
 more than one occasion heard the men servants of 
 the house say that they would not be astonished if 
 murder ensued one day. Well, we have these two 
 witnesses, and can easily get hold of the two or three 
 footmen who expressed those particular views. So 
 much for the past six months. Now for last night. 
 The third man who is out there waiting for me to 
 see him is Frederick Power, hall-porter at the Veterans' 
 
160 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Club. The story which he told to our Mr. Travers 
 is so important in its minutest detail, that I have 
 decided to question him myself so that I may leave 
 no possible loophole to doubt or to inaccuracy in the 
 re-telling. I am going to send for the man now. 
 You come and sit round here, the other side of my 
 desk ; from this position you will be able to watch 
 the man's face, as well as hear what he has got to 
 say. Now, would you like that ? " 
 
 " Right you are, Tom," was Colonel Harris's brief 
 method of acknowledging his brother-in-law's kind- 
 ness, in thus breaking a piece of red tape, and setting 
 aside a very strict official rule. He did as Sir Thomas 
 directed, and sat down in the recess behind the chief's 
 desk, in a comfortable arm-chair with his back to 
 the curtained window. 
 
 He would not acknowledge even to himself how 
 deeply stirred he was by all that he had heard, and 
 now by the anticipation of what was yet to come. 
 Emotion — like he was experiencing now — had never 
 come his way before. He had lost his only son 
 on the Modder River . . . that had been sorrow of 
 an acute kind ; he had laid a much-loved wife to rest 
 in the village churchyard close to his stately home 
 in Kent, and he had escorted his late beloved sove- 
 reign to her last resting-place on that never-to-be- 
 forgotten day close on eight years ago now : those 
 three events in his life had been the great strains to 
 which his nerves and sensibilities had been subjected 
 in the past. 
 
 But this was altogether different. The sensations 
 
NOT ALL ABOUT IT 161 
 
 which the good man experienced were such that he 
 scarcely knew them himself ; he had faced sorrow 
 before, never dishonour — some one else's dishonour, 
 of course, still it touched him very nearly, for, though 
 he might not be a very keen observer, he dearly 
 loved his daughter, and dishonour seemed to be 
 touching her, striking at her through Luke. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 AND THAT'8 THE TRUTH 
 
 FREDERICK POWER was shown in. 
 I won't have you think that there was anything 
 remarkable about the man, or anything that would — 
 even momentarily — distinguish him from any number 
 of other hall-porters, who wear an uniform and peaked 
 cap, have the air of having seen military service, 
 and wear a couple of medals on a well-developed 
 chest. 
 
 He was perfectly respectful, all the more so be- 
 cause Sir Thomas was General Sir Thomas Ryder, 
 k.c.b. — a fact which impressed the ex-soldier far 
 more than any other exalted title, non-military in 
 character, would have done. 
 
 He saluted and stood at attention, and as he gave 
 answer to Sir Thomas's preliminary questions his words 
 rang out clear and direct, obviously truthful, as if 
 echoing in the barrack-yard at six o'clock of a frosty 
 spring morning. 
 
 " Your name is . , . ? " 
 
 " Frederick Power, sir." 
 
 " You are hall-porter at the Veterans' Club in 
 Shaftesbury Avenue ? " 
 
 162 
 
AND THAT'S THE TRUTH 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You were in the lobby of the Club last night as 
 usual ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And Mr. Philip de Mountford, who is a member 
 of the Club, was in the smoking-room at eight o'clock 
 yesterday evening ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," 
 
 " He came almost every evening, I understand ? " 
 
 " That's right, sir." 
 
 " Alone mostly ? " 
 
 " Not often, sir. Lord Radclyffe was with him most 
 evenings," 
 
 " And Lord Radclyffe and Mr. de Mountford dined 
 together on those occasions in the Club dining- 
 room ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " But last night Mr, de Mountford was alone ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir He had some dinner at about half -past 
 seven and then he went to the smoking-room," 
 
 " Later on a gentleman called to see him ? " 
 
 " That's right, sir. It was about quarter - past 
 eight. The gentleman asked to see Lord Radclyffe, 
 but I said that 'is lordship 'adn't come to the Club 
 this night. Then the gentleman asked if Mr. de 
 Mountford was in, and I said yes." 
 
 " And you showed him into the smoking-room ? " 
 
 " I told 'im he would find Mr, de Mountford in the 
 smoking-room : yes, sir." 
 
 " Isn't that rather against Club rules to allow 
 strangers to walk in and out of the rooms ? " 
 
164 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Well, sir, the Veterans' is a new Club . . . and 
 the committee ain't very partik'lar." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 So far the questions and answers had followed on 
 one another in quick succession. Sir Thomas Ryder, 
 with his clever lean head held somewhat on one side, 
 appeared to be reciting a well-learned lesson, so even 
 and placid was the tone of his voice and so indifferent 
 the expression of his furrowed face. One leg was 
 crossed over the other and his tapering hands, white 
 and wrinkled like his face, toyed with a large ivory 
 paper knife hardly whiter in colour than they. 
 
 He had not told Frederick Power to sit down, as 
 he might have done in the case of a Witness who was 
 a civilian. He preferred to keep the man standing, 
 and at attention, confident that he would thus get 
 clearer and sharper replies. 
 
 "Well, then," he resumed after a brief interval, 
 during which he had modified his position somewhat, 
 but had not varied the placid expression of his face, 
 " you told the visitor that he would find Mr. de Mount- 
 ford in the smoking-room. What happened after 
 that ? " 
 
 " The gentleman walked in, sir. And he shut the 
 door, sir, after 'im." 
 
 " Did you hear anything that went on inside the 
 room ? " 
 
 "No, sir. I didn't pay no attention at first, sir." 
 
 " Then afterwards ? After a while, you did pay 
 attention, didn't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I did. The door of the smoking-room 
 
AND THAT'S THE TRUTH 165 
 
 is quite close to the entrance, sir, and presently I 
 heard loud voices like as if the two gentlemen was 
 quarrelling." 
 
 " Did you hear what was said ? " 
 " No, sir, not the words. But the voices they 
 sounded awful. And one other gentleman 'e come 
 along from the dining-room, and asked me what 
 the noise was about. There ain't many members not 
 at the Veterans', sir, and being a foggy night we 
 was partik'lar quiet. But this gentleman 'e was 
 curious about the noise, so 'e just opened the smoking- 
 room door and peeped in, and then I did 'ear a few 
 words." 
 
 " What were they ? " 
 
 " Abuse, sir, mostly. One gentleman was goin' on 
 awful, but I couldn't rightly say which one it was. I 
 'eard the words 'beggar' and 'lazy, idling, good-for- 
 nothing,' but I couldn't rightly say 'oo said 'em." 
 " How long did this go on ? " 
 " Oh ! a long time, sir ; I couldn't say for sure. 
 After a bit it got quiet in the smoking-room. And at 
 about nine o'clock or soon after, the visitor come away, 
 and 'e asked me for a light." 
 
 " What did he seem like then ? " 
 " I thought he'd been drinking, sir. His face was 
 queer, and pale and moist-like, and his 'and shook 
 like anything when he lighted 'is cigarette." 
 
 " Mr. de Mountford did not come out with him ? " 
 
 "No, sir, not just then, but 'e come out of the 
 
 smoking-room a moment or two later, whilst 'is 
 
 visitor was still in the 'all. Mr, de Mountford 'e was 
 
166 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 quite calm, sir, didn't look at all as If 'e'd been J aving 
 a quarrel He'd his cigar between his lips, his hat on, 
 and 'is overcoat over 'is arm." 
 
 " Did he speak to the visitor then ? " 
 
 " Not right away, sir. 'E seemed to be 'esitating 
 like at first, then he came forward and 'e says : ' I am 
 going back to Grosvenor Square now ; would you 
 like to see Uncle Rad about this business yourself ? 
 But I warn you that he is of the same mind as my- 
 self.' " 
 
 " And what did the other gentleman say ? " 
 
 " 'E just kind o' laughed and shrugged his shoulders 
 and said : ' I've no doubt of that.' " 
 
 " Then after that did they agree to go to Grosvenor 
 Square together ? " 
 
 " I don't rightly know, sir, if the two gentlemen 
 said anything about that, but the visitor 'e went out 
 first, and Mr. de Mountford followed 'im into the outer 
 lobby. Then 'e turned and spoke to me." 
 
 " Who did ? " 
 
 " Mr. de Mountford, sir ; the other gentleman wasn't 
 a yard away from 'im and must 'ave 'eard every word 
 'e said." 
 
 " What did he say ? " 
 
 " 'E said to me : ' Power, I say, you've no business 
 to allow people to enter the Club rooms like that. 
 You must keep them waiting in the hall : one will 
 get hopelessly pestered by beggars at this rate.' 
 Them were Mr. de Mountford's very words, sir, I 
 take my Bible oath to every one of 'em, and the other 
 gentleman 'e was in the outer lobby, sir, and 'e must 
 
AND THAT'S THE TRUTH 167 
 
 'ave 'eard every syllable. I caught sight of 'is face, 
 and, my word, there was murder in his eye." 
 
 " That'll do, Power," admonished Sir Thomas, thus 
 checking the man's flow of excited eloquence. 
 
 " Very good, sir," replied the other humbly. 
 
 " And after that what happened ? " 
 
 " Both gentlemen went off, sir. I tried to look 
 after them, but the fog was that thick one couldn't 
 see one's 'and before one's eyes." 
 
 " So you lost sight of them just outside the Club 
 house ? " 
 
 " That's right, sir." 
 
 " And did you see either of these two gentlemen 
 since then ? " 
 
 " No, sir." And the man's voice dropped to a 
 solemn whisper. "Mr. de Mountford was murdered 
 in a taxi-cab, sir . . . must 'ave been soon after 'e 
 left the Club." 
 
 " Very soon, I should say. But the other ? " 
 
 " I saw the other gentleman this morning, sir." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " Mr. Travers from the police, sir, 'e called to see 
 me at the Club, and 'e took me in a taxi-cab to Gros- 
 venor Square, and told the shoffer, sir, to pull up by 
 the kerb on the garden side. Then 'e told me to 
 watch a partik'lar 'ouse opposite and see 'oo was 
 goin' in or out. I didn't 'arf like it, sir, because I'm 
 not supposed to absent myself for very long of a 
 morning, though the committee ain't very partik'lar. 
 But Mr. Travers 'e was of the police, sir, so I thought 
 it was right to do as 'e told me." 
 
168 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Quite right. And what did you see ? " 
 
 " Nothing much for close on an hour, sir : a carriage 
 drew up to the door of the house and an elderly gentle- 
 man got out. Mr. Travers told me that it was the 
 doctor. 'E rang the bell and went into the 'ouse. 
 Then after a bit 'oo did I see walking down the street 
 and straight up to the front door of the partik'lar 
 'ouse I'd been told to look at, but Mr. de Mountford's 
 visitor of last night." 
 
 " You recognized him ? " 
 
 " Couldn't mistake 'im, sir." 
 
 " Did you call Mr. Travers' attention to him ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. I told 'im that was the gentleman 'oo'd 
 had an awful quarrel with Mr. Philip de Mountford 
 at the Club last night." 
 
 " That's all, Power. I won't trouble you further 
 now." 
 
 " No trouble, sir." 
 
 " Your position at the Club is a permanent one ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You are always to be found there ? " 
 
 " Always, sir, whenever you. want me." 
 
 " Well ! send a line to the Chief Superintendent at 
 Scotland Yard in case your plans get suddenly modified 
 and you are no longer to be found at the Club." 
 
 " Not likely, sir. Thank you, sir. Good morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " Good morning." 
 
 Sir Thomas touched the electric button in the wal 
 behind him, and a man in dark blue uniform appeared. 
 Frederick Power was dismissed. He saluted both 
 
AND THAT'S THE TRUTH 169 
 
 gentlemen, and, turning on his heel in proper military 
 fashion, he marched out of the room, obviously de- 
 lighted with his own importance and with the ad- 
 venture which varied so pleasantly the monotonous 
 evenness of his existence. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 HAVE ANOTHER CIGAR 
 
 WELL, William, what do you think of it all ? " 
 The two men had sat in silence for quite a 
 considerable time after Frederick Power had marched 
 out of the room. Colonel Harris, buried in thought, was 
 in no hurry to talk things over. Sir Thomas Ryder — 
 a very busy man — was the more impatient of the two. 
 
 " I must tell you," he said, seeing that his brother- 
 in-law seemed disinclined to speak, " that our man 
 Travers, as soon as Power had pointed Luke out to 
 him, went and rang the bell at Radclyffe's house, and 
 quickly enough established beyond a doubt that the 
 man who had just entered it was Mr. Luke de Mount- 
 ford. I tell you this now, so as to disabuse your mind 
 once and for all in case you should imagine that this 
 might be a case of mistaken identity. Moreover, you 
 yourself know and have admitted to me that Luke's 
 intention was to seek out his uncle and his cousin at 
 the Veterans' Club, after he parted from you at eight 
 o'clock last night." 
 
 " Yes," said Colonel Harris, " I know that. I was 
 not thinking of mistaken identity." 
 
 " You," rejoined the other, " were thinking of Luke, 
 and so am I. I have thought little of any one else since 
 
 170 
 
HAVE ANOTHER CIGAR 171 
 
 first the crime was reported to me last night. And 
 long before Travers gleaned the outlines of the story 
 which Power has just amplified for us, I vaguely 
 guessed at the broad lines of it. Now that I know it in 
 all its details, I can see the whole scene in 'the lobby of 
 the Veterans' Club before me. You may believe me 
 or not as you like, but as a matter of fact I know quite 
 a good deal about Luke de Mountford, I have often 
 met him, of course, and though we have never been 
 very intimate — f or I am a busy man and have but little 
 time for intimacy with my fellow-men — I have had 
 many opportunities of studying him. He has a very 
 curious power of self-control — almost an abnormal 
 one, I call it, and a morbid hatred of public scenes or 
 scandal. This, of course, he shares with a great many 
 men of his class, and his self-control is all the more 
 remarkable as he is not by any means the impassive 
 young man about town which he pretends to be. 
 Well ! that same power, I suppose, stood him in good 
 stead in the lobby of the Veterans' Club. In Power's 
 picturesque parlance ' there was murder in his eye.' 
 Of course, he had been provoked beyond the bounds 
 of endurance, and if he had rushed at Philip de Mount- 
 ford and strangled him then and there, no one would 
 have been astonished. I should," continued Sir 
 Thomas, with emphasis, " because it would not have 
 been like the Luke whom I had studied. The picture 
 of two gentlemen at fisticuffs like a pair of navvies 
 would not have been an edifying one, and Luke — as 
 I know him — would, above all, wish not to make a 
 spectacle of himself before the hall-porter or before 
 
172 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 a crowd in the ante-room of a second-rate club. He 
 naturally— for that sort of thing becomes second 
 nature — pulled himself together and walked out into 
 the street." 
 
 You must not think for a moment that Sir Thomas 
 Ryder was habitually a talkative man. Englishmen 
 of his class and type are rarely talkative, and Sir 
 Thomas's position and occupation had rendered him 
 less communicative than most. But Colonel Harris 
 and he had been brother officers, friends long before 
 family ties were closely knit by marriage, and he con- 
 sidered the present crisis a very serious one. 
 
 He had had enough to do with crime in the past few 
 years since he had obtained the interesting post which 
 he now occupied, but never with a crime which affected 
 him personally as this one did. Luke de Mountford 
 was, of course, nothing to him, except in connection 
 with Louisa Harris. But this was a strong tie. Louisa 
 was his own wife's niece ; she was the daughter of a 
 friend, of a brother officer. No one who is not in some 
 manner or other in touch with military men, can have 
 the slightest idea of how much those two magic words 
 mean : " brother officer " ; what magnetism lies in 
 them ; what appeal they make to all that is most 
 loyal, most willing, most helpful in a man. 
 
 Sir Thomas felt that the mud of irretrievable dis- 
 grace which was bound to smirch Luke de Mountford 
 would in no .small measure redound on Louisa too. 
 Instinctively, too, all his sensibilities recoiled against 
 the idea of a gentleman, one of his own caste, being 
 dragged in this peculiarly loathsome mire. It seemed 
 
HAVE ANOTHER CIGAR 173 
 
 impossible that that type of man should commit a 
 murder ... a murder ! just an ordinary, brutal, 
 commonplace murder such as the rough-and-tumble 
 herd of humanity commit when under the stress of 
 vulgar passions : greed, avarice, jealousy. It was this 
 juxtaposition of the mean and sordid against his own 
 class that revolted Sir Thomas Ryder. He was loyal 
 to his brother officer in his endeavour to induce him 
 to keep out of all that mud which would be scattered 
 all round presently, when the papers came out with 
 their sensational headlines, but he was also — perhaps 
 more so — loyal to his caste ; his was the esprit de corps 
 not only of militarism, but of birth and breeding. He 
 would not — if he could — have a gentleman held up to 
 opprobrium, and if this could be avoided by the un- 
 fortunate criminal's flight from justice, well ! Sir 
 Thomas was ready and willing to take upon his 
 shoulders the burden of contempt and ridicule which 
 the Press and the general public would presently be 
 hurling at him and at his Department for their hopeless 
 incompetence in allowing a murderer to escape. 
 
 Therefore he was putting the case against Luke more 
 clearly and with a greater wealth of detail before his 
 brother-in-law than the conscientious discharge of 
 duty should have allowed. In fact, we see Sir Thomas 
 Ryder — a hard disciplinarian, a hide and tape-bound 
 official — freely transgressing the most elementary 
 rules which duty prescribes. He was sitting in his 
 private office with his brother-in-law, giving away 
 secrets that belonged not to him, but to his Department : 
 conniving, through the words which he spoke, at the 
 
174 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 fleeing from justice of a criminal who belonged not to 
 him, but to the State. 
 
 He was making the case against Luke de Mountford 
 to appear as black as it was in effect, so that Colonel 
 Harris and Louisa might take fright and induce the 
 unfortunate man to realize his danger in time and to 
 shrink from facing the consequences of his own terrible 
 deed, 
 
 But Colonel Harris — with the obstinacy of those 
 who throughout life have never led, but have always 
 ruled — would not see the case through his brother-in- 
 law's spectacles- He clung to his own repudiation of 
 the possibility of Luke de Mountford's guilt. He be- 
 haved quite unconsciously just as Louisa would have 
 wished him to behave, had she been present here to 
 prompt him. 
 
 To Sir Thomas's most convincing expose" of the situa- 
 tion he lent an attentive ear, but the shrug of his 
 shoulders when the other man paused to take breath 
 was in itself a testimony of loyalty to Luke's cause. 
 
 " Hang it all, man," he said, " you are not going 
 to sit there and tell me that Luke de Mountford — the 
 man whom I myself would have chosen as a son-in-law 
 had Loo not forestalled me — that Luke would commit 
 a deliberate murder. In the name of common sense, 
 Tom ! why it's unthinkable. Do you mean to say that 
 you actually believe that Luke, after he left that God- 
 forsaken Club, joined his cousin again as if nothing had 
 happened ; that he got into a taxi-cab with him, and 
 poked him through the neck whilst the man was looking 
 another way ? " 
 
HAVE ANOTHER CIGAR 175 
 
 " Roughly speaking," assented Sir Thomas, " I 
 believe that that's what happened." 
 
 " And you call yourself a shrewd detective ! " ex- 
 claimed Colonel Harris hotly ; " and you hold the 
 lives of men practically in the hollow of your hand ! 
 Why, man ! have you forgotten one thing," he con- 
 tinued, his gruff voice assuming a note of triumph, 
 "the most important in all this damnable business ? " 
 " What have I forgotten, Will ? " asked the other, 
 not at all ruffled by the gallant Colonel's sudden tone 
 of contempt. 
 
 " The weapon, Tom ! " 
 
 " I haven't forgotten the weapon," rejoined Sir 
 Thomas calmly. 
 
 " Oh yes ! you have ! Do you mean to tell me that 
 Luke de Mountford habitually walks about the streets 
 of London with an Italian stiletto in his trousers 
 pocket ? for I am told that it was with a thing of that 
 sort that the murder was committed. Or, according 
 to you, did Luke escort Louisa to a dinner-party with 
 the avowed intention at the back of his mind of com- 
 mitting a murder later on if occasion offered ? Did 
 he bring an Italian stiletto from home when he came to 
 meet his fiancee at the Langham Hotel, or did he buy 
 one on the way to the Veterans' Club ? Which of these 
 cock-and-bull theories do you hold, Tom ? " 
 
 "Neither," admitted Sir Thomas, with a placid 
 smile, 
 
 " Then," concluded Colonel Harris contemptuously, 
 ' ' you think that Luke was — as I said — in the habit of 
 carrying an Italian stiletto in his trousers pocket ? " 
 
176 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " No," rejoined the other, still unruffled ; " but I 
 know that Luke de Mountford is in the habit of carry- 
 ing a snake-wood walking-stick, which he once bought 
 years ago — somewhere abroad, and the top of which 
 contains a short pointed dagger which fits into the body 
 of the stick. And what's more, you know that stick 
 too, Will ; you have often seen it. Are you prepared 
 to swear that Luke hadn't it with him last night ? " 
 
 " He hadn't it with him." 
 
 " You are prepared to swear to that ? " insisted 
 the other earnestly. 
 
 Colonel Harris was silent. For the first time since 
 the beginning of this long interview he felt as if all the 
 blood in his body was receding back to his heart, causing 
 it to beat so wildly that he thought it was about to 
 choke him. The colour fled from his cheeks, and the 
 cigar dropped from between nerveless fingers. Swift 
 as lightning a recollection came back to him — a vision 
 of Luke entering the sitting-room of the Langham 
 Hotel, with his coat on and his hat and stick in the 
 left hand. 
 
 But he would not give in even now — not on such 
 paltry surmises. Any number of men he knew carried 
 sticks that contained weapons of self-defence. He 
 himself possessed a very murderous-looking sword- 
 stick, which he had once bought in Paris. He fought 
 down this oncoming attack of weakness, and blamed 
 himself severely for it too. It savoured of disloyalty to 
 Louisa and to Luke. He stooped and picked his cigar 
 up, and looked his brother-in-law boldly in the face. 
 
 " I wouldn't," he said, " swear either way, whether 
 
HAVE ANOTHER CIGAR 177 
 
 Luke had his stick with him last night or not. I know 
 that stick, of course. I have got one very like it my- 
 self." 
 
 " So have I," rejoined Sir Thomas, with his placid 
 smile. 
 
 " And if that's one of the proofs on which you are 
 going to accuse my future son-in-law of having com- 
 mitted a murder, then all I can say is, Tom, that you 
 and I are seeing the last of one another to-day." 
 
 But Sir Thomas took this threat, as he had taken 
 Colonel Harris's undisguised expressions of contempt, 
 with perfect equanimity. 
 
 " If," he said quietly, " I did accuse Luke de Mount- 
 ford or any other man of murder on such paltry 
 grounds as that, Will, you would be perfectly justified 
 in turning your back on me, if for no other reason than 
 that I should then be an incompetent ass." 
 
 " Well ! what more is there then ? " 
 
 " Only this, Will. That the stick which you have 
 so often seen in Luke de Mountford's hand, was found 
 this morning inside the railings of Green Park ; it 
 bears unmistakable signs of the use to which it was 
 put last night." 
 
 " You mean . . . that it was stained . . . ? " 
 
 How long a time elapsed between the beginning of 
 that query and its last words Colonel Harris could not 
 say. The uttering of the words was a terrible effort. 
 They seemed to choke him ere they reached his lips. 
 A buzzing and singing filled his ears so that he did not 
 hear Sir Thomas's reply; but through a strange veil 
 which half obscured his vision he saw his brother-in- 
 
178 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 law's slow nod of affirmation. For the first time in his 
 life, the man who had fought against naked savages 
 in the swamps or sands of Africa, who had heard — 
 unflinching — the news of the death of his only son — felt 
 himself totally unnerved, He heard as in a dream the 
 hum of the busy city in the street below, hansoms and 
 omnibuses rattling along the road, the cries of news- 
 vendors or hawkers, the bustle of humdrum everyday 
 life ; and through it the ticking of his own watch in his 
 waistooat pocket, 
 
 He remembered afterwards how strangely this had 
 impressed him : that he could hear the ticking of his 
 own watch. He had never been conscious before 
 of such an acute sense of hearing, And yet the buzzing 
 and singing in his ears went on, And he was horribly, 
 painfully conscious of silly, trivial things — the ticking 
 of his watoh whioh obsessed him, the irregularity in 
 the design of the wall-paper, the broken top of the 
 inkstand on Sir Thomas's desk, 
 
 The great, all-important fact had esoaped momen- 
 tarily from his consciousness. He forgot that Philip 
 de Mountford had been murdered, and that Luke's 
 stick, blood-stained and damning, had been found 
 inside the railings of the Park. 
 
 A cycle of time went by — an eternity, or else a few 
 seconds. Sir Thomas Ryder pulled open the long 
 drawer of his monumental desk. 
 
 Colonel Harris watched him doing it, and long before 
 Sir Thomas took a certain Something from out the 
 drawer, the Colonel knew what that Something would 
 be. 
 
HAVE ANOTHER CIGAR 179 
 
 A familiar thing enough. The Colonel had seen it 
 over and over again in Luke de Mountford's hand. 
 A slender stick of rich-looking, dark wood, only very 
 little thicker at the top than at the base, and with a 
 silver band about six inches from the top. On the 
 band the initials " L. d. M." daintily engraved. 
 
 " Put it away, Tom, for God's sake ! " Colonel 
 Harris hardly recognized his own voice ; he had spoken 
 more from a sudden instinct of shrinking from loath- 
 some objects than from any real will of his own. One 
 glance at the stick had been enough, It was thickly 
 coated with mud, and about six inches from the top, 
 there where the silver band showed a deep dark cleft 
 between it and the length of the stiok, there were other 
 stains — obvious stains of blood. 
 
 Yet Colonel Harris had seen worse sights than this 
 in Zululand, and at Omdurman. But on this stained 
 stiok, that discoloured silver band, he felt it impossible 
 to look, 
 
 " I have broken it to you, Will, as gently as I could," 
 said Sir Thomas, not quite as placidly as before. He 
 too was not unmoved by the distress of his old friend. 
 " You see that I have no option but to tell you all. 
 You must keep out of all this, old man, and above all 
 you must keep Louisa out of it. Take her abroad, 
 Will, as soon as you oan," 
 
 " She won't go ! " murmured the father dully. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " 
 
 " She won't go," he reiterated. " She has given her 
 heart to Luke." 
 
 " She'll soon forget him." 
 
180 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Not she ! " 
 
 " And she'll be horrified . . . when she knows." 
 
 " She'll not believe it." 
 
 "If he is wise, he'll plead guilty. . . . His solicitor 
 will advise him to do that. ... It is his one 
 chance . . ." 
 
 " His one chance ? " queried the other vaguely. 
 
 " Of escaping the gallows. ... If he pleads guilty 
 — many extenuating circumstances will be admitted 
 ... his own spotless reputation . . . and also intense 
 provocation . . . he'll get a life sentence, or even 
 perhaps ..." 
 
 But with a loud oath, the most forcible one he had 
 ever uttered in his life, Colonel Harris had jumped 
 to his feet and brought a heavy fist crashing down 
 upon the table. 
 
 "And by the living God, Tom," he said, "I'll 
 not believe it. No ! not for all your witnesses, and 
 your cross-questionings, and your damnable proofs. 
 No ! I'll not believe it, and I know that my girl will 
 not believe it either . . . not until we hear the word 
 ' guilty ' spoken by Luke's own lips. And we'll not 
 leave London, we'll not go abroad, we'll not desert 
 Luke ; for I swear by God ! that I don't believe that 
 he is an assassin." 
 
 Men who have always been accounted weak often 
 have moments of unexpected strength. Colonel 
 Harris now seemed to tower morally and mentally 
 over his brother-in-law. The passion of loyalty was 
 in him and caused his eyes to sparkle and his cheeks 
 to glow. The oath he uttered, he spoke with fervour : 
 
HAVE ANOTHER CIGAR 181 
 
 there would be no faltering, no wavering in his defence 
 of Luke. 
 
 Sir Thomas waited a minute or two, allowing his 
 old friend to recover his normal self-control as well 
 as his breath, which was coming and going in quick 
 gasps. Then he said quietly — 
 
 " As you will, old man. Have another cigar." 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THEN THE MIRACLE WAS WROUGHT 
 
 WHEN Colonel Harris once more arrived at the 
 Langham he found Luke and Louisa com- 
 fortably installed in front of the fire in the private 
 sitting-room upstairs. She was leaning back against 
 the cushions, her head resting in her hand, he at the 
 foot of the sofa, his hands encircling one knee, gazing 
 now and then into the fire, now and then into her 
 face. 
 
 Not troubled creatures these, not man and woman 
 fighting a battle against fife, against the world, for 
 honour, for peace and for love, not souls racked by 
 painful memories of the past or grim dread of the 
 future ! only two very ordinary human beings, with 
 a life behind them of serene contentment, social 
 duties worthily performed, a smooth lake whereon not 
 a ripple of sorrow or disgrace ever dared to mar the 
 shiny surface. 
 
 And the ruling passion, strong in death, was stronger 
 still in face of this new life to be led : the life of to- 
 morrow, full of the unknown, the ugly, the sordid and 
 mean, full of nameless dangers, and of possible dis- 
 grace. The puppets were still dancing, moved by 
 the invisible strings held by the hand of the implacable 
 
 182 
 
THEN THE MIRACLE WAS WROUGHT 183 
 
 giant called Convention : they danced even as though 
 no gaping or ravenous lions, no Bulls of Bashan were 
 there to see. Even before one another they hid the 
 secret mysteries of their heart, he his overwhelming 
 passion for her, she her dread for his immediate 
 future. 
 
 They had not forborne to talk of Philip de Mount- 
 ford's death, they would not have admitted that there 
 was anything there that could not be discussed with per- 
 fect indifference — she, reclining against the cushions, 
 and he in immaculate morning coat, with hair 
 smoothly brushed, and speckless tie and linen, talk- 
 ing of things which meant life or death for them 
 both. 
 
 He had told her all he knew: his visit to Philip at the 
 Veterans' Club, his quarrel with him, the hatred which 
 he bore to the man that was dead. He made no secret 
 of the police officer's questionings, nor of Dr. Newing- 
 ton's extraordinary attitude. 
 
 " One would think those fellows had a suspicion 
 that I had murdered Philip," he said quite lightly. 
 
 And her face never moved whilst she listened to 
 these details, analysing them in her mind, comparing 
 them with those at which the morning papers had 
 hinted, the " clues " and " startling developments," 
 to obtain confirmation of which her father had gone 
 out to seek Sir Thomas Ryder. 
 
 Luke de Mountford would no more have dreamed 
 of telling Louisa of the dark suspicions which really 
 threatened him than he would have laid bare before 
 her some hideous wound if he happened to be suffer- 
 
184 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 ing from one. The police officer's insolence and the 
 doctor's easy contempt had sounded a note of warn- 
 ing of what was imminent, but beyond that he 
 had no fear. Why should he have ? And having 
 none, why worry Loo with plaints that might agitate 
 her? 
 
 Remember that he individually was quite convinced 
 that Philip's murderer would soon be discovered. 
 He too had read his morning paper, and knew as 
 well as anybody that for the moment suspicion rested 
 upon him. " Seek whom the crime will benefit ! " 
 was a phrase freely used in the Press this morning. 
 But it was only a question of time ; an unpleasant 
 phase to be traversed, some mud that presently would 
 have to be brushed off. No use to worry Louisa with 
 it. Fortunately she took it lightly too. She was 
 far too sensible to attach importance to such non- 
 sense. 
 
 Nevertheless mud thrown in such boundless pro- 
 fusion was apt to hurt very considerably. Luke had 
 to set his teeth this morning when he perused The 
 Times, and even now there was in him a sensation 
 of having been bruised all over, after his second 
 interview with Travers, and his talk with Doctor 
 Newington in the library. Louisa did him good. She 
 was calm and sensible and a woman of the world. 
 She never puzzled Luke, nor had she that vague 
 longing to be misunderstood, the peculiar attribute 
 of the woman of to-day. In face of her serenity he 
 almost despised himself for the intensity of his own 
 passion. She was so pure, so womanly in her tender- 
 
THEN THE MIRACLE WAS WROUGHT 185 
 
 ness, a girl still, she was hardly conscious of passion. 
 But she knew that he was in pain — morally and 
 mentally in pain — and that worse was yet to come, and 
 she, the commonplace, sensible girl, brought forth her 
 full array of calm and of triviality, checking by a 
 placid smile the faintest onrush of passion in him, 
 for passion could but torture him now, when his very 
 soul was troubled and every nerve on the jar. 
 
 And thus Colonel Harris found them. 
 
 When he entered Louisa was recounting to Luke 
 the menu of last night's dinner. 
 
 " And ' Homard a la Danoise ' was a perfect dream," 
 she was saying. " I suppose it would not be etiquette 
 to ask Her Excellency for the recipe." 
 
 Luke rose as the Colonel entered and passed his 
 hand across the back of his smooth head, a gesture 
 peculiarly English and peculiarly his own. The older 
 man was undoubtedly the most troubled of the 
 three. 
 
 " It's a damnable business this," he said as soon as 
 he had shaken Luke by the hand and thrown off hat 
 and coat. 
 
 " Does Sir Thomas Ryder," asked Luke lightly, 
 " also think that I have murdered Philip ? " 
 
 He knew where Colonel Harris had been. Louisa 
 had not thought of keeping this from him. 
 
 " Tom's a fool ! " retorted the Colonel involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 It was tantamount to an avowal. Luke never 
 flinched ; he even contrived to smile. Louisa sat up 
 very straight, and with an instinctive movement gave 
 
186 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 the sofa cushions a nervy shake up. But her eyes were 
 fastened on Luke. 
 
 " Don't worry, sir," said Luke very quietly. " I'll 
 get out of it all in good time." 
 
 " Of course you will ! Damn it all ! " ejaculated 
 the other fervently. 
 
 " The inquest, you know, is to-morrow." 
 
 It was Luke who spoke, and Colonel Harris looked 
 up quickly. 
 
 " Then," he said, " surely some light will be thrown 
 on this mysterious business." 
 
 " Let's hope so, sir," rejoined Luke dryly. 
 
 " Has Uncle Eyder told you anything fresh, father ? 
 Anything that we don't yet know ? " 
 
 Colonel Harris did not reply, and Louisa knew that 
 there was something that Uncle Ryder had said, 
 something awful, which had caused her father to wear 
 the troubled look which had terrified her the moment 
 he came in. 
 
 Something awful ! . . . which would affect Luke ! 
 
 " Won't you tell us, father," she said, " what Uncle 
 Ryder told you ? Luke ought to know." 
 
 " Oh I " rejoined Luke, " there's no hurry, I'm sure. 
 Colonel Harris will tell me presently. Loo, you were 
 coming to the Park this morning. I suppose we can't 
 go to the Temple Garden Show very well." 
 
 "Not very well, I think," she replied, "but I'll 
 come for a walk after lunch with pleasure. Father 
 must tell us now what Uncle Ryder said." 
 
 Then, as Colonel Harris still seemed to hesitate, she 
 became more insistent, and her voice more firm. 
 
THEN THE MIRACLE WAS WROUGHT 187 
 
 " Father dear," she said, " I must know as well as 
 Luke." 
 
 The old man took a turn up and down the room, 
 with hands behind his back. He would not look either 
 at Louisa or at Luke, for it would be easier to tell 
 them everything without meeting their eyes. And he 
 had to tell them everything. To her as well as to him. 
 It was no longer any use trying to avoid the subject, 
 pretending that it was trivial, unworthy of discussion. 
 
 Facts had to be faced at last, like the dervishes at 
 Omdurman, and a plan of campaign decided on in the 
 event of momentary defeat. 
 
 " Ryder," he began quite abruptly at last, " had 
 the hall-porter of that confounded Club up to his 
 room while I was there, and questioned him before 
 me." 
 
 " He could," suggested Luke, " only repeat the 
 story which we all know already. I never denied seeing 
 Philip at the Club or quarrelling with him, for the 
 matter of that. Hang it all I I have often quarrelled 
 with him before." 
 
 " Yes," rejoined the Colonel, " they've ferreted out 
 the old servants of your uncle's household, and heard 
 innumerable stories of quarrels." 
 
 " Exaggerated, I expect. But what of it ? " 
 
 " And that hall-porter didn't mince matters either. 
 Damn him." 
 
 " Philip," remarked Luke dryly, " shouted pretty 
 loudly. I did not." 
 
 " The porter said that when you left the Club you 
 had ' murder in your eye.' " 
 
188 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Possibly." 
 
 " You had overheard Philip's last remark to the 
 porter ? " 
 
 " Yes . . . something about pestering beggars. I 
 was ready to make him swallow his words ; but I 
 loathe a scene, before people like those who frequent 
 the Veterans' Club." 
 
 " I wish to goodness you had gone for him then and 
 there." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " This accursed business would not have occurred." 
 
 " Oh yes, it would — sooner or later." 
 
 " What makes you say that ? " 
 
 " Philip must have had an enemy." 
 
 " Who murdered him last night, you think ? " 
 
 " An enemy," assented Luke, " who evidently lay 
 in wait for him, and murdered him last night. It is 
 bound to come out at the inquest." 
 
 " About this enemy ? " queried Colonel Harris 
 vaguely. 
 
 " Why, yes," rejoined Luke a little impatiently ; 
 " surely the police have made other investigations. 
 They are not just fastening on me and on no one 
 else." 
 
 " Could you," asked Louisa, " help the police in 
 that, Luke ? " 
 
 " No," he replied, " I know absolutely nothing about 
 Philip or about his past life." 
 
 " Did Lord Radclyffe ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " He has been questioned, has he not ? " 
 
THEN THE MIRACLE WAS WROUGHT 189 
 
 " He is too ill to see- any one. Doctor Newington 
 declares that he must not attempt to see any one. His 
 condition is critical. Moreover, he is only partly 
 conscious." 
 
 " But . . ." 
 
 " There's Philip's lawyer, Davies," said Luke ; 
 " the police ought to be in communication with him. 
 It is positively ridiculous the way they seem to do 
 nothing in the way of proper investigation, but only 
 make up their minds that I have killed my cousin. . . . 
 Why ! they don't even seem to trouble about the 
 weapon with which the murder was committed." 
 
 " The weapon . . . ? " 
 
 The ejaculation, spoken hardly above a whisper, had 
 come from Colonel Harris. Once more the old man 
 felt — as he had done in his brother-in-law's office — 
 that every drop of blood in him had receded back to his 
 heart, and that he would choke if he attempted to utter 
 another word. 
 
 " They say," continued Luke quietly, " that Philip 
 was killed by the thrust of a sharp dagger or stiletto, 
 right through the neck. Well, where is that dagger ? 
 Have they found it ? or traced it to its owner ? " 
 
 Then as Colonel Harris was still silent he reiterated 
 once more — 
 
 " Did Sir Thomas tell you if they had found the 
 weapon ? " 
 
 And Colonel Harris nodded and murmured — 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Actually found the weapon ? " insisted Luke. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
190 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " Behind the railings. ... In Green Park. . . . 
 Close to Hyde Park Corner." 
 
 " Was it a stiletto ? Or a dagger ? Or what ? " 
 
 " It was a stick with a dagger fitting into it. A 
 snake-wood stick. It was covered with mud and . . . 
 other stains," 
 
 There was silence in the room now for the space of 
 a f ew, brief seconds, A silence solemn and full of mean- 
 ing. All through this rapid succession of questions and 
 answers between Colonel Harris and Luke, Louisa had 
 kept her eyes fixed upon the younger man's face, had 
 seen light Indifference at possible danger alternating 
 with impatience at the singular obstinaoy of his ac- 
 cusers. Throughout this time the faoe she knew so well, 
 mirrored that perfect calm whioh she understood and 
 admired, since it was the reflex of a calm, untroubled 
 soul, 
 
 But now there came a change in the face : or rather 
 not in the faoe, but in the soul behind it. The change 
 came at Colonel Harris's last words ; a change so 
 subtle, so undetermined that she was quite sure her 
 father had not perceived it. But movement there was 
 none ; one mere, almost imperceptible quiver of the 
 eyelids . . . nothing more. The mouth beneath the 
 slight fair moustache had not trembled, the brow re- 
 mained smooth, the breath came and went as evenly 
 as before. 
 
 But the change was there, nevertheless ! the grey 
 tint just round the eyes, the stony look in the pupils 
 themselves, a tiny speck of moisture round the wing 
 
THEN THE MIRACLE WAS WROUGHT 191 
 
 of each nostril. Colonel Harris had not looked at Luke, 
 whilst he spoke of the stick. He was staring straight 
 in front of him, hardly conscious of the silence which 
 had cast a strange and mystic spell on these three 
 people standing here in the banal atmosphere of a 
 London hotel, 
 
 It was Luke who broke the silence. He said quite 
 quietly, asking the question as if it related to most 
 trivial, most indifferent matter — 
 
 " Did Sir Thomas show you the stick ? " 
 
 The Colonel nodded in acquiescence, 
 
 " It was my stick, I suppose ? " 
 
 The query was so sudden, so unexpected, that Colonel 
 Harris instinctively uttered an exclamation of amaze- 
 ment, 
 
 " Luke ! By God, man ! Are you mad ? " 
 
 Louisa said nothing. She was trying to understand 
 the un-understandable, Luke almost smiled at the 
 other man's bewilderment, 
 
 " No, sir," he said ; " not mad, I think. I only want 
 to know how I stand." 
 
 " How you stand, man ? " ejaculated Colonel 
 Harris, with uncontrolled vehemence. " Great 
 heavens, don't you realize that here is some damned 
 conspiracy, as mysterious as it is damnable ? and 
 that you will have to look this seriously in the face, 
 if you don't wish to find yourself in the dock before 
 the next four-and-twenty hours ? " 
 
 " I am," replied Luke simply, " looking the matter 
 squarely in the face, sir, but I don't quite see how I 
 can avoid standing in the dock, as you say, before the 
 
192 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 next four-and-twenty hours. You see, I had quarrelled 
 with Philip, and my stick — which contains the dagger 
 — was found in the Park, covered with mud, as you 
 say, and other stains." 
 
 " But, hang it all, man ! you did not murder your 
 cousin ! " 
 
 This was not a query, but an assertion. Colonel 
 Harris's loyalty had not wavered, but he could not 
 contrive to keep the note of anxiety out of his voice ; 
 nor did he reiterate the assertion when Luke made no 
 answer to it. 
 
 Once more the latter passed his hand over the back 
 of his head. You know that gesture. It is so English ! 
 and always denotes a certain measure of perturbation. 
 Then he said, with seeming irrelevance — 
 
 " I suppose I had better go now." 
 
 His eyes sought Louisa's, trying to read what she 
 thought and felt. Imagine the awful moment ! for 
 he loved her, as you know, with that intensity of 
 passion of which a nature like his — almost cramped 
 by perpetual self-containment — is alone capable. Then 
 to have to stand before her wondering what the next 
 second would reveal ! hardly daring to exchange fear 
 for certitude, because of what that certitude might 
 be. 
 
 He sought her eyes and had no difficulty in finding 
 them. They had never wandered away from his face. 
 To him — the ardent worshipper — those eyes of hers 
 had never seemed so exquisitely luminous. He read 
 her soul then and there as he would a book. A soul full 
 of trust and brimming over with compassion and with 
 
THEN THE MIRACLE WAS WROUGHT 193 
 
 love. Colonel Harris was loyal to the core ; he clung 
 to his loyalty, to his belief in Luke as he would to a 
 rock, fearful lest he should flounder in a maze of 
 wonderment, of surmises, God help him ! of suspicions. 
 But in Louisa even loyalty was submerged in a sea of 
 love. She cared nothing about suspicions, about facts, 
 about surmises. She had no room in her heart for 
 staunchness : it was all submerged in love. 
 
 There was no question, no wonderment, no puzzle 
 in the eyes which met those of Luke. You see, she was 
 just a very ordinary kind of woman. 
 
 All she knew was that she loved Luke ; and all that 
 she conveyed to him by that look, was just Love. 
 
 Only Love. 
 
 And Love — omnipotent, strange, and capricious 
 Love — wrought a curious miracle then ! For Colonel 
 Harris was present in the room, mind you, a third — if 
 not an altogether indifferent — party, there where at 
 this moment these two should have been alone. 
 
 It was Colonel Harris's presence in the room that 
 transformed the next instant into a wonderful miracle : 
 for Luke was down on his knees before his simple- 
 souled Loo. She had yielded her hand to him and he 
 had pressed an aching forehead against the delicately 
 perfumed palm. 
 
 In face of that Love which she had given him, he 
 could only worship : and would have been equally 
 ready to worship before the whole world. And therein 
 lay the miracle. Do you not agree, you, who know 
 Englishmen of that class and stamp ? Can you con- 
 ceive one of them falling on his knees ? save at the 
 o 
 
194 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 bidding of omnipotent Love, and by the miracle which 
 makes a man forget the whole world, defy the whole 
 world, give up the whole world, driven to defiance, to 
 forgetfulness, to self-sacrifice for the sake of the tor- 
 turing, exquisite moments of transcendental happiness. 
 
CHAPTER XXIH 
 
 WHY ALL THIS MYSTEEY ? 
 
 T HAVE often smiled myself at the recollection of 
 -*- Luke de Mountford walking that self-same after- 
 noon with Louisa Harris up and down the long avenue 
 of the Ladies' Mile : the self -same Luke de Mountford 
 who had knelt at his Loo's feet in humble gratitude 
 for the love she gave him — the self-same Luke de 
 Mountford who stood under suspicion of having com- 
 mitted a dastardly and premeditated murder. 
 
 The puppets were once more dangling on the string 
 of Convention. They had readjusted their masks and 
 sunk individuality, as well as sentiment, in the whirl- 
 pool of their world's opinion. 
 
 Louisa had desired that Luke should come with her 
 to the Park, since convention forbade their looking at 
 chrysanthemums in the Temple Gardens on the day 
 that Philip de Mountford lay dead in the mortuary 
 chamber of a London police court ; but everybody be- 
 longing to their own world would be in the Park on 
 this fine afternoon. And yet the open air, the fra- 
 grance of bare earth in the formal beds would give 
 freedom to the breath ; there would not reign the 
 oppressive atmosphere of tea-table gossip : the dying 
 
 195 
 
196 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 chrysanthemums bowing their stately heads would 
 suggest aloofness and peace. 
 
 And so they went together for a walk in the Park, 
 for she had wished it, and he would have followed her 
 anywhere where she had bidden him to go. 
 
 He walked beside her absolutely unconscious of 
 whisperings and gossip which accompanied them at 
 every step. 
 
 " I call it bad form," was a very usual phrase enun- 
 ciated by many a rouged Up curled up in disdain. 
 
 This was hurled at Louisa Harris. The woman, in 
 such cases, always contrives to get the lion's share of 
 contempt. 
 
 " Showing herself about with that man now ! I 
 call it vulgar." 
 
 " They say he'll be arrested directly after the in- 
 quest to-morrow. I have it on unimpeachable au- 
 thority." 
 
 " Oh ! I understand that he has been arrested 
 already," asserted a lady whose information was 
 always a delightful mixture of irresponsible vagueness 
 and firm conviction. 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " Well ! you see, he is only out on — what do they 
 call it ? ... I mean he has had to give his word that 
 he won't run away ... or something. ... I heard 
 Herbert say something about that at lunch. ... Oh ! 
 what lovely tulips. I dote on that rich coppery red, 
 don't you ? " 
 
 " Then does he go about in Black Maria escorted by 
 a policeman ? " 
 
WHY ALL THIS MYSTERY? 197 
 
 " Probably." 
 
 This somewhat more vaguely, for the surmise was 
 doubtful. 
 
 " I can't understand Louisa Harris, can you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! she thinks it's unconventional to go about 
 with a murderer. She only does it for notoriety." 
 
 But the Countess of Flintshire, who wrote novels and 
 plays under the elegant nom de plume of Maria Annun- 
 ziata, was deeply interested in Luke and Louisa, and 
 stopped to talk to them for quite a considerable time. 
 She said she wanted " to draw Luke de Mountford 
 out." So interesting to get the impressions of an 
 actual murderer, you know. 
 
 The men felt uncomfortable. Englishmen always 
 do, when the unconventional hovers about in their 
 neatly ordered atmosphere. Common sense — in their 
 case — whispered loudly, insisting that this man in the 
 Sackville Street clothes, member of their own clubs, 
 by Jove ! could not just be a murderer. Hang it all ! 
 Harris would not allow his daughter to go about with 
 a murderer ! 
 
 So they raised their hats as they passed by Louisa 
 Harris, and said " Hello ! how de do ? " to Luke with 
 quite a genial smile. 
 
 But Luke and Louisa allowed all this world to wag 
 on its own irresponsible way. They were not fools — 
 they knew their milieu. They guessed all that was 
 being said around them and all that remained un- 
 spoken. They had come here purposely in order to 
 see and to be seen, to be gossiped about, to play their 
 role of puppet before their world as long as life lasted, 
 
198 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 and whilst Chance and Circumstance still chose to 
 hold up the edifice of their own position, of their con- 
 sideration, mayhap of their honour. 
 
 The question of the crime had not been mooted be- 
 tween them again ; after the understanding, the look 
 from her to him, and his humble gratitude on his knees, 
 they had left the mystery severely alone. He had 
 nothing to say, and she would never question, content 
 that she would know in good time, that one day she 
 would understand what was so un-understandable just 
 now. 
 
 Colonel Harris alone was prostrated with trouble. 
 Not that he doubted Luke, but, like all sober-sensed 
 Englishmen, he loathed a moral puzzle. Whilst he 
 liked and trusted Luke, he hated the mystery which 
 now met him at every turn, just as much as he hated 
 the so-called problem plays which alien critics try to 
 foist on an unwilling Anglo-Saxon public. 
 
 He would have loved to hear Luke's voice saying 
 quite frankly — 
 
 " Of course I did not kill my cousin. I give you my 
 word, Colonel, that I am incapable of such a thing." 
 
 That was the only grievance which the older man of 
 the world had against the younger one. The want of 
 frankness worried him. Luke was innocent, of course, 
 but, d — n it, why didn't he say so ? 
 
 And how came that accursed stick behind the rail- 
 ings of the Park ? 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A HEED OF CACKLING GEESE 
 
 WHEN at ten o'clock the next morning Louisa 
 Harris entered the Victoria Coroner's Court 
 accompanied by her father, the coroner and jury were 
 just returning from the mortuary at the back of the 
 building, whither they had gone in order to look upon 
 the dead. 
 
 Already the small room was crowded to its utmost 
 holding capacity. Louisa and Colonel Harris had some 
 difficulty in making their way through the groups of 
 idlers, who filled every corner of the gangway. 
 
 The air was hot and heavy, with the smell of the 
 dust of ages which had gathered in the nooks and 
 crannies of this dull and drabby room. It mingled 
 with irritating unpleasantness with the scent of opo- 
 ponax or heliotrope that emanated from lace handker- 
 chiefs, and with the pungent odours of smelling-salts 
 ostentatiously held to delicate noses. 
 
 Louisa, matter-of-fact, commonplace Louisa, looked 
 round at these unaccustomed surroundings with the 
 same air of semi-indifferent interest with which she 
 would have viewed a second-rate local music-hall had 
 she unaccountably drifted into one through curiosity 
 or desire. 
 
 199 
 
200 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 She saw a dull, drabby paper on the wall, and dull, 
 drabby hangings to the single window which was set 
 very high, close to the ceiling — the latter once white- 
 washed was now covered with uneven coatings of 
 grime. 
 
 In the centre of the room, a long table littered at 
 one end with papers tied up in bundles of varying bulk, 
 with pieces of pink tape, also a blotting-pad, pen, ink, 
 and paper — more paper — the one white note in the 
 uniform harmony of drabby brown ; and in among this 
 litter that encumbered the table a long piece of green 
 baize covering a narrow formless something, which 
 Louisa supposed would be revealed in due course. 
 
 On each side of the table half a dozen chairs, of early 
 Victorian design, upholstered in leather that had once 
 been green. To these chairs a dozen men were even 
 now making their way, each taking his seat in solemn 
 silence : men in overcoats and with velvet collars, 
 somewhat worn at the back of the neck ... it seemed 
 to Louisa as if they were dressed in some kind of uni- 
 form, so alike did their clothes appear. She looked at 
 their faces as they filed in . . . haggard faces, rubi- 
 cund, jolly faces, faces which mirrored suspicion, faces 
 which revealed obstinacy, the whole of middle-class 
 England personified in these typical twelve men all 
 wearing overcoats with shabby velvet collars, who were 
 to decide how and when Philip de Mountford, heir- 
 presumptive to the Earl of Radclyffe, had been done 
 to death. 
 
 Louisa and her father were able at last to reach the 
 forefront of the crowd, where chairs had been reserved 
 
A HERD OF CACKLING GEESE 201 
 
 for them, immediately facing the table at the further 
 end of which the coroner already sat. Louisa recog- 
 nized Mr. Humphreys, one of Mr. Dobson's clerks, who 
 did his best to make her and Colonel Harris comfort- 
 able. Further on sat Mr. Davies, who had been Philip 
 de Mountford's solicitor, when he had first desired an 
 interview with Lord Radclyffe. Louisa knew him by 
 sight — Luke had on one occasion pointed him out to 
 her. 
 
 Luke and Mr. Dobson were even now making their 
 way to the same group of seats. They had — like the 
 jury and the coroner — been in the mortuary to have a 
 last look at the murdered man. Louisa thought that 
 Luke looked years older than he had done yesterday. 
 She saw him standing for a moment right against the 
 dull, drabby background of the court-room wall, and 
 it seemed as if something of that drabbiness had 
 descended upon his soul. Youth seemed to have gone 
 out of him. He appeared to be looking out on to a 
 dreary world through windows obscured by grime. 
 
 There was a look not so much of dejection as of 
 absolute hopelessness in the face. No fear, or anxiety 
 . . . only a renunciation. But this was only for one 
 moment, the next he had caught sight of her, and the 
 look of blank dejection in his eyes suddenly gave place 
 to one of acute and intolerable pain. The face which 
 usually was so calm and placid in its impassive mask 
 of high-bred indifference, was almost distorted by an 
 expression of agony which obviously had been quite 
 beyond control. 
 The whole thing was, of course, a mere flash, less 
 
202 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 than a quarter of a second perhaps in duration, and 
 already Luke was just as he had always been : a correct 
 well-born English gentleman, perfect in manner, per- 
 fect in attitude and bearing, under whatever circum- 
 stances Pate might choose to place him. 
 
 Mr. Dobson spoke to him, and he at once followed 
 his friend and solicitor across the body of the court- 
 room to the row of reserved chairs in front of the 
 crowd. 
 
 A whisper went round the room, and Louisa with 
 cool indifference turned to greet those among the 
 crowd whom she had recognized as acquaintances and 
 friends. Some were sitting, others standing back 
 against the walls in the rear. Lady Ducie was there, 
 excited and over-dressed, with large hat that ob- 
 structed the view of a masculine-looking woman who 
 sat immediately behind her, and who seemed quite pre- 
 pared to do battle against the obstruction. 
 
 Further on sat the Countess of Flintshire, novelist 
 and playwright, eager and serious, notebook in hand 
 and a frown between her brows, denoting thought 
 and concentration of purpose. She bowed gravely to 
 Louisa, and contrived to attract Luke's attention, so 
 that he turned towards her and she was able to note 
 carefully in indelible pencil in a tiny notebook that a 
 murderer about to meet his just fate may bestow an 
 infinity of care on the niceties of his own toilette. 
 
 (N.B. — The next play written by the Countess of 
 Flintshire, better known to the playgoing public as 
 Maria Annunziata, had an assassin for its principal 
 hero. But the play found no favour with actor- 
 
A HERD OP CACKLING GEESE 203 
 
 managers, and though it subsequently enjoyed some 
 popularity in the provinces, it was never performed 
 on the London stage.) 
 
 Louisa looked on all these people with eyes that 
 dwelt with strange persistency on trivial details : the 
 Countess of Flintshire's notebook, Lady Ducie's hat, 
 the masculine attire of the militant suffragette in the 
 rear. All these minor details impressed themselves 
 upon her memory. In after years she could always 
 recall the vision of the court-room, with its drabby 
 background to a sea of ridiculous faces. 
 
 For they all seemed ridiculous to her — all these 
 people — in their obvious eager agitation : they had 
 pushed one another and jostled and fought their way 
 into this small stuffy room, the elegant ladies with 
 their scent-bottles, the men about town with their silk 
 hats and silver-topped canes : they were all ready to 
 endure acute physical discomfort for the sake of wit- 
 nessing the harrowing sight of one of their own kind 
 being pilloried before the mob — it was just a pinch of 
 spice added to the savourless condiment of everyday 
 life. Then there were the others : those who had come 
 just out of idle curiosity to hear a few unpleasant de- 
 tails, or to read a few unwholesome pages in the book 
 of life of people who lived in a different world to their 
 own. 
 
 Ridiculous they seemed, all of them ! Louisa felt 
 a sudden desire to laugh aloud, as she realized how 
 very like a theatre the place was, with its boxes, its 
 stalls, and its galleries. But in this case those who 
 usually sat in stalls or boxes displaying starched shirt- 
 
204 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 fronts, bare shoulders, and bad manners, they were 
 the actors now made to move or dance or sing, to 
 squirm or to suffer for the delectation of pit and gallery. 
 
 On the left a group of young men with keen young 
 faces, all turned towards Luke and towards Louisa and 
 her father. Notebooks protruded out of great-coat 
 pockets, fountain pens and indelible pencils snuggled 
 close to hand : lucky the lightning artist who could 
 sketch for the benefit of his journalistic patrons a rough 
 outline of the gentleman with more than one foot in 
 the dock. Close by a couple of boys in blue uniform, 
 with wallet at the side and smart pill-box cap on the 
 head, stood ready to take messages, fractions of news, 
 hurried reports to less favoured mortals whose duty or 
 desire kept them away from this scene of poignant 
 interest. 
 
 Louisa saw them all, as in a vivid dream. Never 
 afterwards could she believe that it had all been 
 reality : the coroner, the jury, the group of journalists, 
 the idle, whispering, pushing crowd, the loud murmurs 
 which now and again reached her ear — 
 
 " Oh ! you may take it from me that to-morrow 
 he'll stand in the dock." 
 
 " Such brazen indifference I've never seen." 
 
 " And they've actually found the dagger with which 
 he murdered the wretched man." 
 
 " B-r-r-r ! it makes me feel quite creepy." 
 
 " Yes ! he was at your At Home, dear, wasn't he ? 
 a week ago ? " 
 
 " Oh ! one had to ask him for form's sake, you 
 know." 
 
A HERD OF CACKLING GEESE 205 
 
 "Poor Lord RadclyfEe, what a terrible blow for 
 him." 
 
 " They say he'll never recover his speech or the use 
 of his limbs." 
 
 " Silence there ! " 
 
 The cackling herd of geese stopped its whisperings, 
 astonished at being thus reproved. Louisa again felt 
 that irrepressible desire to laugh ; they were so funny, 
 she thought, so irresponsible ! these people who had 
 come to gape at Luke. 
 
 Now they were silent and orderly at the bidding of 
 authority. An old woman, with black bonnet and 
 rusty jacket, was munching sandwiches in a corner 
 seat ; a young man at the further end of the room was 
 sharpening a lead-pencil. 
 
 By the door through which a brief while ago coroner 
 and jury, also Luke and Mr. Dobson had filed out — 
 the door which apparently gave in the direction of the 
 mortuary — a small group in shabby clothes had just 
 entered the court-room, escorted by one of the ushers. 
 The latter made his way to the coroner's table and 
 whispered to that gentleman somewhat animatedly. 
 Louisa could not catch what he said, but she saw that 
 the coroner suddenly lost his morose air of habitual 
 ennui, and appeared keen and greatly interested in 
 what he heard. 
 
 He gave certain instructions to the usher, who 
 beckoned to the group in the shabby clothes. They 
 advanced with timid, anxious gait, a world of unspoken 
 apologies in their eyes as they surveyed the brilliant 
 company through which they had to pass. The feathers 
 
2QG A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 in Lady Ducie's hat attracted the attention of one of 
 them — a young girl with round black eyes and highly 
 decorated headgear : she nudged her companion and 
 pointed to the gargantuan hat, and both the girls 
 giggled almost hysterically. 
 
 The man in front led the way. He was pale and 
 cadaverous-looking, with scanty hair and drooping 
 moustache : in shape he was very like a beetle, with 
 limbs markedly bowed and held away from his stoop- 
 ing body. There were five of them altogether, two 
 men and three women. Louisa was interested in them, 
 vaguely wondering who they were. 
 
 That they were personages of importance in this 
 case was apparent from the fact that the usher was 
 bringing some chairs for the women and placing them 
 close to those on which sat the solicitors, and Luke 
 and Louisa herself. The men were made to stand close 
 by and remained just where they had been told to stay, 
 tweed cap in hand, miserably conscious of the many 
 pairs of eyes that were fixod upon them. 
 
 " Who are these people, do you know ? " 
 
 Lady Ducie was leaning forward, and had contrived 
 to catch Luke's ear. 
 
 He turned round very politely. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. de Mountford ? " she continued 
 in her shrill treble, which she took no trouble to subdue. 
 " You hadn't seen me, had you ? " 
 
 " No, Lady Ducie," he replied, " I had not." 
 
 " I don't wonder," she commented placidly ; " you 
 must feel so anxious. Who are those common people 
 over there, do you know ? " 
 
A HERD OF CACKLING GEESE 207 
 
 " No, I do not." 
 
 " Some of your late cousin's former associates per- 
 haps ? " suggested Lady Flintshire, " Maria Annun- 
 ziata," who sat close by. 
 
 "My dear, how can you suggest such a thing ?" re- 
 torted the other ; " they are so common." 
 
 " Silence there ! " 
 
 And once more the cackling geese were still. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE FOG WAS DENSE, I COTJXDN't RIGHTLY SEE 
 
 THE curtain went up on the first act of the play. It 
 was not, perhaps, so interesting from the outset as 
 the audience would have wished, and the fashionable 
 portion thereof showed its impatience by sundry 
 coughings and whisperings, which had to be peremp- 
 torily checked now again by a loud — 
 
 " Silence, there ! " and a threat to clear the court. 
 
 The medical officer was giving his testimony at 
 great length as to the cause of death. Technical 
 terms were used in plenty, and puzzled the elegant 
 ladies who had come here to be amused. The jury 
 listened attentively, and the coroner — himself a 
 medical man — asked several very pertinent ques- 
 tions. 
 
 " The thrust," he asked of Dr. Blair, who was 
 medical officer of the district, " through the neck was 
 effected by means of a long narrow instrument, with 
 two sharp edges, a dagger in fact ? " 
 
 " A dagger or a stiletto, or a skewer," replied the 
 doctor, " any sharp two-edged instrument, would 
 cause a wound like the one in the neck of the 
 deceased," 
 
 208 
 
THE FOG WAS DENSE 209 
 
 " Was death instantaneous ? " 
 
 " Almost so." 
 
 He explained at some length the intricacies of the 
 human throat, at the point where the murderer's 
 weapon had entered the neck of his victim. Louisa 
 listened attentively. Every moment she expected 
 to see the coroner's hand wandering to the piece of 
 green baize in front of him, and then drawing it away 
 disclosing a snake-wood stick with silver ferrule 
 stained, and showing the rise of the dagger sheathed 
 within the body of the stick. Every moment she 
 expected to hear the query — 
 
 " Is this the instrument which dealt the blow ? " 
 
 But this apparently was not to be just yet : the 
 opaque veil of green baize was not to be lifted, that 
 certain long Something was not to be revealed, the 
 Something that would condemn Luke irrevocably, 
 absolutely to disgrace and to death. 
 
 Only one of the members of the jury — Louisa under- 
 stood that he was the foreman — asked a simple 
 question. 
 
 " Would," he said, " the witness explain whether 
 in his opinion the . . . the unknown murderer . . . 
 the ... I mean . . ." 
 
 He floundered a little in the phrase, having realized 
 that in his official capacity he must keep an ope 
 mind . . . and in that open mind of an English jury- 
 man there could for the present dwell no certainty 
 that a murderer ... an unknown murderer did 
 exist. 
 
 They were all here — he and the others and the 
 
210 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 coroner — in order to find out if there had been a mur- 
 der committed or not. 
 
 The coroner, one elbow on the table, one large hand 
 holding firmly the somewhat fleshy chin, looked at 
 the juryman somewhat contemptuously. 
 
 " You mean . . . ? " he queried, with an obvious 
 effort at patience. 
 
 " I mean," resumed the man more firmly, " in this 
 present instance, would a certain medical or anatomi- 
 cal knowledge be necessary in order to strike — er — 
 or to thrust ... so precisely . . . just on the righfr 
 spot to cause immediate death ? " 
 
 With amiable condescension the coroner put the 
 query io the witness in more concise words. 
 
 " No, no," replied the doctor quickly, now that he 
 had understood the question, " the thrust argues no 
 special anatomical knowledge. Most laymen would 
 know that if you pierce the throat from ear to ear, 
 suffocation is bound to ensue. It was easily enough 
 done." 
 
 " When the deceased's head was turned away ? " 
 asked the coroner. 
 
 " Why, yes ... to look out on the fog, perhaps ; 
 or at a passer-by. ... It would be fairly easy if the 
 would-be murderer was quick and determined and 
 the victim unsuspecting." 
 
 And Doctor Blair, with long tapering fingers, pointed 
 towards his own throat, giving illustration of how 
 easily the deed might be done. 
 
 " Given the requisite weapon of course." 
 
 After a few more courteous questions of a technical 
 
THE FOG WAS DENSE 211 
 
 kind, the first witness was dismissed . . . only mo- 
 mentarily, for he would be required again . . . when 
 the green baize would be lifted from the hidden Some- 
 thing which lay there ready to hand, and the medical 
 man be asked to pronounce finally whether indeed 
 the dagger stick were the requisite weapon for the 
 deed, which had been so easy of accomplishment. 
 
 The chauffeur, who had driven the taxi-cab, was 
 the next witness called : a thick-set man in dark blue 
 Melton coat and peaked cap ; he came forward with 
 that swinging gait which betrayed the ex-coach- 
 man. 
 
 He gave his evidence well and to the point. He had 
 been hailed on the night in question by two gentlemen 
 in evening dress. It was in Shaftesbury Avenue, just 
 opposite the Lyric Theatre, and a little while after he 
 had heard St. Martin's Church clock strike nine o'clock, 
 " The fog was so dense," he added, " you could not 
 see your hand before your eyes." 
 
 He had just put down at the Apollo, and had crossed 
 over to the left going down towards Piccadilly, when 
 the two swells hailed him from the kerb. He couldn't 
 rightly see them, because of the fog, but he noticed 
 that both wore high hats, and the collars of their 
 overcoats were turned up to their ears. He hardly 
 saw their faces, but he noticed that one of them 
 carried a walking-stick. 
 
 " Or it might 'ave been a umbrella," he added, after 
 a moment's hesitation, " I couldn't rightly say." 
 
 " You must have seen the faces of your fares," 
 argued the coroner, " if you saw that one of them 
 
212 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 carried a walking-stick ... or an umbrella. . . . 
 You must have seen something of their faces," he 
 reiterated more emphatically. 
 
 " I didn't," retorted the man gruffly. " Was you 
 out in that there fog, sir ? If you was, you'd know 
 'ow you couldn't see your 'and before your eyes. . . . 
 I saw the point of the stick — or the umbrella, I couldn't 
 rightly say which — only because one of them gents 
 waved it at me when 'e was 'ailing me . . . that's 
 'ow I seed the point." 
 
 The coroner allowed the question of identification 
 to drop : clearly nothing would be got out of the man. 
 The gentlemen, he declared, entered the cab, and then 
 one of them gave directions to him, putting his head 
 out of the right-hand window. 
 
 " I didn't turn to look at 'im," he said bluntly. 
 " I could 'ear 'is voice plain enough — so why should 
 I take a look at 'im ? 'Ow did I know there was 
 a-goin' to be murder done in my cab, and me wanted 
 to say what the murderer looked like ? " 
 
 He looked round the room defiantly, and as if 
 expecting applause for this display of sound common 
 sense, opposed to the coroner's tiresome officialism. 
 
 " And what directions," asked the latter, " did the 
 gentleman give you ? " 
 
 " To go along Piccadilly," replied the witness, " till 
 'e told me to stop." 
 
 " And when did he tell you to stop ? " 
 
 " By the railings of Green Park, just by 'Yde Park 
 Corner. One of 'em puts 'is 'ead out of the window 
 and calls to me to pull up." 
 
THE FOG WAS DENSE 213 
 
 " Which you did ? " 
 
 " Which I did, and one of 'em gets out, and standin' 
 on the kerb 'e leans back to the interior of the cab, 
 and says : ' S'long — see you to-morrow ' ; and then 
 'e says to me : ' No. 1 Cromwell Gardens,' and dis- 
 appears in the fog." 
 
 " Surely you saw him then ? " 
 
 " No. The fog was like pea-soup there, though it 
 looked clearer on Knightsbridge way. And 'e got 
 out left side, of course. I was up on my box right- 
 J and side ... a long way from 'im. ... I could see 
 a man standin' there, but not 'is face. 'Is 'at was 
 pulled down right over 'is eyes, and 'is coat collar up 
 to 'is ears." 
 
 " Had he his stick ... or umbrella with him 
 then ? " 
 
 " Yes. With 'is 'ands in 'is pockets, and the tip 
 pointing upwards, like a soldier's bayonet." 
 
 " You saw that and not his face ? " once more in- 
 sisted the coroner, making a final effort to draw some 
 more definite statement out of the man. It would 
 help justice so much if only this witness were less 
 obstinate . . . no one would believe that he really 
 saw nothing of the face of the man who had twice 
 spoken to him. He may not have seen it clearly, 
 not the upper part of the face, perhaps, but surely 
 he saw the mouth that had actually framed the 
 words. 
 
 But the chauffeur was obstinate. He was not going 
 to swear away the life of a man whom he had not 
 rightly seen, only through a fog as thick as pea-soup : 
 
214 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 this was the fortress behind which after a while he en- 
 trenched himsejf, 
 
 In vain did the coroner, pleased at having gained 
 this slight advantage, try to draw him further, ex- 
 plaining to him, with the quiet patience of a man 
 moved by official ambition, that far from jeopar- 
 dizing the life of any man, he might be saving that 
 of an innocent one, falsely accused through circum- 
 stantial evidence. In vain did he press and argue, 
 the man was obstinate. After a very long while only, 
 and when the coroner had almost given up arguing 
 and cross-examining, he admitted that he did think 
 that the gentleman who directed him to No. 1 Crom- 
 well Gardens" had a moustache. 
 
 " But mind ! " he added hurriedly, " I won't swear 
 to it, for I didn't rightly see . . . the fog was that 
 dense in the Park. And 'e wasn't the same as the 
 one 'oo told me to go along Piccadilly until 'e stopped 
 me. The dead man done that." 
 
 "How do you know," came as a quick retort from 
 the coroner, " since you declare you could not see the 
 faces ? " 
 
 " The first gent 'oo spoke to me," replied the chauf- 
 feur somewhat sullenly now, " 'ad no 'air on 'is face ; 
 the second one I think 'ad . . . but I can't rightly 
 say ... I wouldn't swear to neither. And I won't 
 swear . . ." he reiterated with gruff emphasis. 
 
 A sigh went round the room, a tremor of excitement, 
 the palpitation of many hearts, and in-drawing of 
 many breaths. No one spoke. No one framed the 
 thought that was uppermost in the mind of every one 
 
THE FOG WAS DENSE 215 
 
 of the interested spectators of this strange and un- 
 understandable drama. The dead man who lay in the 
 mortuary chamber was clean-shaved, but Luke de 
 Mountford wore a moustache. 
 
 Lady Ducie's feathers nodded in the direction of the 
 literary Countess who went by the name of Maria 
 Annunziata, and the latter made hasty notes in her 
 diminutive book. 
 
 But Louisa leaned slightly forward so as to catch 
 fuller sight of Luke, and she encountered his eyes fixed 
 steadily upon her. 
 
 After that the driver of the cab concluded his evi- 
 dence more rapidly. There was little more there than 
 what every one had already learned from the news- 
 papers. The second pulling up in Cromwell Gardens this 
 time : the silent fare, the descent from the box, the 
 discovery of the huddled figure in the far corner of the 
 cab, the call for the police. 
 
 People listened with less attention ; thoughts were 
 busy with the contemplation of a picture : two men, 
 one clean-shaved — the dead man of course — and the 
 other wearing a moustache. The first link in the chain 
 of evidence against the assassin had been forged, and 
 was ready to be riveted to the next. 
 
 The crowd in the body of the court could only obtain 
 a view of the top of Luke de Mountford's head; it 
 was smooth and fair, of that English fairness of tint 
 which is golden when the light catches it. Andi;he 
 group of elegantly dressed women who came here to- 
 day in order to experience an altogether novel sensa- 
 tion, shuddered with delightful excitement as they 
 
216 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 thought of Black Maria and handcuffs, and crowds of 
 police officers in blue : a jumble of impressions ran 
 riot in frivolous and irresponsible minds, foremost 
 amongst which was one that the public was no longer 
 allowed to witness a final scene on the gallows. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE NEXT WITNESS, PLEASE 
 
 THE air grew more and more heavy as the morning 
 dragged on. It was now close on twelve o'clock. 
 
 Frederick Power, hall-porter of the Veterans' Club, 
 had finished his evidence. With the precision of a 
 soldier he had replied curtly and to the point to every 
 question put to him, and had retold all that had oc- 
 curred on that foggy night, in the smoking-room and 
 the lobby of the Veterans' Club in Shaftesbury Avenue, 
 
 It was but a repetition of what he had told Sir 
 Thomas Ryder in Colonel Harris's presence the day 
 before. Louisa had had it all at full length from her 
 father ; she had drawn the whole story out of him, 
 point by point, just as the man had told it originally. 
 Colonel Harris, reluctant to tell her, was gradually 
 driven to concealing nothing from her. Moreover, 
 since she had made up her mind to attend the inquest, 
 she might as well hear it all from him first, the better 
 to be prepared for the public ordeal. 
 
 Though she knew it all, she listened attentively to 
 every word which Frederick Power uttered, lest her 
 father had — in telling her — omitted some important 
 detail. She heard again at full length the account of 
 Luke's visit to the Veterans' Club, his desire to see 
 
 217 
 
218 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Philip de Mountford, the interview in the smoking- 
 room behind closed doors, the angry words of obvious 
 violent quarrelling. 
 
 Then Luke's return to the lobby, his departure, the 
 final taunt spoken by Philip, and the look of murder 
 in his eye, sworn to by the hall-porter. She listened 
 to it all, and heard without flinching the last question 
 which the coroner put to the witness — 
 
 " Did Mr. de Mountford's visitor carry a stick when 
 he left the Club ? " 
 
 " 'E 'ad a stick, sir, when 'e came," was the porter's 
 reply, " and I 'anded it to 'im myself when 'e left." 
 
 Louisa had been sitting all this while at the extreme 
 end of the row of chairs, right up against the wall. She 
 sat with her back to the wall, her head leaning against 
 it, her hands hidden within the folds of a monumental 
 sable muff lying idly in her lap. She had her father 
 on her right, and beyond him Mr. Dobson and his 
 clerk ; she saw them all in profile as they looked 
 straight before them at the coroner and at each suc- 
 ceeding witness. 
 
 Luke sat further on, and as he was slightly turned 
 towards her she could watch his face, all the while 
 that she listened to the hall-porter's evidence. It was 
 perfectly still, the features as if moulded in wax ; the 
 eyes, which actually were a clear hazel, appeared quite 
 dark and almost as if they had sunk back within their 
 circling lids. He sat with arms folded, and not a 
 muscle in face or body moved. No stone-carved image 
 could have been more calm, none could have been so 
 mysterious. 
 
THE NEXT WITNESS, PLEASE 219 
 
 Louisa tried to understand and could not. She 
 watched him, not caring whether the empty-headed 
 fools who sat all round saw her watching him or not. 
 
 When the coroner asked the hall-porter about the 
 stick and the man gave his reply, Luke turned and 
 met Louisa's fixed gaze. The marble-like stillness of 
 his face remained unchanged, only the eyes seemed as 
 if they darkened visibly. At least to her it seemed as 
 if a velvety shadow crept over them, an inscrutable, 
 an un-understandable shadow, and the rims assumed 
 a purple hue. 
 
 It was her fancy, of course. But Luke's eyes were 
 naturally bright, of varying tones of grey, blue or 
 green, with never a shadow beneath them. Now they 
 appeared cavernous and dark, and again as he met 
 her gaze, that swift flash of intense misery. 
 
 No longer had she the feeling that she was living in 
 a dream, no longer that this was a theatre wherein 
 she and Luke and the dead man were puppets dancing 
 and squirming for the benefit of shallow-hearted dolts. 
 That sense of unreality left her together with the 
 hysterical desire to laugh which had plagued her so in 
 the earlier part of the proceedings. On the contrary, 
 now an overwhelming feeling of intense reality op- 
 pressed her, so that she could have screamed with the 
 awful soul-agony which the sight of Luke's misery had 
 caused her. 
 
 All her nerves were on the rack, her every faculty 
 concentrated on the one supreme desire to understand 
 and to know. 
 
 Love, the omnipotent, had encountered an enemy — 
 
220 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 grim, unexplained Mystery — and he sat pondering, 
 almost cowed by this first check to his supreme might. 
 Lbuisa had sought and compelled Luke's gaze, and 
 Love had gleamed in one great flash out of her eyes. 
 Yesterday, at her glance, he had knelt at her feet, and 
 buried his sorrow with his aching head in the scented 
 palm of the dearly loved hand. 
 
 To-day the look of Love brought but a surfeit of 
 misery, an additional load of sorrow. The eyes in re- 
 sponse remained tearless and hard, and circled with the 
 dark rings of utter hopelessness. 
 
 I'll grant you that if Louisa Harris had been an 
 extraordinary woman, a woman endowed with a 
 wonderfully complex, wonderfully passionate, or won- 
 derfully emotional nature — if, in fact, she had been the 
 true product of this century's morbid modernity, she 
 would, whilst admitting Luke's guilt, have burned with 
 a passion of self-sacrifice, pining to stand beside him 
 pilloried in the dock, and looking forward to a veritable 
 world of idealistic realism in the form of a picturesque 
 suicide after seeing the black flag hoisted over Newgate 
 prison. 
 
 But Louisa, though a modern product of an ultra- 
 modern world, was an absolutely ordinary woman — 
 just a commonplace, sensible creature who thought 
 and felt in a straight and essentially wholesome manner. 
 Though she had read Tolstoy and Dostoiewsky and 
 every Scandinavian and Russian crackbrain who has 
 ever tried to make wrong seem right, black appear 
 white, and animalism masquerade as love, yet she had 
 never been led away from her own clean outlook on life. 
 
THE NEXT WITNESS, PLEASE 221 
 
 She loved Luke and would have given — did, in fact, 
 give — her whole life to him ; but she loved him without 
 analysis or thought of self. It never entered her mind 
 at this moment to wonder if he were guilty or not 
 guilty, if he was capable or not of committing a crime 
 to gain his own ends. All that troubled her was his 
 misery which she would have given her very soul to 
 alleviate, and the hopelessness in him which she had 
 given the world to console. 
 
 The mystery troubled her, not the sin ; the marble- 
 like rigidity of his face, not the possibility of the crime. 
 
 For the moment, however, she was brought back 
 quickly enough to present realities. The coroner — 
 satisfied with Frederick Power's answers — was giving 
 him a moment's breathing space. The grating of 
 fountain pens against paper was heard from that corner 
 of the room where sat the journalists ; the crowd 
 waited silent and expectant, for — unversed though 
 most people there present were in proceedings of this 
 kind — yet instinctively every one felt that one great 
 crucial moment was just about to come, one great, 
 leading question was just about to be put. 
 
 The coroner had fingered the papers before him for 
 the space of a few seconds, then he looked up once more 
 at the witness, his elbow resting on the table, his fleshy 
 chin buried in his hand, in an attitude which obviously 
 was habitual to him. 
 
 " The visitor," he said, speaking loudly and clearly, 
 " who called the night before last at the Veterans' Club 
 and had an interview with the deceased, you saw him 
 well, of course ? " 
 
222 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Yes, sir," was the prompt reply. 
 
 " You would know him again ? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir." 
 
 " Looking round this room now, should you say that 
 he was present ? " 
 
 The man looked across the room straight at Luke 
 and said, pointing to him — 
 
 " Yes, sir, the gentleman sitting there, sir." 
 
 As every one had expected the reply, no one seemed 
 astonished. The many pairs of eyes that turned on 
 Luke now expressed a certain measure of horrified 
 compassion, such as might be bestowed on some 
 dangerous animal brought to earth by a well-aimed 
 gun-shot. 
 
 The coroner made no comment. He turned to the 
 jury, glancing along either row of solemn faces, on both 
 sides of the long table. Then he said — 
 
 " Would any of you gentlemen like to ask this wit- 
 ness a question ? " 
 
 Receiving no reply, he added — 
 
 " Next witness, please ! " 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 AND PEOPLE WENT OTJT TO LUNCHEON 
 
 AND now it was Luke de Mountford's turn at last. 
 - A wave of excitement swept over the crowd, 
 every neck was craned forward, every eye fixed on 
 this next witness, as he rose from his seat, and with 
 courteous words of apology to those whom he dis- 
 turbed in passing, he made his way to the centre 
 table. 
 
 An absolute embodiment of modern London society ! 
 Luke stood there, facing the crowd, the coroner, and 
 jury, as he would have faced friends and acquaint- 
 ances in the grand stand at Ascot, or in the stalls of 
 a West End theatre. There are hundreds and thou- 
 sands of young Englishmen who look exactly as Luke 
 de Mountford looked that morning : dress is almost 
 an uniform, in cut, style, and degree of tone : hair and 
 even features are essentially typical. Luke de Mount- 
 ford, well-born, well-bred, behaved just as Eton and 
 Oxford had taught him to behave : concealing every 
 emotion, raising neither voice nor gesture. 
 
 An Englishman of that type has alternately been 
 dubbed hypocritical, and unemotional. He is neither : 
 he is only conventional. Luke himself, facing the most 
 abnormal condition of life that could assail any man 
 
 223 
 
224 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 of his class, was so absolutely drilled into this sem- 
 blance of placidity, that it cost him no effort to re- 
 strain himself, and none to face the forest of inquisitive 
 eyes levelled at him from every side. And since there 
 was no effort, the outward calm appeared perfectly 
 natural ; an actor who has played one part two 
 hundred times and more, does so night after nightj 
 until the role itself becomes reality, and he, in or- 
 dinary everyday life, seems even to himself strange 
 and unnatural. 
 
 Now Luke was given the Bible to kiss, and told to 
 take the oath. From where he stood, he could see 
 Louisa and a number of faces turned towards him in 
 undisguised curiosity : mocking eyes and contemp- 
 tuous eyes, eyes of indifference and of horror met his 
 own as with quick glance they swept right over the 
 crowd. 
 
 I don't think that he really saw any one except 
 Louisa : no living person existed for him at this 
 moment except Louisa. Hypocritical or unemotional 
 nature ? which ? none could say, none would take 
 the trouble to probe. All that the crowd saw was a 
 man to all intents and purposes accused of a horrible 
 murder, confronted at every turn with undeniable 
 proofs of his guilt, and yet standing there just as if 
 he were witnessing the first act of some rather dull 
 play. 
 
 Hypocrisy or effrontery, were the two alternatives 
 which the idle and the curious weighed, whilst antici- 
 pating the joy of seeing the mask torn from this 
 wooden Jmage before them, 
 
AND PEOPLE WENT OUT TO LUNCHEON 225 
 
 The coroner was asking the witness his name, and 
 Luke de Mountford's voice was quite steady as he 
 gave reply. 
 
 " You were," continued the coroner, " until quite 
 recently, and are again now, heir-presumptive to the 
 Earl of Radclyffe ? " 
 
 " It was supposed at one time," replied Luke, 
 " that besides myself, there was no other heir to my 
 uncle's title." 
 
 " Deceased, I understand, arrived in England about 
 six months ago ? " 
 
 " So I understand." 
 
 " He made claim to be the only son of Lord Rad- 
 clyffe's elder brother ? " 
 
 " That is so." 
 
 " And to all appearances was able to substantiate 
 this claim in the eyes of Lord Radclyffe ? " 
 
 " Apparently." 
 
 " So much so, that Lord Radclyffe immediately 
 accorded him that position in his household which you 
 had previously occupied ? " 
 
 " Lord Radclyffe accorded to the deceased the 
 position which he thought fitting that he should 
 occupy." 
 
 " You know that the servants in Lord Radclyffe's 
 household have informed the police, that in conse- 
 quence of Mr. Philip de Mountford's advent in the 
 house, you and your brother and sister had to leave 
 it ? " 
 
 " My brother, sister, and I now live at Fairfax 
 Mansions, Exhibition Road," said Luke evasively. 
 
A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " And the relations between yourself and the de- 
 ceased have remained of a very strained nature, I 
 understand." 
 
 " Of an indifferent nature," corrected Luke. 
 
 There was a pause. So far these two — the coroner 
 and the witness — had seemed almost like two an- 
 tagonists, going through the first passes of a duel with 
 foils. Steel had struck against steel, curt answers 
 had followed brief questions. Now the combatants 
 paused to draw breath. One of them was fighting 
 the preliminary skirmish for his life, against odds that 
 were bound to overwhelm him in the end ; the other 
 was just a paid official, indifferent to the victim, 
 interested only in the issue. The man standing at 
 the foot of the table was certainly interesting ; the 
 coroner had made up his mind that he was the guilty 
 party ... a gentleman, and yet a cowardly assassin. 
 He amused himself during this brief pause with a 
 quick analysis of the high-bred, impassive face . . . 
 quite Saxon in character, fair, and somewhat heavy 
 of lid ... in no way remarkable, save for the present 
 total lack of expression : there was neither indifference, 
 nor bravado, neither fear, remorse, nor defiance . . . 
 only a mask made of wood, hiding every line of the 
 mouth, and not allowing even the eyes to show any 
 signs of vitality, 
 
 Beyond that the whole appearance was essentially 
 English : the fair hair neatly groomed, with just a 
 suspicion of curl here and there, and a glint of gold 
 in the high lights, the stiff neck encased in its im- 
 maculate collar, the perfectly tailored clothes, the 
 
AND PEOPLE WENT OUT TO LUNCHEON 227 
 
 hands, large, but well-formed and carefully tended, 
 which, lightly interlaced, hung in marble-like stillness 
 before him. 
 
 When a man happens to be out in mid-winter, with 
 a stout stick in his hand, and he comes across a layer 
 of ice on the top of a pool, or a trough of water, he 
 always — or nearly always — is at once a prey to the 
 silly desire to break that layer of ice. The desire is 
 irresistible, and the point of the stick at once goes to 
 work on the smooth surface, chipping it, if not actually 
 succeeding in breaking it. 
 
 The same desire exists, in a far stronger degree, 
 when the ice is a moral one — one that covers the real 
 nature of another man : the cold impassiveness that 
 hides the secret orchard to which no one but the 
 owner has access. Then there is an irresistible longing 
 to break that cold barrier, to look within, and to probe 
 that hidden soul ; if not within its innermost depths, 
 at any rate below the ice-bound surface : to chip it, 
 to mark it, and break its invincible crust. 
 
 Some such feeling undoubtedly stirred at the back 
 of the coroner's mind ; the hide-bound, red-tape-ridden 
 official was more moved than he would have cared 
 to admit, by a sense of irritation at the placidity of 
 this witness, who was even now almost on his trial. 
 Therefore, he had paused in his questionings, afraid 
 lest that sense of irritation should carry him beyond 
 the proper limits of his own powers. 
 
 And now he resumed more quietly, with his voice 
 less trenchant, and his own manner outwardly more 
 indifferent. 
 
228 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " When," he asked, " did you last see the de- 
 ceased ? " 
 
 " In the lobby of the Veterans' Club," replied Luke, 
 " the night before last." 
 
 " You had called there to see him ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " For what purpose ? " 
 
 " To discuss certain family matters." 
 
 " You preferred to discuss these family matters 
 at a Club, rather than in your cousin's own home ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " For private reasons of my own." 
 
 " It would help this inquiry, if you would state 
 these private reasons." 
 
 " They have no bearing on the present issue." 
 
 " You refuse to state them ? " insisted the coroner. 
 
 " I do." 
 
 The coroner was silent for a moment : it almost 
 seemed as if he meant to press the point at first, then 
 thought differently, for after that brief while, he merely 
 said — 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 Then he resumed — 
 
 " Now, Mr. de Mountford, on the night in question, 
 you say, you went to see the deceased at the Veterans' 
 Club. You were, I understand, shown into the 
 smoking-room ? " 
 
 " Yes," was the simple answer. 
 
 " Your cousin was in the room ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
AND PEOPLE WENT OUT TO LUNCHEON 229 
 
 " Alone ? " 
 
 " Alone." 
 
 " And how long did your interview with him last ? " 
 
 " About an hour, or less perhaps." 
 
 " Was it of an amicable character ? " 
 
 This question was identical to the one already 
 put to Luke on the actual night of the crime, by the 
 detective charged to elucidate its mysteries. And 
 Luke's reply was identical to his former one — 
 
 " Of an indifferent character," he replied. 
 
 " There was no quarrel between you and the de- 
 ceased gentleman ? " 
 
 " Our interview was of a private nature," rejoined 
 Luke with unalterable calm. 
 
 " But other witnesses," retorted the coroner sharply, 
 " heard angry voices issuing from the smoking-room." 
 
 " That, no doubt, is for those other witnesses to 
 say." 
 
 " You deny, then, that you quarrelled with the 
 deceased on the night when he was murdered ? " 
 
 " I deny nothing. I am not on my trial, I pre- 
 sume." 
 
 Again a pause. The coroner closed his eyes, and 
 stroked his heavy chin. He had not yet succeeded 
 in chipping the smooth surface of the ice. 
 
 " At what precise hour, then, did you last see 
 the deceased alive ? " he asked, allowing his voice 
 once more to appear harsh and his manner more 
 peremptory. 
 
 " At nine o'clock, or thereabouts, the night before 
 last." 
 
230 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Where was that ? " 
 
 " He was in the lobby of the Veterans' Club, and 
 I just outside." 
 
 " He made certain remarks to the hall-porter at 
 that moment which offended you very deeply, I 
 understand." 
 
 " Mr. Philip de Mountford was not always guarded 
 in his speech when he spoke to servants." 
 
 " And his remarks offended you ? " 
 
 " My opinion on this point is of no consequence, 
 I imagine." 
 
 " You then left the doorstep of the Veterans' Club, 
 and a moment later the deceased joined you in the 
 street." 
 
 " I finally left the Club soon after nine, but I did 
 not again see Mr. Philip de Mountford alive." 
 
 " The deceased suggested that you should come 
 with him, then and there, to see Lord Radclyffe at 
 Grosvenor Square ; he hailed a taxi-cab, and you 
 entered it with him," insisted the coroner with sudden 
 slow emphasis. 
 
 " I last saw Mr. Philip de Mountford alive in the 
 lobby of the Veterans' Club," reiterated Luke calmly, 
 " soon after nine o'clock." 
 
 " He overtook you in the street outside the Club ? " 
 
 " It is not true." 
 
 " And hailed a cab ? " 
 
 " He may have done so, but not in my company." 
 
 " You entered the cab with him, and he told the 
 driver to follow along Piccadilly." 
 
 " He may have done so," once more reiterated 
 
AND PEOPLE WENT OUT TO LUNCHEON 231 
 
 Luke, in the same calm and even voice, " but not in 
 my company." 
 
 " You parted from him in the lobby of the Club ? " 
 
 " I have told you so." 
 
 " And you never saw him again after that ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " You were not with him when he came out of the 
 Club ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " When he hailed a taxi-cab ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You were not with him when he entered the cab 
 and put his head out of the window, telling the driver 
 to go along Piccadilly until he was stopped ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 The answers had come clear, sharp, and distinct, 
 quick ripostes of the foils against the violent attack. 
 Now the adversary drew breath — the pause was 
 dramatic in its effect, far-reaching in its significance. 
 The coroner, with eyes steadily fixed on the witness, 
 made a quick movement with his hand. He drew 
 away the long narrow strip of green baize in front of 
 him, revealing a snake-wood stick, with ferrule stained 
 and tarnished. 
 
 " Is this your stick ? " he asked curtly. 
 
 "It is my stick," replied Luke. 
 
 He had not flinched, yet there were many scores of 
 pairs of eyes fixed upon him when that green baize 
 covering was removed. But not one of those who 
 gazed so steadily upon him could boast that he or she 
 had seen the slightest tremor of the lids, or the merest 
 
A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 quiver of the mouth. The voice sounded perfectly 
 clear, the cheeks, though pale, had assumed no greyish 
 hue. 
 
 " Very well. That will do," said the coroner quietly. 
 
 What more was there to say ? The dagger-stick, 
 stained and rusty, told the most graphic tale there 
 was to tell. Yet Luke de Mountford stepped quietly 
 away from the table, looking neither self-conscious 
 nor dazed. He went back to his seat, beside Mr. Dob- 
 son, and leaning towards him answered some whispered 
 questions which the solicitor was putting to him, 
 He folded his arms before him, and after a while 
 allowed his head to fall forward a little, closing his 
 eyes as he did so. He seemed a little tired, but other- 
 wise unperturbed, even though the hall-porter was 
 now recalled, and was busy identifying the stick, 
 which lay across the coroner's table, with the one 
 which he himself had handed to Mr. de Mountford's 
 visitor at nine o'clock the night before last. 
 
 And the police, too, added its share to this work 
 that was going on, of enmeshing a criminal. There 
 was the constable, who had found the stick inside 
 the railings of Green Park, and had taken it straight 
 away to his chief's at Scotland Yard, before the stains 
 on it had been further disturbed ; and there was, 
 finally, Dr. Blair, the district medical officer, also 
 recalled, who examined the dagger which fitted into 
 that snake-wood stick. 
 
 He had been shown it yesterday, it seems, and 
 found how accurately it fitted the wound in the 
 murdered man's throat. To this he swore now in 
 
AND PEOPLE WENT OUT TO LUNCHEON 
 
 open court, for the coup de thidtre, the production 
 of the dagger-stick, had been kept back until now, in 
 order that it should work its fullest and most dramatic 
 effect. 
 
 Colonel Harris, sitting near his daughter, would 
 have given worlds to know what she thought. He 
 himself did not know what to think. His simple, un- 
 sophisticated mind was in a maze. The question of 
 Luke's possible guilt had suddenly loomed up before 
 him, dissipating the former blind impulse of partisan- 
 ship and loyalty. Mr. Dobson too looked puzzled, 
 the old family solicitor, who had seen Luke and his 
 brothers and sister grow up, who a few hours, nay, 
 minutes ago, would have sworn to his client's inno- 
 cence before the entire world, he too now was face to 
 face with a hideous feeling of doubt. 
 
 Not one other person in the room either, believe 
 me, who was not convinced of Luke's guilt. Louisa 
 knew that well enough as her aching eyes wandered 
 over the sea of faces, meeting hollow compassion, 
 morbid curiosity, at best a certain sympathetic 
 horror in the glances round. She knew that every 
 one here, the officials, the jury, the police, the public, 
 believed that Luke struck his cousin in the dark, she 
 knew that Mr. Dobson had begun to doubt, and that 
 her father had begun to fear. 
 
 And she, with all the fervour of unconquered Love, 
 prayed in her heart that she might understand. 
 She prayed to Love to open the eyes of her mind, for 
 it was her reason which did not understand, which 
 yearned to understand. 
 
A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Her heart cared nothing, cared for nothing except 
 for the man she loved and the bitter, bitter sorrow 
 which he endured alone, shut away from all, even 
 from her. 
 
 There was general stir in the court-room, the coroner 
 had risen, also the jury. The journalists were holding 
 agitated parlance with the boy messengers. Louisa — 
 like one who has received a sharp blow on the head — 
 wondered what all this stir meant. 
 
 Was it all over ? Had Luke irretrievably lost him- 
 self in that secret orchard of his, into which he was 
 obviously determined that even she should not enter ? 
 
 Then she found out that the stir only meant the 
 luncheon hour. All these people were going to eat and 
 to chatter. Heavens above ! how they would chatter ! 
 
 Her father said something about getting a cab, and 
 trying to find a decent hotel where to have luncheon. 
 But she scarcely heard. She had just seen Luke dis- 
 appearing through the crowd in company with Mr. 
 Dobson, and he had not even glanced back to look 
 at her. 
 
 Every one whispered round her. Lady Ducie's 
 nodding feathers worried her almost to distraction. 
 She allowed her father to lead her away and to make 
 way for her through the crowd. 
 
 Presently she found herself sitting near him in a 
 cab. He was silent, and would not look at her. Not 
 that he had begun to think that Luke had killed his 
 cousin : but once she heard him repeating the word 
 " damnable ! " twice under his breath. Thus she 
 knew that his loyalty was at bay. 
 
AND PEOPLE WENT OUT TO LUNCHEON 235 
 
 It seems that they had luncheon somewhere to- 
 gether. She did not take the trouble to inquire where 
 she was : an old-fashioned hotel somewhere in Ken- 
 sington, with table-cloths that looked as if they had 
 been used for several previous luncheons, and foreign 
 waiters who wore weird-looking shoes, and trousers 
 frayed at the edges. 
 
 To please her father she ate a little, though she 
 thought that eating must choke her. But it was 
 wearisome to argue, and he — poor dear — looked so 
 miserable. 
 
 Time was precious, and luncheon interminably 
 slow ; it was past two o'clock when Louisa saw Luke 
 again in the court-room. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 WHICH TELLS OF AN UNEXPECTED TURN OP EVENTS 
 
 IT seems that coroner and jury had not spent quite 
 so much time over luncheon as the more or less 
 interested spectators. When the crowd began to file 
 back again into the seats the coroner had already 
 examined and dismissed one witness, and was ques- 
 tioning another. 
 
 The past and present servants of the Grosvenor 
 Square household would all have to pass before the 
 coroner during the course of this long afternoon. It 
 was only two o'clock, and already the gas had to be 
 lighted : two incandescent burners just above the 
 coroner's table. Hard, uncompromising lights, that 
 threw a sickly green tinge on every face, and cast 
 deep black shadows under every eye. 
 
 It was this light, no doubt, that made Luke's face 
 seem positively ghastly to Louisa : it looked almost 
 like a death-mask, so deep and cavernous did the 
 eyes appear, and so hollow the cheeks. He was 
 sitting in his usual attitude, with arms folded, be- 
 tween Mr. Dobson and one of the women in seedy 
 black, whose presence here had puzzled every one. 
 
 Old Parker, ex-butler to Lord Radclyffe, was giving 
 evidence. He had a tale to tell, how Mr. de Mount- 
 
 236 
 
AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS 237 
 
 ford " went on awful " when he — the innocent, well- 
 drilled servant — had thought it his duty to introduce 
 Mr, Philip into his lordship's presence. 
 
 " Just think of it, your honour," he exclaimed, 
 " his lordship's rightful heir." 
 
 Then he added, with calm effrontery — 
 
 " Mr. Luke, 'e give me the sack then and there ! 
 He was that wild ! " 
 
 Just a paltry, silly, meaningless revenge. The death- 
 mask on Luke's face relaxed for a moment, when he 
 looked on the fat creature standing before the jury : 
 vainly trying to look pompous and self-righteous, and 
 only succeeding in being a liar. 
 
 The evidence would have been of little worth but 
 for the corroboration from other servants of the 
 Grosvenor Square household. The present two — man 
 and wife — wastrels and drunkards, counted for noth- 
 ing : they had only entered Lord Radclyffe's service 
 recently, when all visitors had ceased from calling 
 at the inhospitable house, and they had seen little 
 or nothing of Luke ; but the others — those whom 
 Philip's arbitrary temper had driven out of the house — 
 they had many a tale to tell of the dead man's arro- 
 gance, his contemptuous treatment of his younger 
 kinsmen, and the bitter words that often flew be- 
 tween the cousins, when doors were closed and eaves- 
 droppers behind the keyholes. 
 
 These witnesses — an ex-housekeeper, a footman, a 
 maid — were trying their best, poor things, to "do the 
 right thing by Mr. Luke " — little guessing how ill they 
 succeeded. They had been dragged into this, much 
 
238 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 against their will. As a class, they hated the police 
 and its doings, even though the cook might occasion- 
 ally show a preference for the local guardian of peace 
 and order. As for the detective in plain clothes, 
 the man who wore a peaked cap instead of the familiar 
 helmet, him they hated and feared, especially since 
 he seemed to mean mischief for Mr. Luke. 
 
 They gave their evidence unwillingly : every 
 admission had to be dragged out of them, once they 
 realized that the revelations of past quarrels between 
 " the gentlemen " would not be to the detriment 
 of the dead, only, perhaps, to the undoing of the 
 living. 
 
 The hours wore on wearily. The atmosphere, now 
 surcharged with the heat from the gas brackets, had 
 become intolerably oppressive. Opoponax and white 
 heliotrope waxed faint to the nostrils. Through the 
 badly-fitting window-frame, something of the outward 
 fog had penetrated into the room. It hung about in 
 the air round the gas that burned yellow and dim 
 through it, and obscured the far corners of the place, 
 throwing a veil over the twelve mutes in uniform 
 overcoats, with threadbare velvet collars, over the 
 eager and perspiring journalists, whose fountain pens 
 had scraped the paper incessantly for so long. 
 
 Hot, tired, and oppressed humanity made its 
 warm breath felt in the close, ill-ventilated room. 
 Smelling-salts would not dispel the unpleasantly 
 mingling odours of damp clothes and muddy boots, 
 which rose from the plebeian crowd in the rear. 
 
 But nobody stirred : no one would have thought of 
 
AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS 239 
 
 leaving before the last act of this interesting play. 
 The chief actor was not on the stage for the moment, 
 but his presence was felt. It was magnetic in its 
 appeal to excitement. Every question put by the 
 coroner, every reply given by the witnesses, had, as it 
 were, Luke de Mountford for its aim : every word 
 tended towards him, his undoing, the enmeshing of 
 his denials in the close web of circumstantial evidence. 
 
 Then a diversion occurred. 
 
 The man in the shabby clothes, who looked like a 
 beetle, and who had marshalled his companions into 
 the court-room early in the day, was called upon by 
 the usher to come forward. His strange poorly-clad 
 figure detached itself from the groups immediately 
 round him : his long, loose limbs seeming to swing 
 themselves forward. 
 
 His four companions — the three women and the 
 other man — were seized apparently with great agita- 
 tion, and whispered eagerly among themselves. No 
 one in the crowd could guess why these people had 
 been called. They seemed so completely out of the 
 picture, which had its invisible frame in Grosvenor 
 Square. 
 
 " Go on, Jim ! " whispered one of the young women, 
 " they can't do nothing to ye." 
 
 And the beetle-like creature shambled forward, 
 with arms dangling beside him, a humble apologetic 
 look on his care-worn face. He might have been any 
 age from thirty to sixty : time, and a perpetual 
 struggle for existence, had wiped away all traces of 
 actual age. The cheeks were hollow, and eyes, mouth, 
 
240 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 and moustache had a droop which added to the settled 
 melancholy of the face. 
 
 He was obviously very nervous, and looked across 
 at his own friends, who strove to encourage him by 
 signs and whispers. 
 
 He nearly dropped the Bible when it was handed 
 to him, and no one could really hear the oath, which 
 he repeated mechanically at the usher's bidding. 
 
 At last, he mustered up a sufficient amount of 
 courage to state his name and address. 
 
 " James Baker," he said, in answer to the coroner's 
 question. " Bricklayer by trade." 
 
 " And where do you live ? " 
 
 " At 147 Clapham Junction Road, sir," replied the 
 man, scarcely above a whisper. 
 
 " Speak up, please," admonished the coroner, " the 
 jury can't hear you. You came here, I understand, 
 prepared to make a statement ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Of what nature ? " 
 
 The man shifted his position from one leg to the 
 other. Heavy beads of perspiration stood out on his 
 pallid forehead. 
 
 " Go on, Jim, don't be afeeard," came from the 
 body of the court. 
 
 " Silence, there ! " commanded the usher. 
 
 " I wish to say, sir," resumed the man, trying to 
 steady his voice, " that the deceased, whom I saw lying 
 in the coffin yonder, is my own son, Paul Baker, sir." 
 
 " Your son ! " 
 
 " My son, sir," asserted the man, somewhat more 
 
AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS 241 
 
 steadily, " my son, and 'is mother's, as is sitting over 
 there. My son, Paul Baker, as left 'ome two year ago 
 come next Christmas. We all come 'ere, sir, to-day, me 
 and 'is mother and sister, an' Smith and Jane — we all 
 come 'ere to swear to 'im." 
 
 " Your son ! " 
 
 The exclamation once more came from the coroner, 
 but had any one else dared, that exclamation would 
 have been echoed and re-echoed by every mouth in 
 the court-room, coupled with emphatic ejaculations 
 of incredulity. 
 
 It was as if in a new Castle of some grim Sleeping 
 Monster a magic wand had touched every somnolent 
 spirit. Smelling-salts and scented handkerchiefs were 
 forgotten : the jurymen leaned forward, half across the 
 table, oblivious of their own dignity, in their endeavour 
 to obtain a fuller view of this wielder of the magic 
 wand : the beetle-like creature with the sad eyes and 
 pale hollow cheeks. Even the reporters — accustomed to 
 sensational events — gave up scribbling, in order to 
 stare open-mouthed at the shabby figure standing 
 by the table. 
 
 At first, of course, the predominant sensation was 
 one of sweeping incredulity. Coroner and jury had 
 met here to-day in this stuffy room in order to conduct 
 an inquiry on the death of Philip de Mountford, heir- 
 presumptive to the Earldom of Radclyffe. The 
 crowd of fashionable and idle gapers had pushed and 
 jostled, in order to hear the ugly story of how wealth 
 and position are fought for, and intrigued for, even 
 at the cost of crime. 
 
242 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 And now, to think that the man who lay dead was 
 just a bricklayer's son ! It was absolutely incredible. 
 Not till a few moments later did the spectators realize 
 that if the seedy man at the table spoke truly, then 
 they were witnessing a drama even more poignant 
 than that of the original murder ; a drama of decep- 
 tion and of fraud, and a mystery far deeper than 
 that which had originally confronted the sensation- 
 mongers. 
 
 Strangely enough, incredulity died down, and died 
 down very quickly. A subtle wave filled the murky 
 atmosphere, compelling every mind to belief, long 
 before the man's assertions were proved to be correct. 
 The most indifferent became conscious of an over- 
 whelming conviction that the witness was speaking 
 the truth. 
 
 This conviction was absolutely paramount in the 
 minds of the chief actors in the play. To them all : 
 to Colonel Harris and to Louisa, to Mr. Dobson and 
 the solicitors, the truth of the statement was never 
 in question. An unerring instinct forced them to 
 believe : and such beliefs are as unconquerable as 
 they are overwhelming. Truth that is an absolute, 
 unquestionable truth, finds its way to the mind, when 
 the latter is attuned to subtle or psychic impressions. 
 
 And as the truth was borne in upon these people, 
 so did they realize the fullness of its meaning : the 
 deep significance of its portent. 
 
 To some of them it seemed as if in a brilliantly 
 illuminated world, all the fights had suddenly been 
 extinguished ; to others, as if in a dark and intricate 
 
AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS 243 
 
 cavern, full of black impenetrable shadows, dazzling 
 lights had been suddenly switched on. 
 
 Louisa, looking across at Luke, saw that to him 
 it meant the latter, and that some of the new dazzling 
 light had illumined the darkness of his soul. 
 
 Something of the tense rigidity of his attitude had 
 gone from him : not the sorrow, perhaps, but the 
 blank hopelessness of a misery that flounders in a sea 
 of the Unknown. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE WORLD IS SO LARGE 
 
 AS for the man who had made the extraordinary 
 -£*■ assertion, he seemed quite unconscious of the 
 effect which it had produced : as if the fact that the 
 supposed heir to an earldom, being actually the son 
 of a Clapham bricklayer, was one that found its 
 natural place in everyday life. 
 
 He had his cap in his hand — a shabby grey tweed 
 cap — and he was twirling it between his fingers round 
 and round with an irritatingly nervous gesture. His 
 eyes, now and again, were furtively raised at the 
 coroner, as if he were wondering anxiously what 
 punishment would be meted out to him for having 
 created so much commotion, and then with equal 
 furtiveness he dropped them again. His shoulders 
 were bowed, and his knees parted company from one 
 another : thus giving him more than ever the appear- 
 ance of a beetle. 
 
 Of course, the coroner had to recover his official 
 manner as quickly as possible. But even to him the 
 statement had come as a surprise. He had only known 
 very vaguely that a witness had come forward at the 
 eleventh hour, having only just had time to communi- 
 cate with the police before the opening of the inquest. 
 
 244 
 
THE WORLD IS SO LARGE 245 
 
 In view of the importance of the evidence, the wit- 
 ness was called as soon as possible : what he had to say 
 would materially affect the whole trend of the in- 
 quiry. He had, it seems, brought others with him — 
 members of his own family among them — in order 
 that they might corroborate the truth of what he 
 said. 
 
 Quite a minute or so had elapsed in the meanwhile : 
 then, at last, was the coroner able to resume with at 
 least a semblance of official indifference. 
 
 " Now," he said, " let the jury understand a little 
 more clearly what you said just now." 
 
 " What I said ? " rejoined the man vaguely. 
 
 " Yes : what you said. Let us understand it clearly. 
 You went to the mortuary this morning, and saw the 
 body of the deceased ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And you state here, on oath, that in the deceased 
 you recognized your own son ? " 
 
 " I'll swear to 'im ! " replied the witness simply. 
 " Ask 'is mother there ! " 
 
 And with long, thin finger, generously edged with 
 grime, he pointed to the woman in seedy black hat 
 and shabby tweed jacket, who sat quite close to 
 Luke de Mountford. 
 
 " Never mind about his mother just now," ad- 
 monished the coroner. " We want your statement 
 first. You realize that you are on oath ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. I've sworn my Bible oath." 
 
 " And you understand the importance of an oath ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
246 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " And you swear that the body of the murdered 
 man, whom you saw in the mortuary chamber this 
 morning, is that of your son ? " 
 
 " I swear to that, sir." 
 
 I believe that had coroner and jury, and practically 
 every man there present, dared to put their thoughts 
 into words at that moment, the ejaculation : " Well ! 
 I am blowed ! " or " I'm d — d ! " as the case might 
 be, would have been generally heard throughout the 
 room. The women, on the other hand, were far too 
 excited even to think. 
 
 " Now," resumed the coroner, " tell the jury, please, 
 when you first identified the deceased as your son." 
 
 "This morning, sir." 
 
 " In the mortuary chamber ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You had not seen the body before ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Did you know that other witnesses have sworn 
 that the body is that of a gentleman called Philip de 
 Mountford ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. I knew that." 
 
 " Then do you mean to assert that those other 
 witnesses have sworn false oaths ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, sir," rejoined James Baker, with an apolo- 
 getic smile of self -deprecation, " I wouldn't say such 
 a thing, sir." 
 
 " Well then ? " 
 
 " They was mistaken, sir, that's all. Paul was that 
 clever, sir ; ask 'is mother there ! " 
 
 And once more the lean and grimy finger pointed 
 
THE WORLD IS SO LARGE 247 
 
 to the seedy-looking matron, who nodded a melan- 
 choly head, half in pride, half in regret. 
 
 " Clever, did you say ? " asked the coroner, more 
 briskly now. At last he held a thread in this ex- 
 traordinary tangled skein. " Then do you mean to 
 assert that your son — Paul Baker — went about the 
 world calling himself Philip de Mountford ? " 
 
 " That must 'ave been it, sir, I think." 
 
 " Deceiving people ? " 
 
 " Aye ! 'e was ever a bit o' no good." 
 
 " You think he imposed upon his lordship the 
 Earl of Radclyffe ? " 
 
 " 'E must 'ave done, sir, mustn't 'e now ? seein' 
 as 'ow 'is lordship must 'ave been took in." 
 
 " You helped him in the deception, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Me, sir ? Lor' bless ye, no ! Me an' 'is mother 
 ain't clever enough for such things ! We knew nothin' 
 of Paul's doin's, and 'e alius went 'is own way, sir." 
 
 " But at least you knew that this fraud was going 
 on ? " 
 
 " Not exactly, sir." 
 
 " How do you mean, ' not exactly ' ? " retorted the 
 coroner sharply. " You seem to be unconscious of 
 the fact that this story which you are telling the jury 
 is a very serious matter indeed. If it is true, you are 
 not only making a grave accusation against your dead 
 son, but with this accusation you may be involving 
 yourself, or some other member of your family, in an 
 exceedingly serious charge of fraud : the penalty for 
 which, if proved, would be very severe indeed. On 
 the other hand, if the story you tell is nothing but a 
 
248 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 cock-and-bull tale, which further evidence would 
 presently demolish, then you lay yourself open to a 
 charge of perjury, and of conspiracy to defeat the 
 ends of justice. I have thought best to give you this 
 word of warning — the last which you will get from 
 me — because really you do not seem to be fully con- 
 scious of the extreme gravity of your position." 
 
 The bricklayer from Clapham had listened to this 
 admonition, delivered with solemn emphasis and no 
 small measure of severity, with a kind of stolid in- 
 difference. He retained his humble, apologetic atti- 
 tude, but clearly the coroner's threats did not affect 
 his simple equanimity. 
 
 " I thank you, sir, kindly," he said, when the 
 coroner had ceased speaking, " but I can't 'elp it. 
 Paul would go on 'is own way. Ask 'is mother there. 
 'E never would be spoken to, wouldn't Paul. And me 
 and 'is mother alius said 'e'd come to mischief some 
 day." 
 
 " Did you know anything at all of this fraud ? " 
 " No, sir. We knew nothin' of it really. You see, 
 Paul left 'ome nearly two year ago come Christmas. 
 'E didn't tell us nothing." 
 
 " Then you last saw your son alive two years ago ? " 
 " Yes, sir. That's the last me and 'is mother seed 
 of 'im. Christmas Day, sir, 'twas two year ago nearly. 
 Paul, 'e said then 'e'd 'ad enough of knockin' about in 
 London. 'E was goin' abroad, 'e was, that's what 'e 
 said. And *e left 'ome, sir, the next day — Bank 
 'Oliday, 'twere — and that's the last me and 'is mother 
 seed of 'im." 
 
THE WORLD IS SO LARGE 249 
 
 He had told this with all the simple fatalism pe- 
 culiar to his class. The son went " abroad " ; and 
 " abroad " to a Clapham labourer is a very vague 
 term indeed. It means so many things : geographi- 
 cally it means any place beyond a twelve-mile radius 
 from home ; the Antipodes are " abroad," but so is 
 Yorkshire. Domestically it means that the traveller 
 passes out of the existence of those that are left behind, 
 as surely as if he had stepped into the grave. Finan- 
 cially it means a mouth less to feed, seeing that the 
 intending traveller is nearly always a wastrel at home. 
 In any event, the proposed journey " abroad " is 
 taken with quiet philosophy by family and friends. 
 The traveller starts for " abroad " as easily, as simply 
 as he would for the nearest public-house. He has no 
 impedimenta, nothing to burden him or to cause him 
 regret. Strangely enough, no one ever has any idea 
 where the money comes from that pays for the journey 
 " abroad." The traveller, being a wastrel, never has 
 any himself, and the family is invariably too poor to 
 provide it. But the wastrel goes, nevertheless. 
 
 And life within the narrow precincts of the family 
 circle goes on just as it had done before. Sometimes, 
 news comes from the traveller — a picture post card 
 from " abroad," usually a request for pecuniary assist- 
 ance — seldom does good news arrive ; still more 
 seldom does the traveller come back home. 
 
 But it is all very simple. Nothing to make a fuss 
 about. 
 
 " Then," said the coroner, " he didn't tell you where 
 he meant to go ? " 
 
250 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " No, sir," replied Jim Baker, " he just was going 
 abroad." 
 
 " Do you know where he went ? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Did you ever try to find out ? " 
 
 " No, sir. Where 'ad been the use ? " 
 
 Where indeed ? The world is so large ! and the 
 Baker family so insignificant ! 
 
 " He didn't write to you ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Nor communicate with you in any way ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " You had no idea what had become of him ? " 
 
 " Not until last summer, sir." 
 
 " What happened then ? " 
 
 " His sister, sir, our Emily, she was out walkin' 
 with Harry Smith — young Smith, from next door to 
 us, sir — and she was down in the West End o' London 
 with 'im one day, and 'oo should they meet, sir, but 
 Paul." 
 
 " Did they speak to him ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. They says : ' 'Ello, Paul, we didn't 
 know as 'ow you was 'ome ' ; and 'e seemed upset 
 like at first, and pretended 'e didn't know 'em, and 
 that they'd made a mistake. But they chaffed 'im 
 and went on talkin', so I suppose Paul, 'e thought it 
 best to make a clean breast of it all." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that he told his sister and 
 his friend that he was carrying on a criminal fraud 
 against the Earl of Radclyffe ? " 
 
 " Oh no, sir, not all that. 'E only told 'em that 'e 
 
THE WORLD IS SO LARGE 251 
 
 was in for a good thing. A gentleman's gentleman, 'e 
 told 'em 'e was, and doin' well for hisself. 'E said 
 J e would come and see the family — 'e meant me and 
 'is mother, sir — some day soon. But 'e never come." 
 
 " Did he say where he was living ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. 'E gave 'is address to Emily. Up 'Amp- 
 stead way, it were. A long way, sir. Me and 'is mother 
 never seemed to 'ave the time to go and look 'im up ; 
 but Emily, she went with young Smith one Sunday, 
 but they never found the street : not where Paul said 'e 
 was livin'. There weren't no such street in 'Ampstead, 
 sir." 
 
 " And you never thought of making further in- 
 quiries ? " 
 
 " No, sir." This again with that quiet philosophy, 
 the stolid fatalism peculiar to those who live from day 
 to day, from hand to mouth : who have neither leisure 
 nor desire to peer outside the very circumscribed 
 limits of their own hearths. 
 
 " You never made any effort to know more about 
 what your son was doing, or how he was living ? " 
 suggested the coroner ; who, though accustomed to 
 this same quiet philosophy in men and women of 
 that class, was nevertheless strangely moved in this 
 instance by the expression of a fatalism that carried 
 in its train such extraordinary consequences. 
 
 But Jim Baker, mildly astonished at the coroner's 
 insistence over so obvious a matter, explained 
 meekly — 
 
 " We knew that Paul was doin' well, you see, sir. 
 'E was that splendidly dressed when Emily and young 
 
252 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Smith seed 'im, they was quite respectful like to 'im. 
 So we knew 'e was all right." 
 
 "And you never troubled any further about your 
 son ? " 
 
 " We didn't want to interfere with 'im, sir. Gentle- 
 men don't alius like their servants to be 'aving visitors, 
 or to 'obnob with poor people like us." 
 
 More calm philosophy, not unmixed with a delicate 
 sense of pride this time, and a sublime, if unconscious, 
 vein of selflessness. 
 
 " Well ! " rejoined the coroner, not unkindly this 
 time : the man, who looked so like a beetle, who was 
 so humble and apologetic, compelled quite a certain 
 amount of regard, " we'll leave that matter for a 
 moment, Mr. Baker. Now will you tell the jury what 
 made you come to this court to-day ? What led you 
 to think that the man who had been murdered in a 
 cab the night before last, and of whom all the news- 
 papers spoke as Mr. Philip de Mountford, what made 
 you think that he was your son ? " 
 
 Jim Baker, by way of a reply, plunged one of his thin 
 hands in the pocket of his shabby coat, and drew out 
 a portion of very grimy newspaper, carefully folded 
 up quite small. He undid the folds, until his eyes 
 lighted on that which they sought. Then he held the 
 paper out towards the coroner, and pointed to a 
 picture sandwiched in among the letterpress. 
 
 " I saw this," he said, " in the Daily Graphic yes- 
 terday. ' It's the picture of Paul,' I says to myself." 
 
 The coroner took the paper from the witness and 
 laid it down on the table, glancing at it casually. 
 
THE WORLD IS SO LARGE 253 
 
 There had been innumerable portraits of the murdered 
 man published, both in the morning and the evening 
 papers of yesterday. 
 
 "It's Paul to the life," insisted Jim Baker. "I 
 was at my work, you understand, when I seed the 
 paper in one o' the other chaps' 'ands. I couldn't 
 give up my work then. I 'ad to wait till evenin' to 
 speak to my missus. Then we talked it all over : and 
 young Smith, 'e took a day off and me too, and Mrs. 
 Baker and Emily and Jane Smith, they all come 
 along." 
 
 " And you looked on the face of the dead man, and 
 you swear that it is your son ? " 
 
 " I take my oath, sir. Ask 'is mother there. She 
 knows 'er own son. She'll tell you just what vaccina- 
 tion marks 'e 'ad on 'is arm, and about the scar 
 on 'is leg, and all. The ladies, sir, they are that 
 sharp . . ." 
 
 Jim Baker — feeling, no doubt, that his ordeal was 
 nearly over — was losing his nervousness, or perhaps 
 it took a new form : that of jocularity. The coroner 
 thought it best to check his efforts at humour in the 
 bud. 
 
 " That will do," he said curtly. 
 
 And the Clapham bricklayer at once retired within 
 his shell of humble self-deprecation. He answered a 
 few more questions that the coroner put to him, 
 but clearly his own cirole of vision was so circum- 
 scribed, that — willing as he undoubtedly was — he 
 could throw no light whatever on the unknown events 
 which led up to the extraordinary fraud practised 
 
254 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 on the Earl of Radclyffe, and which culminated in the 
 mysterious murder in the taxi-cab. 
 
 The father of the strangely enigmatic personality, 
 who indeed had taken many a secret with him to the 
 grave, was far too indifferent, too fatalistic to put 
 forth any theory as to his son's motives, or the in- 
 ducements and temptations which had first given 
 birth to the astoundingly clever deception. 
 
 Wearied and impatient at last, the coroner gave 
 up his questionings ; he turned to the jury with the 
 accustomed formula — 
 
 " Would any of you gentlemen like to ask this 
 witness any questions ? " 
 
 The foreman of the jury wanted to know if the 
 witness's son had any birth-marks on him, or other 
 palpable means of identificaton. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Jim Baker, " but 'is mother'll 
 tell you better'n me . . . she knows best . . . about 
 the vaccination marks and all." 
 
 The foreman then asked the coroner whether the jury 
 would be allowed to identify the marks. On being 
 assured by the coroner that after adjournment this 
 very day every means would be taken to corroborate 
 Jim Baker's statement, the jury seemed satisfied. 
 
 And the coroner called the next witness. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 AND THEN EVERY ONE WENT HOME 
 
 THOUGH the hour was getting late, no one among 
 the crowd thought of leaving the court. Even 
 the desire for tea, so peculiarly insistent at a certain 
 hour of the day in the whole of the British race, was 
 smothered beneath the wave of intense excitement 
 which swept right over every one. 
 
 Although the next witnesses — who each in their 
 turn came forward to the foot of the table — swore to 
 tell the truth, and faced the coroner with more or less 
 assurance, they could but repeat the assertions of 
 the head of the family. Nevertheless, the public 
 seemed ready to listen with untiring patience to the 
 story which went to prove that the man, whom 
 everybody believed to be the heir of one of the oldest 
 titles and richest rent rolls in England, was the son of 
 a Clapham bricklayer : a master of audacity and of 
 fraud. 
 
 The mother — a worthy and simple soul — was the 
 first to explain that Paul, her only son, had always 
 been something of a gentleman. He had done very 
 well at school, and never done a stroke of work like 'is 
 father. When he was fifteen, he was quite stage- 
 
 255 
 
256 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 struck. " Always play-acting," as the mother put it, 
 " and could recite poetry beautiful ! " 
 
 Mrs. Baker seemed distinctly proud of her son's 
 deeply-rooted horror of work. She thought that all 
 the instincts of a gentleman were really in him. When 
 he was a grown lad, he went as footman in a gentle- 
 man's family, somewhere in the Midlands. The 
 mother loftily supposed that it was there that Paul 
 learned his good manners. 
 
 " He was a perfect gentleman, sir," she reiterated 
 complacently. 
 
 It appeared, too, that the wastrel had had a period 
 in his career, when the call of the stage proved quite 
 irresistible : for he seemed to have left the gentleman's 
 family in the Midlands somewhat abruptly, and 
 walked on as super for a time in the various melo- 
 dramas produced at the Grand Theatre, Nottingham, 
 whenever a crowd was required on the stage. There 
 seems also to have existed a legend in the heart of 
 the fond mother and of the doting sister, that Paul 
 had once really played a big part in a serious play. 
 But this statement was distinctly wanting in cor- 
 roboration. 
 
 What was obviously an established fact was, that 
 the man had a certain spirit of adventure in him, 
 and that he had been a regular rolling stone : a 
 regular idle, good-for-nothing wastrel, possessing a 
 certain charm of manner which delighted his family, 
 and which was readily mistaken by the simple folk 
 for that of a gentleman. 
 
 They were all called in turn : the sister, and young 
 
AND THEN EVERY ONE WENT HOME 257 
 
 Smith " from next door," and the latter's sister. 
 Not one of them swerved for a moment from the 
 original story told by Jim Baker. Emily and young 
 Smith told of the meeting, which occurred on a fine 
 summer's afternoon, between themselves and Paul. 
 By the strange caprice of wanton coincidence, the 
 meeting occurred inside Green Park. Paul seemed a 
 little worried, thinking that the passers-by would see 
 him talking to " poor people like us," as Emily Baker 
 had it, " although," - she added proudly, "I 'ad me 
 new 'at on, with the pink roses." Otherwise he was 
 quite pleasant, and not at all " off-'and." 
 
 The account of this interview was fully corroborated 
 by young Smith " from next door." Jane Smith, 
 who at one time had considered herself engaged to 
 Paul Baker, had a few tender reminiscences to recount. 
 She had seen the prodigal once on the boards of the 
 Queen's Theatre, Lewisham, and she declared that 
 he looked " a perfect gentleman." 
 
 The day wore on, or rather the commencement of 
 evening. The evil-smelling fog from outside had 
 made its home inside the dismal room. People there 
 only saw one another through a misty veil : the corners . 
 of the room were wrapped in gloom. Exciting as was 
 the story which had been unfolded this afternoon, 
 one or two among the audience had given way to 
 Bleep. Lady Ducie's feathers nodded ominously, and 
 the old dame who had munched sandwiches was 
 inclined to give forth an occasional snore. 
 
 Louisa's eyes were aching. Constant watching had 
 tired them ; they even ceased to see dearly. Her 
 
258 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 brain, too, had become somnolent. She was tired of 
 hearing these people talk. From the moment that 
 Jim Baker had stated that the murdered man was his 
 own son, Louisa had known that he had spoken the 
 truth. Instinct was guiding her towards the truth : 
 showing her the truth, wherever possible. She listened 
 at first — deeply interested — to the scrappy evidence, 
 which told of Paul Baker's early life ; but the family 
 from Clapham Junction Road had marvellously 
 little to relate. They no more understood their 
 adventurous-spirited son than they would have been 
 capable of aiding and abetting the fraud whioh he 
 concocted. 
 
 They themselves were far too simple, and too stupid, 
 to be dangerously criminal. And so the evidence 
 quickly lost its interest for Louisa. She herself — with 
 the fragmentary statements which she heard — could 
 more easily surmise the life history of Paul Baker 
 than could the doting mother, who retailed com- 
 placently every mark on the skin and on the body of 
 her son, and knew nothing whatever — less than 
 nothing — of his thoughts, his schemes : of the evil 
 that was in him, and the ambition which led to his 
 end. 
 
 And now the last of the Baker contingent was dis- 
 missed. Jane Smith — the sweetheart of the murdered 
 man — was the last to leave the coroner's table. She 
 did so in a flood of tears, in whioh the others promptly 
 and incontinently joined. 
 
 The coroner — somewhat impatient with them all, 
 for their vague notions on the most important bearings 
 
AND THEN EVERY ONE WENT HOME 259 
 
 of the case had severely tried him — adjourned the 
 inquiry until the morrow. 
 
 He ordered the jury to be present at a quarter 
 before ten, and gave the signal for general with- 
 drawal. 
 
 After which every one went home. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 AND THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO DO NOT CARE 
 
 FOR the first time, I think, in the whole course of 
 her life Louisa Harris felt that convention must 
 be flouted, and social duties could not be fulfilled. 
 
 When the coroner — rising from his seat — gave the 
 signal for general exodus, she had felt her father's 
 firm hand grasping her arm and leading her out of the 
 fog-ridden, stuffy room into the cold, grey passages 
 outside. 
 
 The herd of cackling geese were crowding round her. 
 Heavens above ! how they cackled and gossiped ! It 
 seemed as if the very floodgates of a noisy, bubbling 
 stream had been torn asunder, and a whirlpool of 
 chattering women been let loose upon the earth. 
 
 Convention, grim and untractable, tried to pull the 
 strings to make all puppets dance. But for once 
 Louisa Harris rebelled. She closed her ears to in- 
 sinuating calls from her friends, responding with a 
 mere curt nod to the most gushing : " Oh, Miss Harris, 
 how are you ? " which greeted her from every side. 
 
 She turned her back resolutely on convention. The 
 slave for once rebelled against the taskmaster : the 
 puppet refused to dance to the ever-wearying monoton- 
 ous tune. 
 
 260 
 
PEOPLE WHO DO NOT CARE 261 
 
 She had lost sight of Luke the moment the court 
 rose. She supposed that his solicitor, Mr. Dobson, 
 knowing the ropes, had got him away from the 
 reach of cackling geese, by leading him through some 
 other more private way. But she was far too dazed, 
 too numb, either to wonder or to be disappointed at 
 this. She felt as if she had pitched head foremost down 
 a long flight of stairs, and had only just had sufficient 
 strength to pick herself up, and not to let other people 
 see quite how severely she had been bruised. 
 
 Mentally, morally, even physically she felt bruised 
 from head to foot. 
 
 Colonel Harris contrived to steer her through the 
 crowd ; at the gate outside, even the smoke-laden 
 atmosphere seemed pure and invigorating in compari- 
 son with that stuffy pen, wherein the herd of cackling 
 geese had found its happy hunting-ground. Louisa 
 drew in a long breath, filling her lungs with fog, but 
 feeling a little freer, less choked in spite of the grime 
 which she inhaled. 
 
 " I think," said Colonel Harris now, " that you'd 
 better go straight back to the Langham and get some 
 tea. You'll feel better when you've had your tea." 
 
 " I feel all right, dear," she said, trying to smile. 
 
 " So much the better," he retorted, with an equal 
 effort at cheerfulness. " I'll come along as soon as I 
 can." 
 
 " Where are you off to, dear ? " she asked. 
 
 " I'll just go and have a talk to Tom," he replied. 
 
 " I'll come with you. I can wait in the cab. I don't 
 suppose that you'll be long." 
 
262 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 He tried to protest, but obviously she had made up 
 her mind. Perhaps she did not like the idea of going 
 back to the hotel alone. So he hailed a passing cab, 
 and told the man to drive to Scotland Yard. 
 
 He had deliberately — and despite former prejudices 
 — selected a taxi-cab. He wanted to see Tom as soon 
 as possible. 
 
 Louisa leaned back in the corner of the vehicle silent 
 and motionless. Father and daughter did not exchange 
 a single . word whilst the cab rattled through the 
 crowded streets of London. Hansoms, omnibuses, in- 
 numerable other taxis, rattled along the self-same 
 way, just as they had always done before this, just as 
 they would go on doing to the end of time. People 
 walked along, busy and indifferent. Many went past 
 the shrieking news-vendors without even stopping to 
 buy a paper. 
 
 Luke stood accused, almost self-convicted of a 
 horrible crime, and there were thousands — nay, 
 millions — of people who didn't even care ! 
 
 The taxi-cab flew past the railings of the Green Park, 
 there where another taxi-cab had drawn up a couple 
 of evenings ago, and where a snake-wood stick stained 
 with tell-tale stains had been found clumsily buried in 
 the mad. Louisa peered out of the window of the 
 cab. People walked past that spot, indifferent and 
 busy. Two girls were standing close to the railings, 
 chatting and giggling. 
 
 And Luke to-morrow — or perhaps to-night— would 
 be under arrest — charged with murder . . . horrible, 
 cruel, brutal murder ... a vulgar, cowardly crime ! 
 
PEOPLE WHO DO NOT CARE 263 
 
 The snake- wood stick had told a tale which he had not 
 attempted to refute. 
 
 Presently the cab drew up and Colonel Harris 
 jumped down. 
 
 " I won't be longer than I can help," he said. " Will 
 you be all right ? " 
 
 " Yes, father dear," she replied ; " I'll be all right. 
 Don't hurry." 
 
 She saw her father disappearing through the wide- 
 open door, above which a globe of light shone yellow 
 through the fog. She remained huddled up in her furs 
 — for she felt very cold. Her feet were like ice, and the 
 fog seemed to- have penetrated to her very marrow. 
 Few people were to be seen in the narrow roadway, 
 and only an occasional cab rattled past. 
 
 From the Embankment close by came the cry of 
 news-vendors, rushing along with the late editions of 
 the evening papers. 
 
 A church clock not far away slowly struck six. But 
 she held no count of time. A kind of drowsiness was 
 upon her, and the foggy atmosphere, coupled with in- 
 tense, damp cold, acted as a kirfd of soporific. 
 
 She may have waited years, or only a few minutes, 
 she did not know, but presently her father came back. 
 His presence there under the lintel of the door seemed 
 to have roused her from her torpor, as if with a swift 
 telegraphic current. As he stood for a moment beneath 
 the electric light, adjusting the collar of his coat, she 
 saw his face quite distinctly : its expression told her 
 everything. Luke's arrest was imminent. It was but 
 a question of a few hours, moments perhaps. 
 
264 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " I am going to Exhibition Road at once," he said, 
 speaking quickly, like a man deeply troubled. 
 
 And without waiting for her assent, which was a 
 foregone conclusion, he gave the chauffeur the address : 
 " Fairfax Mansions, Exhibition Road," and added, 
 " Drive as fast as you can ! " 
 
 Then he jumped in beside Louisa. The taxi-cab 
 moaned and groaned whilst it manoeuvred for turning, 
 then it rattled off once more at prohibited speed. 
 
 " It is," she said simply, " only a question of time, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " The warrant is out," he replied curtly. " Any 
 moment now the police may be at his door." 
 
 " Uncle Ryder is convinced of Luke's guilt ? " 
 
 " Absolutely." 
 
 " Beyond that what does he say ? " 
 
 " That unless Luke chooses to make a bolt of it, he 
 had better plead guilty and intense provocation. But 
 he thinks Luke would be wise to catch the night boat 
 for Calais." 
 
 " They'd get him back on extradition." 
 
 " Tom says they won't try very hard. And if Luke 
 keeps his wits about him, and has a sufficiency of 
 money, he'll be able to get right through to Spain and 
 from thence to Tangiers. With money and influence 
 much can be done ; and Tom says that if Luke will only 
 get away to-night he himself is prepared to take all the 
 blame and all the responsibility of having allowed a 
 criminal to escape. It's very decent of Tom," added 
 the Colonel thoughtfully, " for he risks his entire 
 future." 
 
PEOPLE WHO DO NOT CARE 265 
 
 But the sorely troubled father did not tell his 
 daughter all that Sir Thomas Ryder had told him in 
 the course of the brief interview. 
 
 In effect, the chief of the Criminal Investigation 
 Department had given a brief alternative by way of 
 advice. 
 
 " A ticket to anywhere via Calais at once ... or 
 a revolver." 
 
 And he had added dryly — 
 
 " I see nothing else for it. The man has practically 
 confessed." 
 
 But this Colonel Harris would not admit, and so the 
 two men parted. Louisa's father, thinking a great 
 deal of his friend, but still more of his daughter, 
 wanted, above all things, to have a final talk with 
 Luke. 
 
 Louisa, in the meanwhile, sat silent in the corner of 
 the cab. 
 
 She was trying to visualize this new picture : Luke — 
 a fugitive from justice ! 
 
 The taxi-cab was making a slight detour as White- 
 hall and the Mall were closed for road repairs. The 
 chauffeur was driving round by St. Martin's Lane. At 
 one of the theatres there, a popular play was filling 
 the house night after night with enthusiastic crowds. 
 It was only half-past six now, and in a long queue, ex- 
 tending over two hundred yards away from the pit 
 and gallery doors of the lucky playhouse, patient 
 crowds waited for the evening's pleasure. 
 
 People were going to theatres — they laughed at 
 farces, and wept at tragedies. Was there ever such a 
 
266 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 tragedy enacted inside a theatre, as now took place in 
 the life of a commonplace man and woman ? 
 
 Luke ! — a fugitive from justice ! Money and influ- 
 ence could do much ! they could enable a wealthy 
 criminal to escape the consequences of his own crime ! 
 They could enable him to catch express trains un- 
 molested, to fly across land and sea under cover of the 
 night, to become — Cain-like — a wanderer on the face 
 of the earth without rest and without peace. 
 
 Could they prevent him from seeing ever present at 
 his elbow the grim Angel of Remorse, holding in one 
 hand the glass wherein relentlessly flowed the sands 
 of time, and in the other the invisible sword of a re- 
 tarded but none the less sure vengeance ? Could they 
 prevent his hearing the one word : Nemesis ? 
 
 Luke ! — a fugitive from justice ! accused of a crime 
 which he did not commit, self-convicted, almost self- 
 accused, and fleeing from its consequences as he would 
 from Remorse. 
 
 And people went to theatres, and laughed and cried. 
 People ate and danced and sang. News-vendors 
 shrieked their wares : the latest sensational news : the 
 gentleman-criminal who had money and influence and 
 with their help evaded the grip of justice. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 A.MAN MUST ACT AS HE THINKS BEST 
 
 |" OUISA knew the flat in Exhibition Road very 
 J-* well. She had helped Edie to furnish it, and 
 to make it pretty and cosy ; for Edie's passion was 
 for dogs and for golf ; drawing-room chairs and sauce- 
 pans were not much in her line. So Louisa had 
 chosen practically everything : the piano, as well as 
 the coal-scuttles, and every stick of furniture in 
 Luke's room. 
 
 To-night she went up the well-known stairs very 
 slowly : she ached so in every limb that she could 
 scarcely walk. She seemed to have aged twenty years 
 in two days. 
 
 Edie was sitting alone in the pretty drawing-room, 
 buried in a capacious arm-chair, her hands folded 
 before her. The room was in darkness, save for the 
 glow of the firelight. She jumped up, when Colonel 
 Harris and Louisa were announced, and the neat 
 servant in black dress and smart cap and apron 
 switched on the electric light. 
 
 " Oh ! " said poor little Edie impetuously, " I am 
 so thankful you've come." 
 
 267 
 
268 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 She ran up to Louisa and put her arms round her, 
 kissing her. 
 
 " Do come and sit with me," she continued, loth 
 to relinquish Colonel Harris's hand after she had 
 shaken it. "I feel that in this solitude I shall go 
 dotty." 
 
 Whilst she spoke, she detached with nervous, 
 febrile movements Louisa's fur from round her neck, 
 and dragged the older woman nearer to herself and 
 to the fire. Then she threw herself down on the 
 hearthrug : squatting there in front of the fire, with 
 nervy fingers picking at the fringe of the rug. Her 
 cheeks were red and blotchy, with traces of recent 
 tears ; her hair, touzled and damp, clung to her 
 moist temples. Suddenly she burst into a torrent of 
 weeping. 
 
 " Oh, Loo, what does it all mean ? " she exclaimed 
 between heavy sighs, " what does it all mean ? They 
 say Luke has murdered that odious Philip ! and I 
 have been cooped up here for two days now, not daring 
 to go out ! ashamed to face any one ! and Luke . . . 
 Luke . . . oh ! " 
 
 The outburst was almost hysterical. The young 
 girl was obviously fearfully overwrought, and had en- 
 dured a severe nerve-strain, by not having the means 
 for giving vent to her feelings. Colonel Harris, with all 
 an Englishman's horror of feminine scenes, was 
 clearing his throat, looking supremely uncomfortable 
 all the time. 
 
 " Sh ! . . . sh ! " admonished Louisa impatiently, 
 " be quiet, Edie, you mustn't go on like that ! be 
 
A MAN MUST ACT AS HE THINKS BEST 269 
 
 quiet now ! " she added more severely, seeing that 
 the girl made no effort to control herself ; " what will 
 your servants think ? " 
 
 " Do you suppose," retorted Edie, " that I care 
 what they think ? They can't think more, can they ? 
 when they all talk of Luke as if he were a murderer." 
 
 " Do for God's sake be silent, Edie. This is too 
 awful." 
 
 And Louisa — almost roughly — dragged herself away 
 from the girl's hysterical embrace. She had tried so 
 hard for two days and two nights to keep herself 
 together and her nerves in check. All day to-day 
 had been one long, continuous battle against the 
 danger of " breaking down," that bugbear of the 
 conventional woman of the world. 
 
 Now this danger — backed up by this poor child's 
 grief — loomed greater than ever . . . now . . . that 
 " breaking down " would become a positive sin : the 
 most abject form of cowardice. But Edie's bewilder- 
 ment, her loneliness, were intensely pathetic. Louisa 
 had tried to be severe, and insisted on checking the 
 access of hysteria ; but her heart went out to the 
 child, and to her puzzlement in face of this awful, 
 un-understandable riddle. 
 
 " Look here, Edie," she said gently, putting her 
 own kind arms round the quaking shoulders of the 
 younger girl, " you are just going to show father and 
 me how brave you can be. You are Luke's nearest 
 and dearest one on earth : you must not add to his 
 troubles by this exaggerated show of grief. We'll all 
 have to be brave ... all of us .. . but Luke will 
 
270 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 have to be the bravest of us all ; and so we must all 
 do our best to keep up our courage, and help his own." 
 
 She was not accustomed to making such long 
 speeches, nor yet to preach and to admonish. Life, 
 before now, had never placed her in the necessity of 
 admonishing others : everybody round her — the people 
 with whom she came in contact — always behaved 
 very much as they should : in the proper, conven- 
 tional, worldly manner. People she had hitherto 
 to do with did not give way to hysterical tears, nor 
 had they occasion to display fortitude in the face of 
 an overwhelming moral shock. 
 
 Therefore, Louisa was not sure if her words would 
 carry weight, or if they would produce the effect she 
 desired. She gazed anxiously at Edie whilst she 
 spoke : looking with hopeful, yet fearful eyes in 
 the poor girl's face, wondering if she had succeeded in 
 calming the hysterical outburst. 
 
 Edie hung her head, wilfully veiling her eyes be- 
 neath the drooping lids. She twirled her gossamer 
 handkerchief into a tight wet ball, and toyed with it 
 nervously. 
 
 " It's not much good," she said at last, in very low 
 tones, so that Louisa had some difficulty in hearing 
 what she said, " my trying to be brave . . . when 
 Luke is such a coward ! " 
 
 " Be quiet, Edie," retorted Louisa, all her kindness 
 and sympathy gone, and pushing the girl roughly 
 away from her. " You have no right to talk like 
 that." 
 
A MAN MUST ACT AS HE THINKS BEST 271 
 
 " Well, Colonel Harris," rejoined Edie, turning to 
 the man in her distress, " I ask you, if it isn't just 
 cowardice to run away now, and leaving me and Jim 
 to face the whole thing alone ? " 
 
 " To run away ? What do you mean ? " demanded 
 Louisa, placing her hand on the girl's shoulder, forcing 
 her to turn round and to face her. 
 
 " Who's running away ? " queried Colonel Harris 
 with a frown. 
 
 " Luke," said Edie hotly, " is running away. He 
 came home just now, and calmly told me that he was 
 going off abroad to-night ; and since then he has been 
 shut up in his room, packing his things. I have been 
 all alone here all day. Jim won't be home till late 
 to-night. Poor old Jim ! what a fearful home-coming 
 it will be for him. . . ." 
 
 But to this renewal of Edie's lamentations, Louisa 
 had not listened, only to the words : " Luke said that 
 he was going abroad to-night ! " 
 
 Luke : fugitive from justice ! The monstrous, un- 
 believable picture, which she had tried to visualize 
 just now, had become a mirror, reflecting awful, 
 hideous reality. 
 
 " Where's Luke ? " asked the Colonel. " I'd better 
 see him." 
 
 " No, father," interposed Louisa quickly. " I'd 
 sooner speak to Luke. Can I go to him, Edie ? " 
 
 "Yes, I think so," replied the other. "I don't 
 suppose that he has locked his dooi." 
 
 " Louisa," said her father gently, " I don't think 
 
272 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 you'll be doing any good, dear. A man must act as he 
 thinks best." 
 
 " I'm not," she replied, " going to interfere with 
 Luke's plans. I only want to speak to him. Don't 
 bother, Edie. I know my way." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 IE YOU WOULD ONLY LET YOURSELF GO 
 
 LUKE was sitting at a desk, writing, when Louisa 
 entered his room. Only one lamp, shaded with 
 yellow silk, hung above the desk, throwing golden 
 light on paper and blotting-pad, and on the hand 
 which held the pen. 
 
 When Luke turned at sound of the opening door, 
 his face remained in deep shadow. He could not, of 
 course, see her distinctly, as her figure was silhouetted 
 against the light in the passage behind her ; that was 
 no doubt the reason why he did not rise to greet 
 her when she entered, but remained seated at his 
 desk. 
 
 " May I come in, Luke ? " she asked. 
 
 " Certainly," he replied. " I was just writing to 
 you." 
 
 " Then give me your unfinished letter, and tell me 
 what else you were going to write." 
 
 " Oh ! I had only got as far as your name," he said, 
 pointing to the empty page before him. 
 
 " Was it so difficult then," she asked, " to tell me 
 everything ? " 
 
 She had come forward into the room, and stood 
 beside his desk, one hand resting upon it, her face 
 T 273 
 
274 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 looking down at the letter which he had not yet begun 
 to write. He still made no attempt to rise : for now 
 her face was in full golden light, and he could see its 
 every feature. 
 
 " It is so difficult," he said, " not to write drivel 
 when one is saying good-bye." 
 
 " You are going away ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " To-night ? " 
 
 " In half an hour." 
 
 " You are going abroad ? " 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 « Why ? " 
 
 This last question oame abruptly, in harsh, trench- 
 ant tones, altogether different to those of her smooth 
 contralto voice. He turned his eye away from her 
 face, and looked down at his own hands, which were 
 clasped in front of him. 
 
 " Because," he replied, without the slightest hesi- 
 tation, " I cannot face what lies before me if I remain." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " For many reasons. There's Uncle Rad to con- 
 sider first and foremost, then Edie and Jim and Frank." 
 
 " What have they to do with it ? " 
 
 " Everything. After the evidence at the inquest 
 to-day, a warrant will be out for my arrest within 
 the next few hours." 
 
 " What of it ? " 
 
 " The evidence against me is overwhelming. I 
 should be tried, perhaps hanged for murder : at best 
 sent to penal servitude for life. I cannot chance that. 
 
IF YOU WOULD LET YOURSELF GO 275 
 
 I must think of Uncle Rad, of Edie, of Jim, and of 
 Frank." 
 
 " You have yourself to think of first and foremost." 
 
 " Well," he retorted simply, " I have thought of 
 myself, and I do not see how, with my own dagger-stick 
 brought up in evidence against me, and my ill-feeling 
 towards , . . towards the dead man so well-known, 
 I can possibly escape condemnation." 
 
 He spoke in such even and perfectly natural tones, 
 that just for a moment — it was a mere flash — Louisa 
 wondered if he were absolutely sane. It seemed im- 
 possible that any man could preserve such calm, in 
 face of the most appalling fate that ever threatened 
 human being. She too — like the indifferent hide- 
 bound official this afternoon — was seized with an 
 irrepressible desire to break through that surface of 
 ice. The outer covering must be very thin, she thought, 
 her presence must have melted all the coldness that 
 lay immediately below the surface. Without saying 
 another word, quietly and simply, she came down on 
 her knees. Her skirts had not swished as she did so : 
 not a sound from her revealed the movement. When 
 he looked up again, her face was on a level with his, 
 and her eyes — those great luminous eyes that shed no 
 tears at moments such as this — looked straight into 
 his own. 
 
 " For pity's sake, Loo," he said, " don't make a 
 drivelling coward of me now." 
 
 And he rose, pushing his chair aside, leaving her 
 there, kneeling beside the desk, humbled and helpless. 
 And he retreated within the shadow of the room. 
 
276 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Luke," she said, imploring him, " you are going 
 to tell me all that troubles you." 
 
 " Nothing," he replied curtly, " troubles me. You 
 are wasting your sympathy, you know. And I have 
 a train to catch." 
 
 " You are not going, Luke ? " 
 
 " Indeed I am." 
 
 " You condemn yourself for a crime which you 
 have not committed." 
 
 " I am already as good as condemned. But I do 
 not choose to hang for the murder of the Clapham 
 bricklayer's son." 
 
 He laughed — it almost sounded like a natural 
 laugh — would have done so, no doubt, to all ears 
 except hers. Then he added dryly — 
 
 " Such a purposeless crime too. Fancy, being 
 hanged for killing Paul Baker." 
 
 " Luke," she said simply, " you don't seem to 
 realize how you are hurting me!" 
 
 One ejaculation : " My God ! " escaped him then. 
 He stood quite still, in the shadow, and presently his 
 hand wandered with the old familiar gesture down 
 the smooth back of his head. She remained on her 
 knees, and after a while he came back to her, and sat 
 down on the chair beside the desk, his eyes on a level 
 with hers. 
 
 " Look here, Loo," he said quietly, " I have got to 
 go, and that's all about it. I have got to, do you un- 
 derstand ? The consequences of this crime cannot be 
 faced . . . not by any one . . . not by me. . . . 
 There's Uncle Bad to think of first. ... He is broken 
 
IF YOU WOULD LET YOURSELF GO 277 
 
 and ill ... he has more than one foot in the grave. 
 . . . The trial and the scandal couldn't be kept from 
 him ; it would be bound to leak out sooner or later. 
 ... It would be too big a scandal ! . . . and it would 
 kill him outright. . . . Then ! you see, Loo, it would 
 never do ! ... I should be Earl of Radclyffe and a 
 felon ... it wouldn't do, now would it ? Who has 
 ever heard of a peer undergoing a life sentence . . . 
 or being hanged ? ... it wouldn't do . . . you know 
 it wouldn't do. . . ." 
 
 He reiterated this several times, with quaint in- 
 sistence : as if he were discussing with her the possi- 
 bility, or impossibility, of attending a race-meeting, 
 or a ball in Lent — she proving obstinate. 
 
 She did not reply, leaving him to ramble on in his 
 somewhat wild speech, hoping that if she let him 
 talk on uninterruptedly he would sooner or later 
 betray something of that enigma which lay hidden 
 behind the wooden mask which he still so persistently 
 wore. 
 
 " Besides," he continued, still arguing, " there's 
 Frank to think of . . . the next heir to the title. . . . 
 I believe that people in penal servitude live an uncon- 
 scionable time . . . especially if they are wanted to 
 die. . . . Think of poor old Frank waiting to come 
 into his own . . . into an old title held by a felon. . . . 
 It is all much too much of a muddle, Loo ... it is 
 simpler that I should go. . . ." 
 
 " But," she said, really trying now to speak as 
 simply, as calmly, as he did himself, " all these 
 arguments, which you are using now, Luke, will 
 
278 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 equally apply if you make yourself a fugitive from 
 justice." 
 
 " Oh ! I shouldn't be that for very long ! " he said 
 lightly. 
 
 " You are thinking of suicide ? " 
 
 " No," he replied simply, " I am not. Only of the 
 chances of a wandering life." 
 
 " You seem to look at every chance, Luke, except 
 one." 
 
 " Which one is that ? " 
 
 " That though you might be arrested, though you 
 might be accused, and even tried for the murder of 
 ... of that man . . . truth might come out, and 
 your innocence proved." 
 
 " That would be impossible, Loo," he said quietly. 
 
 " Why ? ... in Heaven's name, Luke," she ex- 
 claimed passionately — " why ? " 
 
 "My dagger-stick was found inside the railings 
 of the Park . . . and the stains on it are irrefutable 
 proofs." 
 
 " That's only circumstantial evidence," she argued ; 
 " you can demolish it, if you choose." 
 
 " I cannot," he replied. " I should plead guilty. 
 , . . Mr. Dobson says that if I plead guilty, counsel 
 can plead extenuating circumstances . . . intense pro- 
 vocation and so forth . . .'and I might get a more 
 lenient sentence." 
 
 " Luke," she said, looking him straight in the 
 face, compelling his eyes to meet hers, for in their clear 
 depths she meant to read the truth, to compel the 
 truth at last. He had never lied in his life. If he 
 
IF YOU WOULD LET YOURSELF GO 279 
 
 lied now she would know it, she would read it in his 
 face. " Luke ! you are shielding some one by taking 
 the crime on your own shoulders." 
 
 But his eyes remained perfectly clear and steady as 
 they gazed straight into hers. There was not a shadow 
 in them, not a quiver, as he replied quietly — 
 
 " No, Loo, I am shielding no one." 
 
 " It was you who killed that man . . . Philip de 
 Mountford ... or Paul Baker . . . whoever he 
 may be ? " 
 
 And he answered her firmly, looking steadily into 
 her face — 
 
 " It was I." 
 
 She said nothing more then, but rose to her feet, 
 and went quite close up to him. With a gesture that 
 had no thought of passion in it, only sublime, motherly 
 love, she took Luke's head in both her hands, and 
 pressed it to her heart. 
 
 " My poor old Luke ! " she murmured. 
 
 She smoothed his hair, as a mother does to an 
 afflicted child : the motherly instinct was up in arms 
 now, even fighting the womanly, the passionate in- 
 stinct of a less selfish love. She bent down and kissed 
 his forehead. 
 
 " Luke," she said gently, " it would do you such 
 a lot of good if you would only let yourself go." 
 
 He had contrived to get hold of her hands : those 
 hands which he loved so dearly, with their soft, rose- 
 tinted palms and the scent of sweet peas which clung 
 to them. His own hot fingers closed on those small 
 hands. She stood before him, tall, elegant . . . not 
 
280 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 beautiful ! . . . Louisa Harris had never been beauti- 
 ful, nor yet a fairy princess of romance . . . only a 
 commonplace woman ! a woman of the world, over 
 whose graceful form — her personality even — conven- 
 tion invariably threw her mantle ! . . . but a woman 
 for all that ! . . . with passion burning beneath the 
 crust of worldly sang-froid — with heart attuned to feel 
 every quiver, every sensation of joy and of pain. . . . 
 A woman who loved with every fibre in her — who had 
 the supreme gift of merging self in Love — of giving all, 
 her soul, her heart, her mind and every thought . . . 
 a woman who roused every chord of passion in a man's 
 heart . . . the woman whom men adore ! 
 
 And now as Luke de Mountford held her hands, and 
 she stood close beside him, her breath coming and 
 going in quick gasps, with the suppressed excitement 
 of latent self-sacrifice, her eyes glowing and tearless, 
 he half slid from the chair on which he was sitting, 
 and one knee was on the ground, and his face turned 
 up to hers. 
 
 He almost smiled, as she repeated, with a little sigh — 
 
 " If you would only let yourself go ! " 
 
 " If I would let myself dwindle down to the level 
 of drivelling fools," he said. " God knows, Loo, it 
 would be easy enough now, when I hold those lovely 
 little hands of yours ; and the scent of sweet peas which 
 comes from your dear self reminds me of summer, of 
 old-fashioned gardens, of enduring peace. Loo ! I 
 dare not even kiss your hands, and yet my whole body 
 aches with the longing to press my lips on them. You 
 see how easily I drift into being a drivelling fool ? 
 
IF YOU WOULD LET YOURSELF GO 281 
 
 Would to God I could lie on the ground here before you, 
 and feel the soles of your feet on my neck. How lucky 
 slaves were in olden days, weren't they ? They could 
 kneel before their mistress and she would place her 
 naked foot upon their neck. I am a drivelling fool, 
 you see. ... I talk and talk and let the moments slip 
 by. ... I am going, Loo, and this is the vision which 
 I am taking with me, the last impression which will 
 dwell in my memory, when memory itself will seem 
 only a dream. You, Loo, standing just here, so close 
 to me that your sweet breath fans my cheeks, your 
 dear hands in mine, the scent of sweet peas in my 
 nostrils. The light of this lamp throws a golden radi- 
 ance over you, your lips are quivering ... oh ! ever 
 so slightly, and your eyes reveal to me the exquisite- 
 ness of your soul. Loo ! I am a lucky mortal to 
 have such a vision on which to let my memory 
 dwell ! " 
 
 She listened in silence, enjoying the delight of hear- 
 ing him unburdening his soul at last. His love for her ! 
 never had it seemed so great and so pure, now that he 
 spoke of parting ! and there was a quaint joy in hearing 
 him thus rambling on — he, the reserved man of the 
 world. Convention had so often sealed his lips, and 
 restrained his passion when he was still wandering 
 happily with her on the smooth paths of Love. Now 
 Fate had hurled stone upon stone down that path. 
 The way was rugged and difficult, parting too was 
 close at hand : all the restraint of past months tore at 
 the barrier of convention. Luke, about to lose the 
 mortal presence of his love, allowed his lips to say that 
 
282 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 which he had hidden in his heart for so long. The man 
 of the world lost himself in the man who loved. 
 
 When he had ceased speaking, she said quietly — 
 
 " You talk, Luke, as if we were going to part." 
 
 " To-night, Loo. I must catch the night boat to 
 Calais." 
 
 "My luggage can be sent on," she rejoined simply. 
 " I am quite ready to start." 
 
 " To start ? " he repeated vaguely. 
 
 " Why, yes, Luke," she replied, with a smile ; " if 
 you go to-night, or at any time, I go with you." 
 
 " You cannot, Loo ! " he stammered, almost 
 stupidly, feeling quite bewildered, for he had been 
 forcibly dragged back from a happy dreamlike state 
 to one of impossible reality. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " You have said it yourself, Loo. I shall be a fugi- 
 tive from justice ... a man with whom no decent 
 woman would care to link her fate." 
 
 " Let us admit then," she said, almost gaily, " that 
 I am not a decent woman, for my fate is irretrievably 
 linked with yours." 
 
 " This is preposterous . . ." he began. 
 
 But already she had interrupted him, speaking 
 quietly in that even, contralto voice of hers which he 
 loved to hear. 
 
 " Luke," she said, " you must try and understand. 
 You must . . . because I have so fully, made up my 
 mind, that nothing that you could say would make 
 me change it, unless you told me that you no longer 
 loved me. And this," she added, with the ghost of a 
 
IF YOU WOULD LET YOURSELF GO 283 
 
 smile, " you cannot now pretend, Luke, after all that 
 you said just now. It is not that my mind wanted 
 making up. My mind has very little to do with it all. 
 It knows just as my heart does that I could not now 
 live without you. I'm not talking nonsense, Luke, 
 and I seem to be too old for mere sentimental twaddle ; 
 therefore, when I say that I could not now live parted 
 from you, I say it from the innermost conviction of my 
 heart. Sh . . . sh . . . dear," she whispered, seeing 
 that he wished to interrupt her, " don't try and say 
 anything just yet — not just yet — until I have told you 
 everything. I want you to remember, Luke, that I 
 am no longer very young, and that ever since I can 
 remember anything, I have loved you. ... I must 
 have loved you, even though I did not know it. But 
 if you had never spoken of love to me, if you had never 
 written that letter which I received in Brussels, I 
 probably would have been satisfied to go on with my 
 humdrum life to the end of time ; — who knows ? I 
 might have found contentment if not happiness, by and 
 by, with some other man. We women are meant to 
 marry. Men are fond of telling us that our only mission 
 on earth is to marry. But all this possible, quiet con- 
 tent one letter has dissipated. I could never be happy 
 now, never, save in continuing to love you. Life to me 
 would be unspeakably hideous without you and your 
 love. Therefore I say, Luke, that you have no longer 
 any right to keep me at arm's length. You have no 
 right, having once come into my life, having once given 
 substance and vitality to my love, to withdraw your- 
 self away from me. Love, dear, is a bond, a mutual 
 
284 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 bond, as sacred, as binding as any that are contracted 
 on this earth. You — when you wrote that letter, when 
 first you spoke to me of love — entered into a bond with 
 me. You have no right to force me to break it." 
 
 The mellow tones of her contralto voice died down in 
 the heavy atmosphere of the room. They echoed and 
 re-echoed in the heart of the man, who was now kneel- 
 ing before Louisa, as he would before the Madonna, 
 dumb with the intensity of emotion which her simple 
 words, the sublime selflessness of her sacrifice, had 
 brought to almost maddening pitch. She stood there 
 near him, so devoted, so noble, and so pure, do you 
 wonder or will you smile, when you see him with fair, 
 young head bowed to the ground pressing his lips on the 
 point of her shoe ? 
 
 " Luke ! don't," she cried, in passionate sympathy. 
 
 She understood him so well, you see ! 
 
 " Kiss your feet, dear ? " he asked. " I would he 
 down in the dust for your dear feet to walk over me. 
 I only wonder why God should love me so that he gave 
 you for this one beautiful moment to me. Loo, my 
 dearest saint, I cannot accept your sacrifice. Dear 
 heart ! dear, dear heart ! do try and believe me, when 
 I say that I cannot accept it. As for imagining that 
 I don't understand it and appreciate it, why, as soon 
 think that to-morrow's sun will never rise. I worship 
 you, my saint ! and I worship your love : the purest, 
 most tender sentiment that ever glorified this ugly 
 world. But its sacrifice I cannot accept. I cannot. 
 I would sooner do that most cowardly of all deeds, end 
 my life here and now, than be tempted for one single 
 
IF YOU WOULD LET YOURSELF GO 285 
 
 instant into the cowardice of accepting it. But the 
 memory of it, dear, that I will take with me. Do not 
 think of me in future as being unhappy. No man can 
 be unhappy whose heart is fed on such a memory ! " 
 
 He had her two hands imprisoned in his, the soent 
 of sweet peas floating gently to his nostrils. As he 
 buried his lips in their fragrant soft palms he was 
 entirely happy. The world had floated away from him. 
 He was in a land of magic with her ; in a land where 
 the air was filled with the fragrance of sweet peas, a 
 land of phantasmagoria, the land of Fata Morgana, 
 which none can enter save those who love. Time sped 
 on, and both had forgotten the world. The fire 
 crackled in the hearth, the clock alone recorded the 
 passing of time. The noise of the great city — so cruel 
 to those who suffer — came but as a faint echo through 
 the closely drawn curtains. 
 
 There was a discreet knock at the door, and as no 
 reply came from within, it was repeated more insis- 
 tently. 
 
 Luke jumped to his feet, and Louisa retreated into 
 the shadow. 
 
 " Come in ! " said Luke. 
 
 The door was opened, quite softly, from outside, and 
 the well-drilled servant said — 
 
 " Two gentlemen to see you, sir." 
 
 " Where are they, Mary ? " he asked. 
 
 " In the hall, sir." 
 
 " Did they give their names ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Where's Miss Edie, Mary ? " 
 
286 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " In the drawing-room, sir, with Colonel Harris." 
 
 " Very well. Then show the two gentlemen into the 
 dining-room. I'll come in a moment." 
 
 " Very good, sir." 
 
 And the discreet little maid retired, closing the door 
 after her. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 WHICH ONLY SPEAKS OF FAREWELLS 
 
 THE door had scarcely closed, and already she was 
 near him. 
 
 " Luke ! " she whispered, and her voice was hoarse 
 now and choked, " the police ! " 
 
 " That's about it," he said ; " I thought that they 
 meant to let me get away." 
 
 " So father understood from Sir Thomas Eyder. 
 What will you do, Luke ? " 
 
 " I can't do anything, I am afraid. I wanted to get 
 away. > . ." 
 
 " And I have kept you . . . and now it is too 
 late." 
 
 A very little while ago, she had hated the idea of 
 his going. Luke — a fugitive from justice — was a 
 picture on which it was intolerable to look. But now 
 the womanly instinct rose up in revolt : at the very 
 thought that he should be arrested, tried and con- 
 ' demned ! What mattered if he were a fugitive, if he 
 were ostracized and despised ? What mattered any- 
 thing, so long as he lived and she could be near him ? 
 A very little while ago she would have done anything 
 to keep him from going : she almost longed for his 
 arrest and the publicity of the trial. She was so sure 
 
 287 
 
288 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 that truth would surely com* out, that his innocence 
 would of necessity be proved. 
 
 But now, womanlike, she only longed for his safety, 
 and forgetting all the traditions of her past life, all the 
 old lessons of self-restraint : forgetting everything, 
 except his immediate danger, she clung to him with 
 all the true passion in her, which she no longer tried 
 to keep in check. 
 
 "No, Luke," she murmured in quick jerky tones, 
 " it is not too late . . . not at all too late. . . . You 
 stay in here quietly, and I'll ask father to go and 
 speak to them. . . . He'll tell them that you haven't 
 come home yet, and that he is waiting here for you 
 himself. . . . Father is well known . . . they won't 
 suspect him of shielding you . . . and in the mean- 
 while, you can slip out easily . . . we'll send your 
 luggage on . . . you can write and let us know where 
 you are ... it is quite easy . . . and not too 
 late. ..." 
 
 Whilst she spoke, she was gradually edging towards 
 the door. Her voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, 
 for maddening terror almost deprived her of speech. 
 With insistent strength she would not allow him to 
 detain her ; and he, whilst trying to hold her back, 
 was afraid of hurting her. But at the last, when she 
 had almost reached the door, he contrived to fore- 
 stall her, and before she could guess his purpose, he 
 had pressed a finger on the button of the electric 
 bell. 
 
 She heard the distinct tinkle of the bell, and this 
 made her pause. 
 
WHICH ONLY SPEAKS OF FAREWELLS 289 
 
 " What is it, Luke ? " she asked. " Why did you 
 ring ? " 
 
 " For your father, dear," he replied simply. 
 
 " Then you will do what I want you to ? " she re- 
 joined eagerly. " You will go away ? " 
 
 He gave no immediate answer, for already the 
 maid's footstep was heard along the passage. The 
 next moment she was knocking at the door. Luke 
 went up to it, gently forcing Louisa back into the 
 shadow behind him. 
 
 " Mary," he said, with his hand on the latch of the 
 door, holding it slightly ajar, " just ask Colonel Harris 
 to come here, will you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 The girl was heard turning away, and walking away 
 briskly along the passage. Then Luke faced Louisa 
 once again. 
 
 He went up to her, and without a word took her 
 in his arms. It was a supreme farewell, and she knew 
 it. She felt it in the quiver of agony which went 
 right through him as he pressed her so close — so close 
 that her breath nearly left her body, and her heart 
 seemed to stand still. She felt it in the sweet, sad pain 
 of the burning kisses with which he covered her 
 face, her eyes, her hair, her mouth. It was the final 
 passionate embrace : the irrevocable linking of soul, 
 and heart, and mind : the parting of earthly bodies, 
 the union of immortal souls. It was the end of all 
 things earthly, the beginning of things eternal. 
 
 She understood, and her resistance vanished. All 
 that had been dark to her became suddenly trans- 
 
290 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 figured and illumined. With the merging of earthly 
 passion into that Love which is God's breath, she — 
 the pure and selfless woman, God's most perfect work 
 on earth — became as God, and knew what was good, 
 and what had been evil. 
 
 Neither of them spoke ; the word " farewell " was 
 not uttered between them. His final kiss was upon 
 her eyes, and she closed them after that ; the better 
 to imprint on her memory the vision of his face, 
 fit up with the divine fire of an unconquerable 
 passion. 
 
 The entrance of Colonel Harris brought them both 
 back to present reality. He, poor man, looked severely 
 troubled, and distinctly older than he usually did. 
 
 " Did you want me, Luke ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the latter, " the police is here, 
 and I thought that perhaps you and Louisa would be 
 so kind as to take Edie along with you. Jim is going 
 to sleep in barracks to-night, and Edie ought not to 
 stay here alone." 
 
 " Yes. We'll take Edie," said the Colonel curtly ; 
 " she'll be all right with us. Are you ready, Loo ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear," she replied. 
 
 And she passed out of the door without another 
 word, or another look. 
 
 The supreme farewell had been spoken. Further 
 words — even another kiss — would have almost dese- 
 crated its undying memory. 
 
 The two men remained alone, and Colonel Harris, 
 without any hesitation, held out his hand to Luke de 
 Mountfofd. 
 
WHICH ONLY SPEAKS OF FAREWELLS 291 
 
 " The police is here, sir," said Luke, without taking 
 the hand that was offered him. 
 
 " I know they are," muttered the other, " that's no 
 reason why you should refuse an old friend's hand." 
 
 Then as Luke — hesitating no longer — placed his 
 burning hand in that of his friend, Colonel Harris 
 said quietly, almost entreatingly — 
 
 " It's only a temporary trouble, eh, my boy ? You 
 can easily refute this abominable charge, and prove 
 your innocence ? " 
 
 " I think not, sir," replied Luke. " I cannot refute 
 the charge, and my innocence will be difficult to 
 prove." 
 
 " But you are mad, man ! " retorted the older man 
 hotly. " You are mad ! and are breaking a woman's 
 heart ! " 
 
 " Heaven forgive me for that, sir. It is the greatest 
 crime." . 
 
 Colonel Harris smothered a powerful oath. Luke's 
 attitude puzzled him more and more. And his loyalty 
 had received such a succession of shocks to-day, that it 
 would have been small wonder if it had begun to totter 
 at last. 
 
 He turned away without another word. But at the 
 door he paused once more — in obvious hesitation. 
 
 " There's nothing else I can do for you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Nothing, sir. Thank you." 
 
 " You . . . you were not thinking . . . of . . . ? " 
 
 " Of what, sir ? " asked Luke. 
 
 Then, as he saw the other man's eyes wandering 
 to the drawer of the desk, he said simply — 
 
292 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Of suicide, you mean, sir ? " 
 
 Colonel Harris nodded. 
 
 " Oh no," rejoined Luke. And he added, after a 
 slight pause : "Not at present." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 " I mean that I shouldn't exactly hang for the 
 murder of the Clapham bricklayer. I shouldn't let it 
 come to that. I am sorry I did not manage to get 
 away to-night. I thought they meant to let me." 
 
 " I think they did mean to. Some blunder, I 
 suppose, on the part of the subordinates." 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " Well, Luke," said Colonel Harris with a deep sigh, 
 " I have known you ever since you were a child, but 
 by G — d, man ! I confess that I don't understand 
 you." 
 
 " That's very kindly put, sir," rejoined Luke, with 
 the semblance of a smile; "you have every right to 
 call me a confounded blackguard." 
 
 " I shall only do that after your trial, my boy," said 
 the other, " when I have heard you confess with your 
 own lips that you killed that d — d scoundrel in a 
 moment of intense provocation." 
 
 " I had better not keep the police waiting any 
 longer, sir, had I ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! that's all right. I'll take my poor Loo 
 away at once, and we'll see after Edie, and Jim . . . 
 we'll look after them . . . and Frank too when he 
 comes home." 
 
 " Thank you, sir." 
 
 " S'long, my boy." 
 
WHICH ONLY SPEAKS OF FAREWELLS 293 
 
 And Colonel Harris — puzzled, worried, and miser- 
 able — finally went out of the room. On the threshold 
 he turned, moved by the simple and primitive instinct 
 of wishing to take a last look at a friend. 
 
 He saw Luke standing there in the full light of the 
 electric lamp, calm, quite serene, correct to the last in 
 attitude and bearing. The face was just a mask — 
 marble-like and impassive — jealously guarding the 
 secrets of the soul within. Just a good-looking, well- 
 bred young Englishman in fact, who looked in his 
 elegant attire ready to start off for some social function. 
 
 Not a single trace either on his person or in his neat, 
 orderly surroundings of the appalling tragedy which 
 would have broken the spirit of any human creature 
 less well-schooled in self-restraint. 
 
 Convention was triumphant to the end. 
 
 The man of the world — the English gentleman — 
 hypocritical or unemotional ? which ? — was here 
 ready to face abject humiliation and hopeless disgrace 
 as impassively as he would have received the welcome 
 of a hostess at a dinner-party. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 WHICH TELLS OP PICTURES EST THE EIRE 
 
 IT did not take poor little Edie very long to get her 
 things on and to make ready to go away with 
 Colonel Harris and with Louisa. Something of the 
 tru1«h had to be told to her, and we must do her the 
 justice to state that when she understood the full 
 strength of the calamity which had befallen her and 
 Luke, something of her brother's calm dignity showed 
 itself in her own demeanour. 
 
 She pulled herself together with remarkable vigour, 
 and before Mary — the maid — she contrived to behave 
 just as if nothing of great importance had occurred. 
 
 " I am going to dine out to-night, Mary," she said, 
 quite calmly, " and I mayn't be home until sometime 
 to-morrow. So don't sit up for me." 
 
 " No, miss," replied Mary demurely, who kept her 
 own counsel, like the well-drilled good-class servant 
 that she was. 
 
 " And tell cook that Mr. de Mountford won't be in 
 either, nor Mr. Jim. I'll see her to-morrow and let 
 her know when we all come back." 
 
 " Very good, miss." 
 
 Louisa gave ungrudging admiration, and whispered 
 praise to the young girl. She was proud of Edie's 
 
 294 
 
TELLS OF PICTURES IN THE FIRE 295 
 
 behaviour, and grateful to her too. This atmosphere 
 of reserve did her good. She could not have endured 
 a scene of weeping and keep her own nerves in check 
 all the while. 
 
 It was close upon eight o'clock when at last they 
 reached the Langham Hotel. Colonel Harris ordered 
 the dinner to be served in the private sitting-room. 
 Of course, none of them could eat anything. Their in- 
 ward thoughts were following Luke de Mountford along 
 that weary Calvary which he had set himself to mount. 
 
 Soon after dinner Edie elected to go to bed. The 
 poor child had a vague desire to be alone, and also a 
 vague, unhappy feeling that she was in the way. She 
 was quite woman enough now to understand how much 
 more acutely Louisa Harris must be suffering than she 
 did herself, and since she — the sister — longed for 
 solitude, how much keener must be that longing 
 in the heart of the woman who loved and had lost 
 Luke. 
 
 So she went quietly off to bed. Louisa kissed her 
 with real affection. Edie seemed like something of 
 Luke : like a tender bequest made by a dying man. 
 
 After that she herself said " good night " to her 
 father. Colonel Harris was obviously in such acute 
 distress that Louisa felt that, above all things, he must 
 have the companionship of those of his own sex. The 
 atmosphere of woman's sorrow was essentially bad for 
 him. He was not a young man, and the last two days 
 had tried him very severely. Louisa hoped that if she 
 pretended to go to bed early, he would perhaps be 
 induced to go to his Club for an hour. 
 
A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 If he only sat there for an hour, reading the papers, 
 and nodding to his many friends, it would take him 
 out of himself. 
 
 " I am very tired, dear," she said, after she had seen 
 Edie safely tucked up amongst the blankets ; " I think 
 I'll follow Edie's good example. It's no use sitting 
 here, staring into the fire. Is it, dear 1 " 
 
 " Not a bit of use, Loo. And I suppose you would 
 like to be alone ? " 
 
 "I shan't go to bed, dear, unless you go to the 
 Club." 
 
 " Very well, Loo. It seems the right thing to do, 
 doesn't it ? You go to bed, and 111 go to the Club for 
 an hour. As you say, it's no use sitting staring into 
 the fire." 
 
 Her room gave on one side of the sitting-room, and 
 her father's on the other. She waited until Colonel 
 Harris went away, having helped him on with his over- 
 coat. After he left she felt a little twinge of remorse. 
 The night was cold and raw, and he really had not 
 wanted to go out. He would have been quite willing 
 to sit in front of the fire, smoking and reading. He had 
 only gone because his own innate kindliness and tact 
 had suggested to him that Louisa wished to remain 
 alone. 
 
 He too, like Edie, felt a little in the way. His 
 daughter's grief was of a nature that a father's love 
 cannot soothe. The greatest solace for it now would 
 be solitude. So, in spite of the fog, in spite of the un- 
 pleasantness that met Colonel Harris on every page of 
 every newspaper, he sallied out of the hotel and got 
 
TELLS OF PICTURES IN THE FIRE 297 
 
 into a hansom, with the avowed intention of spending 
 a couple of hours at his Club. 
 
 Louisa, left alone in the sitting-room, in front of the 
 cheery fire, sat down for a moment on the sofa and 
 rested her head against the cushions. There was 
 memory even in that, for when she closed her eyes, she 
 could imagine that Luke was sitting at the foot of the 
 sofa ; she could see him almost, with his eyes turned 
 ever towards her, and that quaint gesture of his when 
 he passed his hand over the back of his neatly groomed 
 head. 
 
 The memory was intolerable now. She rose — restless 
 and feverish — and stood by the fire, one hand on the 
 high mantelshelf, her forehead resting against that 
 hand, one foot on the fender, and her aching eyes 
 gazing into the red-hot glow. 
 
 It was one of those big red fires, partly made up of 
 coke and partly of coal, wherein only here and there 
 tiny blue flames flit waywardly, and in the building 
 of which hotel servants are usually past-masters. The 
 glowing coal heaped up high in the old-fashioned grate 
 presented a wonderful picture of mysterious architec- 
 ture : streets and lanes of crimson incandescence, 
 palaces and towers of molten heat, and the little blue 
 flames dancing, and peeping out from the fiery depths, 
 mocking and wayward, twirling and twisting as with 
 the joy of life. 
 
 Louisa gazed into this city of brilliant crimson and 
 gold, the streets, the palaces, and the towers. And as 
 she gazed — with eyes almost seared — these same streets 
 of fire assumed different shapes, they became stately 
 
298 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 and wide, with rows of trees forming an avenue along 
 the middle, and tall houses on either side. One or two 
 people were walking along the pavement, but quickly, 
 as if they had business to transact and did not care to 
 loiter. One figure, that of a woman, in neat ulster and 
 serviceable hat, was walking briskly between the rows 
 of trees. 
 
 The blue flames danced, and disclosed a few vehicles 
 hurrying past swiftly in the night, huge tramcars 
 lumbering along, and one or two flying motor-cabs. 
 And far ahead — right in the heart of the glow — the 
 distant lights of a more busy thoroughfare. Now the 
 wide street was more dark and lonely than before; only 
 the solitary female figure appeared in the fiery picture, 
 walking among the trees. The last of the lumbering 
 tramcars had been merged in the distant lights : only 
 from afar came flying on the blue flames, a taxi-cab at 
 lightning speed. 
 
 It came along, its headlights burning more and more 
 brightly ; it rattled past the solitary female pedestrian. 
 Then it stopped in the dark angle made by a huge piece 
 of coal : the blue flames gave a hiss and from every 
 corner of the grate crowds of people came rushing to 
 the spot where the taxi-cab had halted. The solitary 
 female pedestrian also hurried to the spot. She stopped 
 on the outskirts of the crowd, and yet she saw every- 
 thing that went on in and around the motor — the 
 horror-stricken driver, the bustling gendarmes, the 
 huddled-up mass in the darkest corner of the vehicle. 
 
 Then the coal, consumed by its own power, fell 
 together in a formless heap, and the picture vanished. 
 
TELLS OF PICTURES IN THE FIRE 299 
 
 Louisa closed her eyes, for the heat in them was in- 
 tolerable. But only for a moment, for now her mind 
 was made up. 
 
 Ever since she had parted from Luke, one thought 
 had been dominant in her mind, one memory had 
 obtruded itself beyond all others, taking definite shape 
 in the visions conjured up by the glowing embers of 
 the fire : that night in Brussels ! — the great, unforget- 
 able night, on which her whole life's history seemed 
 to find its birth-time. 
 
 One great resolve, too, had now taken definite shape. 
 
 Louisa rang for her maid, and asked for hat and 
 cloak. The maid, somewhat horrified that her mistress 
 should think of going out alone at so late an hour, was 
 too well drilled to offer advice or make comment. She 
 brought a warm wrap and a closely fitting, simple hat, 
 and respectfully wished to know when she should 
 expect her mistress home. 
 
 " In about an hour's time," said Louisa. " Come 
 down into the hall with me, and tell the porter to call 
 me a cab." 
 
 Then she went down, accompanied by her maid. A 
 cab was called, and she directed the driver to 56 Chester 
 Terrace. 
 
 The address was that of Lady Ryder's town house. 
 The maid — feeling; more satisfied — went upstairs again. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 PEOPLE DON'T DO THAT SORT OF THING 
 
 LADY RYDER was out of town. She was stay- 
 ing at a country house in the Midlands, cha- 
 peroning her nieces — Louisa's twin sisters — but Sir 
 Thomas Ryder was at home. 
 
 It was for him that Louisa had asked when the 
 butler opened the door in answer to her ring. 
 
 " Sir Thomas is in the library, miss," said the man. 
 " Will you come into the drawing-room ? and I'll tell 
 Sir Thomas you are here, miss." 
 
 " No ! " she said, " don't announce me. I'll go to 
 the library." 
 
 Sir Thomas put down the paper, which he had been 
 reading, when his niece entered. He did not seem at all 
 astonished to see her. No doubt the exercise of his 
 profession had taught him never to be surprised at 
 anything in life. He rose, when he recognized who it 
 was, and carefully folded his eyeglasses, and" slipped 
 them into their case and into his waistcoat pocket. 
 Then he said — 
 
 " My dear Louisa ! this is quite unexpected ! Is 
 your father with you ? " 
 
 " No ! " she replied. " I came alone. May I sit 
 down ? " 
 
 300 
 
PEOPLE DON'T DO THAT SORT OF THING 301 
 
 " Certainly, my dear child," he said genially, and 
 himself wheeled a capacious arm-chair round to the 
 fire. 
 
 " I am not disturbing you, Uncle Ryder ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! take off your cloak, won't you ? I was 
 only looking at the evening paper, preparatory to 
 turning in early." 
 
 She glanced at the paper on the table : that page 
 was uppermost that bore the startling headline, in 
 unusually large type : " The Murder in the Taxi-cab. 
 Sensational Developments." The chief of the Criminal 
 Investigation Department studied the accounts in the 
 newspapers, the opinion of pressmen and reporters. 
 Everything interested him : he weighed everything 
 in his mind, no silly advice, no empty tittle-tattle, was 
 ever dismissed by him without its due meed of con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Uncle and niece now sat opposite each other, facing 
 the hearth. He looked straight into the fire, knowing 
 that she would not wish him to see the misery in her 
 face. 
 
 " Will you have something, Loo ? " he asked kindly. 
 " A cup of tea, or something ? " 
 
 " No, thank you, uncle. We had dinner, and father 
 has gone to the Club. I came to see you about Luke." 
 
 " Yes ? " he said. 
 
 " All along," she continued, " ever since father saw 
 you yesterday, I wanted to speak to you. Silly con- 
 ventionality kept me back." 
 
 " It certainly is not usual . . ." he began. 
 
 " No," she broke in quickly, " I know it is not. But 
 
302 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 this is an unusual case, far too serious for silly ideas 
 of tact or convention to creep in. The man whom 
 I love best in all the world is falsely accused of a most 
 abominable crime. He was arrested — by your orders, 
 I suppose — about an hour ago." 
 
 He put up his hand in gentle deprecation. 
 
 " Stop a moment, my dear," he said quite kindly, 
 but very decisively. " If you have any idea at the 
 back of your head that I, personally, have any in- 
 fluence at my command, with regard to Luke de 
 Mountford's fate, then the sooner you get that idea 
 out of your head the better. If you came here to-night 
 with the notion that by pleading with me you could 
 save Luke from the consequences of his crime, then 
 get that notion out of your head, my dear, and save 
 us both from a very painful interview. Luke de 
 Mountf ord was not arrested by my orders : I am only 
 an automaton of the law, which takes its own course, 
 without any personal interference on my part. Offici- 
 ally, I — as an automaton — did just as duty and the 
 law of this country direct. Personally, I sent through 
 your father some sound advice to Luke de Mountford." 
 
 She listened, impassive and silent, to his reproof, 
 and then said simply — 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Uncle Ryder : I must have 
 expressed myself badly. I knew quite well that you, 
 personally, bear no animosity against Luke : why 
 indeed should you ? I had no intention whatever, in 
 coming to see you to-night, of making a scene of 
 lamentation and supplication. On the contrary, I 
 knew quite well that — acting from the best of motives 
 
PEOPLE DON'T DO THAT SORT OF THING 
 
 — you advised Luke to fly from justice : since in your 
 opinion his condemnation is a foregone conclusion. 
 Father hadn't the chance of passing your advice on 
 to Luke ; because, when he got to Fairfax Mansions, 
 Edie told us that he was packing up his things, meaning 
 to catch the night boat to Calais." 
 
 " Then why the dickens did he miss his train ? " 
 exclaimed Sir Thomas gruffly. 
 
 " It was not altogether his fault," she replied. 
 " Our arrival delayed him a little ; but he would 
 have had plenty of time even then, only the police 
 came, you see, and it was too late." 
 
 " I know. It was silly, officious blundering on the 
 part of one of my subs. I meant de Mountford to have 
 plenty of time to get away ; and I could have managed 
 it somehow, to leave him unmolested, if he kept some 
 distance away from England. The whole thing has 
 been most unfortunate." 
 
 " I don't think so, uncle," she said quietly. " I am 
 glad, very glad, that Luke has been arrested." 
 
 " Are you ? " he retorted dryly. " The outlook for 
 him is not pleasant." 
 
 " I know that. But at any rate, now there is a 
 chance that he can prove his innocence." 
 
 Sir Thomas Ryder gave a quick sigh of impatience. 
 
 " My dear child," he said gently, " do try and be 
 reasonable about that. You only lay up for yourself 
 further stores of misery and of disappointment. De 
 Mountford is guilty, I tell you. He practically con- 
 fessed at the inquest, and he practically confessed 
 to our fellows after his arrest." 
 
304 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Practically," she said with strong emphasis, 
 " but not really. Luke has never confessed that he 
 has committed a murder." 
 
 " Well ! he admits that the stick with which the 
 murder was done was his stick, that he had it in his 
 hand the night that the murder was committed, 
 that he went out with it in his hand five minutes 
 before the other man was murdered." 
 
 " I know all that," she rejoined, " but let me tell you 
 this, Uncle Ryder. Luke has admitted all that, as you 
 say ; but he has never admitted that he killed Philip 
 de Mountford — or Paul Baker — whoever he may je. 
 Luke, Uncle Ryder, is allowing the awful accusation 
 to rest upon him, because he wishes to shield the real 
 perpetrator of the crime." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " broke in Sir Thomas curtly. 
 
 " Why nonsense ? " 
 
 " Because, my dear Loo," he said slowly and firmly, 
 " people don't do that sort of thing. The consequences 
 of having taken another person's life — otherwise a 
 murder — are so terrible that no one will bear them for 
 the sake of any one else on earth." 
 
 " Yet I tell you, uncle," she reiterated with firmness, 
 at least equal to his own, " that Luke never killed 
 that man, and that he pleads guilty of the crime in 
 order to shield some one else," 
 
 " Whom ? " he retorted. 
 
 " That I do not know ... as yet. But that is the 
 reason why I came here to-night, uncle : because you 
 must help me to find out." 
 
 Sir Thomas abruptly rose from his chair, and took his. 
 
PEOPLE DON'T DO THAT SORT OF THING 305 
 
 stand on the hearthrug, with legs apart, and slender 
 hands buried in the pockets of his trousers, in the 
 attitude dear to every Englishman. 
 
 His eyes, in their framework of innumerable wrinkles, 
 looked down, not unkindly, at the pale, serious face 
 of the girl before him. 
 
 He, who was accustomed to give every sprap of advice, 
 every senseless piece of tittle-tattle, its just meed of 
 attention, was not likely to leave unheeded the calm 
 assertions of a woman for whom he had great regard, 
 and who was the daughter of a brother officer and 
 one of his best friends. Of course, the girl was in love 
 with de Mountford, so her judgment on him was not 
 likely to be wholly unbiassed. At the same time, Sir 
 Thomas — like all men who have knocked about the 
 world a great deal, and seen much of its seamy side — 
 had a great belief in woman's instinct, as apart from 
 her judgment, and he was the last man in the world 
 to hold the sex in contempt. 
 
 " Look here, my dear," he said after a little while, 
 during which he had tried to read the lines in the in- 
 teresting face turned up towards him, " I honour you 
 for your sense of loyalty to de Mountford, just the same 
 as I honour your father for the like reason. And in order 
 to prove to you that I, individually, would be only too 
 happy to see the man's innocence established beyond 
 a doubt, I am going to argue this soberly and sensibly 
 with you. You hold the theory that Luke de Mount- 
 ford is shielding some one from the consequences of an 
 awful crime by taking the burden on himself. Now, 
 my dear, as I told you before, people don't do that sort 
 
306 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 of thing nowadays. In olden times, the consequences 
 of a crime — especially where the aristocracy was con- 
 cerned — were quite picturesque : the Tower, the block, 
 and all that sort of thing. But to-day the parapher- 
 nalia of vengeful justice is very sordid, very mean, and 
 anything but glorious. It means the lengthy inquiry 
 before a police magistrate, then the trial, the past 
 dragged up to the light, the most private secrets thrown 
 to the morbid curiosity of the million. In order to face 
 that sort of thing, my dear, a man must be either guilty 
 — then he cannot help it ; or wrongfully accused — then 
 he hopes for the establishment of his innocence. But 
 a man does not prepare himself to face all that out of 
 Quixotic motives alone, knowing himself to be inno- 
 cent, and because he desires that another should be 
 spared those awful humiliations and the chance of a 
 disgusting and shameful death." 
 
 " What do you mean by all that, Uncle Ryder ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " I mean that if we are going to admit this Quixotic 
 motive in de Mountford's attitude now, there can only 
 be one mainspring for it." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " It is perhaps a little difficult . . ." he said some- 
 what hesitatingly. 
 
 " You mean," she interposed quietly, " that if Luke 
 is taking this awful crime upon himself for the sake of 
 another, that other can only be a woman whom he loves." 
 
 " Well ! " retorted Sir Thomas, " it is not you, my dear, 
 I presume, who killed this bricklayer from Clapham." 
 
 She did not reply immediately ; but her lips almost 
 
PEOPLE DONT DO THAT SORT OF THING 307 
 
 framed themselves into a smile. Luke, and another 
 woman ! To Sir Thomas Ryder that seemed, indeed, 
 a very simple explanation. Men have been known to 
 do strange things, to endure much and to sacrifice 
 everything for the sake of a woman ! But then, Sir 
 Thomas knew nothing of Luke, nothing more than 
 what the latter chose to show of his inward self to the 
 world. The memory of those few moments in the 
 room in Fairfax Mansions laughed the other man's 
 suggestion to scorn. Louisa shook her head and said 
 simply — 
 
 "No, Uncle Ryder, I did not kill the Clapham 
 bricklayer in the cab." 
 
 " And you won't admit that Luke may be shielding 
 another woman ? " said Sir Thomas, with just the 
 faintest semblance of a sneer. 
 
 " I won't say that," she replied gravely. " You see, 
 I don't really know. I would take a dying oath at this 
 moment — if I were on the point of death — that Luke 
 never committed that abominable crime. I won't even 
 say that he is incapable of it. I'll only swear that he 
 did not do it. And yet he is silent when he is accused. 
 Then, to me, the only possible, the only logical conclu- 
 sion is that he is shielding some one else." 
 
 " Have you questioned him ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Put the question directly to him, I mean ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And what did he say ? " 
 
 " That his own stick condemns him, and that he 
 would plead guilty at his trial." 
 
308 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " He never told you directly or indirectly that he 
 killed the man ? " 
 
 For. the space of one second only did Louisa hesitate. 
 She had asked Luke the direct question : " Was it you 
 who killed that man ? " and he had replied : "It was 
 I." She had asked it then, determined to know the 
 truth, convinced that she would know the truth when 
 he gave reply. And she did learn the truth then and 
 there, not as Luke hoped that she would interpret it, 
 but as it really was. He had never really lied to her, 
 for she had never been deceived. Now, she did not wish 
 to hide anything from Sir Thomas Ryder, the only 
 man in the whole world who could help her to prove 
 Luke's innocence in spite of himself, therefore when 
 her uncle reiterated his question somewhat sharply, 
 she replied quite frankly, looking straight up at him — 
 
 " He told me directly that it was he who had killed 
 the man." 
 
 " And even then you did not believe him ? " 
 
 " I knew that he tried to he." 
 
 " You firmly believe that de Mountford knows who 
 killed that Paul Baker — or whoever he was ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " And that he means to go through his trial, and to 
 plead guilty to a charge of murder, so that the real 
 criminal should escape ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 " And that he is prepared to hang — to hang, mind 
 you ! " reiterated Sir Thomas, with almost cruel 
 bluntness, " if he is condemned, in order to allow the 
 real criminal to escape ? " 
 
PEOPLE DON'T DO THAT SORT OF THING 309 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you yourself have no notion as to who this 
 person may be ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Is there anybody, do you think, who is likely to 
 know more about Luke de Mountf ord's past and present 
 life than you do yourself ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said, " Lord Radclyffe." 
 
 " Old Radclyffe ! " he ejaculated. 
 
 " Why, yes. Lord Radclyffe adored Luke before this 
 awful man came between them. He had him with him 
 ever since Luke was a tiny boy. There's no one in the 
 world for whom he cared as he cared for Luke, and the 
 affection was fully reciprocated.- My belief is that Lord 
 Radclyffe knows more about Luke than any one else 
 in the world." 
 
 " But old Rad is very ill just now, unfortunately." 
 
 " It would kill him," she retorted, " if anything 
 happened to Luke, whilst he was being coddled up as 
 an invalid, almost as a prisoner, and no news allowed 
 to reach him." 
 
 Sir Thomas was silent for a moment, obviously 
 buried in thought. That he was still incredulous was 
 certainly apparent to Louisa's supersensitive percep- 
 tions ; but that he meant to be of help to her, in 
 spite of this incredulity, was equally certain. There- 
 fore she waited patiently until he had collected his 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Well, my dear," he said at last, " I'll tell you 
 what I will do. To-morrow morning I'll go and see if 
 I can have a talk with old Rad ..." 
 
310 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " To-morrow morning," she broke in gravely, 
 " Luke will be dragged before the magistrate . . . 
 the first stage of that awful series of humiliations 
 which you yourself say, Uncle Ryder, that no man 
 who is innocent can possibly endure ! " 
 
 " I know, my dear," he said almost apologetically, 
 " but I don't see now how that can be avoided." 
 
 " We could see Lord Radclyffe to-night ! " 
 
 " To-night ? " he exclaimed. " Why ! it's nearly 
 ten o'clock." 
 
 " In matters of this sort, time does not count." 
 
 " But old Rad is an invalid ! " 
 
 " He may be a dead man to-morrow, if he hears that 
 Luke — Luke, who was the apple of his eye, who 
 is the heir to his name and title — is being dragged in 
 open court before a police magistrate, charged with 
 an abominable crime." 
 
 " But the doctor, I understand, has forbidden him 
 to see any one." 
 
 " I think that the matter has passed the bounds of 
 a doctor's orders. I would go and force my way into 
 his presence without the slightest scruple. I know that 
 any news that he may glean about Luke, within the 
 next few days, will be far more fatal to him than the 
 few questions which I want to ask him to-night." 
 
 "That may be, my dear," rejoined Sir Thomas 
 dryly, " but this does not apply to me. Old Rad is a 
 very old friend of mine, but if I went with you on this 
 errand to-night, I should be going not as a friend, but 
 in an official capacity, and as such I cannot do it with- 
 out the doctor's permission." 
 
PEOPLE DON'T DO THAT SORT OF THING 311 
 
 " Very well, then," she said quietly, " we'll ask Dr. 
 Newington's permission." 
 
 For a little while yet Sir Thomas Ryder seemed to 
 hesitate. Clearly the girl's arguments, her simple con- 
 viction, and her latent energy had made a marked im- 
 pression upon him. He was no longer the sceptical 
 hide-bound official : the man, the gentleman was tear- 
 ing away at the fetters of red tape. All the old in- 
 stincts of chivalry, which at times might be dormant 
 in the heart of an English gentleman — but which are al- 
 ways there nevertheless, hidden away by the mantle of 
 convention — had been aroused by Louisa's attitude to- 
 wards the man she loved, and also by the remembrance 
 of Luke's bearing throughout this miserable business. 
 
 After all, what the girl asked was not so very diffi- 
 cult of execution. There are undoubtedly cases where 
 the usual conventional formulas of etiquette must 
 give way to serious exigencies. And there was un- 
 answerable logic in Louisa's arguments : at any time 
 in the near future that old Rad — either through his own 
 obstinacy, or the stupidity or ill-will of a servant — got 
 hold of a newspaper, the suddenness of the blow which 
 he would receive by learning the terrible news without 
 due preparation would inevitably prove fatal to him. 
 Sir Thomas Ryder prided himself on being a diplo- 
 matist of the first water ; he did believe that he could 
 so put the necessary questions to Lord Radclyffe, with 
 regard to Luke, that the old man would not suspect 
 the truth for a moment. The latter had, of course, 
 known of the murder before he had been stricken with 
 illness ; he had at the time answered the questions 
 
312 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 put to him by the police officer, without seeming to be 
 greatly shocked at the awful occurrence, and it was not 
 likely that he would be greatly upset at a professional 
 visit from an old friend, who at the same time had the 
 unravelling of the murder mystery at heart. 
 
 All these thoughts mirrored themselves on Sir 
 Thomas's wrinkled face. He was taking no trouble to 
 conceal them from Louisa. Soon she saw that she had 
 won her first victory, for her uncle now said with sudden 
 determination — 
 
 " Well, my dear ! you have certainly got on the right 
 side of me. Your aunt always said you had a very 
 persuasive way with you. I'll tell you what we will do. 
 It is now a quarter to ten — late enough, by jingo ! 
 We'll get into one of those confounded taxis, and drive 
 to Dr. Newington's. I'll see him. You shall stay in 
 the cab ; and if I. can get his permission, we'll go and 
 have a talk with old Rad — or rather I'll talk first and 
 you shall pretend that our joint visit is only a coinci- 
 dence. As a matter of fact he knew all about the 
 murder before he got ill, and he won't think it at all 
 unnatural that I have obtained special medical per- 
 mission to question him myself on the subject. Then 
 you must work in your questions about Luke as best 
 you can afterwards. Is that agreed now ? " 
 
 " Indeed it is, Uncle Ryder," said Louisa, as she 
 rose from her chair, with a deep sigh of infinite content- 
 ment. " Thank you," she added gently, and placed 
 her neatly gloved hand upon his arm. 
 
 With a kind, fatherly gesture, he gave that little 
 hand an encouraging pat. Then he rang the bell. 
 
PEOPLE DON'T DO THAT SORT OF THING 313 
 
 " A taxi — quickly ! " he said to his man. " My fur 
 coat and my hat. I am going out." 
 
 Louisa had gained her first victory. She had put 
 forward neither violence nor passion in support of her 
 arguments. Yet she had conquered because she be- 
 lieved. 
 
 A few moments later she and Sir Thomas Ryder were 
 on their way to Dr. Newington's in Hertford Street. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 IT IS ONE HUMAN LIFE AGAINST THE OTHER 
 
 ONCE more Louisa was sitting in the dark corner 
 of a cab, seeing London by night, as the motor 
 flew past lighted thoroughfares, dark, narrow streets, 
 stately mansions and mean houses. The same end- 
 less monotony of bricks and mortar, of pillars and 
 railings ; the same endless monotony of everyday life, 
 whilst some hearts were breaking and others suffered 
 misery to which cruel, elusive death refused its supreme 
 solace. 
 
 She waited in the cab whilst Sir Thomas Ryder went 
 in to see the doctor. Fortunately the latter was at 
 home, and able to see Sir Thomas. 
 
 At first he was obdurate. Nothing that the high 
 officer of police could say would move his medical 
 dictum. Lord Radclyffe was too ill to see any one. 
 He was hardly conscious. His brain was working very 
 feebly. He had not spoken for two days, for speech 
 was difficult. 
 
 " If," said Dr. Newington, in his habitual pompous 
 manner, " he had the least inkling now, that that 
 favourite nephew of his was guilty of this awful murder, 
 why, my dear sir, I wouldn't answer for the conse- 
 quences. I believe the feeble bit of life in him would 
 go out like a candle that's been blown upon." 
 
 814 
 
ONE HUMAN LIFE AGAINST THE OTHER 315 
 
 " Who talks," retorted Sir Thomas somewhat im- 
 patiently, and assuming a manner at least as pompous 
 as that of the fashionable physician, " of letting Lord 
 Radclyffe know anything about his nephew's position ? 
 I don't. I have no such intention. But de Mount- 
 ford's plight is a very serious one. There are one or 
 two points about his former life that Lord Radclyffe 
 could elucidate if he will. I want your permission to 
 ask him two or three questions. Hang it all, man, de 
 Mountford's life is in danger ! I don't think that you 
 have the right to oppose me in this. You take a most 
 awful responsibility upon your shoulders." 
 
 " A medical man," said Dr. Newington vaguely, 
 " has to take upon himself certain grave responsibilities 
 sometimes." 
 
 " Yes. But not such a grave one as this. You must 
 at least give me the chance of interrogating Lord Rad- 
 clyffe. Supposing he knows something that may 
 throw light on this awful affair, something that may 
 go to prove de Mountford's innocence or guilt — either 
 way — and suppose that owing to your prohibitions, 
 all knowledge of his nephew's fate is kept from him 
 until it is too late, until de Mountford is hanged — for 
 he risks hanging, doctor, let me tell you that ! — suppose 
 that you have stood in the way, when some simple 
 explanation from your patient might have saved him ! 
 What then?" 
 
 " But the patient is too ill, I tell you. He wouldn't 
 understand you, probably. I am sure he couldn't 
 answer your questions." 
 
 The doctor's original pompous manner had left him 
 
316 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 somewhat. He was now more like an obstinate man, 
 arguing, than like a medical man whose pronounce- 
 ments must be final. Sir Thomas Ryder — one of the 
 keenest men to note such subtle changes in another — 
 saw that he had gained an advantage. He was quick 
 enough to press it home. 
 
 " Let me try, at all events," he said. " The whole 
 matter is of such enormous importance ! — after all, 
 doctor, it is a question of one human life against the 
 other. With regard to de Mountford, let me tell you 
 that unless we can get some very definite proof as to 
 his innocence, it is bound to go hard with him. Say 
 that a few weeks hence Lord Radclyffe, recovering 
 from this severe illness, is confronted with the news 
 that his nephew is being tried for murder, or that he 
 has been condemned — I won't even mention the final 
 awful possibility — do you think that you or any one 
 will save the old man's life then, or his reason per- 
 haps ? " 
 
 Dr. Newington was silent for a while. Clearly he 
 was ready to give way. Like most men who outwardly 
 are very pompous and dictatorial, his blustering was 
 only veneer. The strong will-power of a more deter- 
 mined intellect very soon reduced him to compliance. 
 And all that Sir Thomas Ryder said was logical. It 
 carried a great deal of conviction. 
 
 " Very well," said the doctor at last, " I'll give you 
 permission to interview my patient. But on two con- 
 ditions." 
 
 " What are they ? " 
 
 "That the interview takes place in my presence, 
 
ONE HUMAN LIFE AGAINST THE OTHER 317 
 
 and that at the first word from me, you cease ques- 
 tioning my patient, and leave his room." 
 
 " Very well," assented Sir Thomas, without any 
 hesitation, content that he had gained his point, and 
 quite satisfied that the two conditions were perfectly 
 reasonable and such that the doctor was really com- 
 pelled to impose. " I must tell you that I came to see 
 you to-night at the instance of my niece, Louisa Harris, 
 who was fiancee to de Mountford before this unfortu- 
 nate business. It was she who adduced certain argu- 
 ments which she placed before me, and which led to 
 my strong desire to question Lord Radclyffe to-night, 
 before de Mountford is brought up before the magistrate 
 to-morrow. She is down below in the cab, waiting 
 for me." 
 
 "I cannot allow her to see my patient also," pro- 
 tested the doctor quickly. 
 
 " No, no. She shall not see him, unless you give 
 permission." 
 
 " Why don't you send her home right away, then ? " 
 
 " Because," retorted Sir Thomas tartly, " you might 
 give that permission, you see." 
 
 The argument between the two men had lasted 
 close on half an hour. It was long past ten o'clock 
 when at last Louisa saw them emerging through the 
 lighted doorway. The next moment they were seated 
 in the cab with her, Sir Thomas having given the 
 chauffeur the address of Lord Radclyffe's house in 
 Grosvenor Square. 
 
 The doctor tried to be bland and polite, but he was 
 not over-successful in this, He did not like being 
 
318 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 opposed, nor hearing his pronouncements combated. 
 In this case he had been forced to give way, somewhat 
 against his better judgment, and all the way in the cab 
 he was comforting himself with the thought that at any 
 rate he would keep women away from his patient, and 
 that he would in any case cut the interview very short, 
 and demand its abrupt cessation very peremptorily. 
 He would then be backed up by two nurses ; and we 
 must do him the justice to say that he was honestly 
 anxious about his patient. 
 
 Louisa took no notice of the fashionable doctor's 
 efforts at conversation. She preferred to remain quite 
 silent for those few minutes which elapsed between the 
 departure from Hertford Street and the arrival at the 
 east side of Grosvenor Square. When she saw her 
 uncle coming down the steps of the doctor's house in 
 company with the doctor himself, she knew that the 
 second victory had been won to-night ; that Sir 
 Thomas Ryder would be allowed to interview Lord 
 Radclyffe. She had, of course, no suspicion of Dr. 
 Newington's conditions to the interview, but the 
 victory gained was an important one, and for the 
 moment she was content. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 THE HAND OF DEATH WAS ON HIM TOO 
 
 A RESPECTABLE-LOOKING butler opened the 
 door in answer to Dr. Newington's pull at the bell. 
 
 Luke had had time — on the day preceding the in- 
 quest — to put some semblance of order in his uncle's 
 household. The doctor had sent in the nurses, and 
 he had seen to a nice capable housekeeper being in- 
 stalled in the house. She took the further management 
 at once in her own hands. She dismissed the drunken 
 couple summarily, and engaged a couple of decent 
 servants — a butler and a cook. 
 
 The house, though no less gloomy, looked certainly 
 less lonely and neglected. 
 
 Mr. Warren, who had been Lord RadclyfEe's sec- 
 retary for years, but who had been speedily given his 
 conge when the impostor took up his permanent abode 
 in the house, was installed once more in the library, 
 replying to the innumerable letters and telegrams of 
 inquiry which poured in with every post. 
 
 Louisa and Sir Thomas were shown into the room 
 where the young man was sitting. He rose at once, 
 offering chairs, and pushing his own work aside. In 
 the meanwhile the doctor had gone upstairs. 
 
 319 
 
320 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Several minutes elapsed. No one spoke. Mr. 
 Warren, who had always been deeply attached to 
 Luke de Mountford, was longing to ask questions, 
 which, however, he was too shy to formulate. At last 
 there was a knock at the door, and one of the nurses 
 came in to say that Lord Radclyffe would be pleased 
 to see Sir Thomas Ryder upstairs. 
 
 Louisa rose at the same time as her uncle, but the 
 latter detained her with a gesture full of kind sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 " Not just yet, my dear," he said, " I'll call you as 
 soon as possible." 
 
 " But," she asked anxiously, " I shall be allowed 
 to see him, shan't I ? " 
 
 " I think so," he replied evasively. " But even if 
 you do not see him, you can trust to me. Oh yes, you 
 can ! " he added insistently, seeing the deeply troubled 
 look that had crept into her face at his words. " I 
 am going to do to-night what I often have to do in the 
 course of my work. I am going to borrow your soul 
 and your mind, and allow them to speak through my 
 lips. When I go upstairs, I shall only outwardly be 
 the police officer, searching for proofs of a crime : 
 inwardly I shall be a noble-hearted woman trying to 
 discover proofs of her fiance's innocence. That will 
 be right, dear, won't it ? " 
 
 She nodded acquiescence, trying to appear con- 
 tent. Then she pleaded once again, dry-eyed and 
 broken-voiced — 
 
 " You will try and get permission for me to see Lord 
 Radclyffe, won't you ? " 
 
THE HAND OF DEATH WAS ON HIM 321 
 
 " I give you my word," he said solemnly. 
 
 Then he went upstairs. 
 
 Mr. Warren, quiet and sympathetic, persuaded 
 Louisa to sit down again by the hearth. He took her 
 muff and fur stole from her, and threw a log on the 
 fire. The flames spurted off, giving a cheerful crackle. 
 But Louisa saw no pictures in this fire : her mind was 
 upstairs in Lord Radclyffe's room, wondering what 
 was happening. 
 
 Mr. Warren spoke of the murdered man. He had 
 not been present at the inquest, and the news that the 
 tyrant, who had ruled over Lord Radclyffe for so long, 
 was nothing but an impostor, came as a fearful shock 
 to him. 
 
 There was the pitifulness of the whole thing ! the 
 utter purposelessness of a hideous crime. So many 
 lives wrecked ; such awful calamity ; such appalling 
 humiliation ; such ignominy ! And all just for 
 nothing ! A very little trouble, almost superficial 
 inquiry, would have revealed the imposture, and saved 
 all that sorrow, all the dire humiliation, and prevented 
 the crime, for which the law of man decrees that there 
 shall be no pardon. 
 
 The man who lay ill upstairs — and he who was lying 
 in the public mortuary, surrounded by all the pomp 
 and luxury which he had filched by his lies — alone 
 could tell the secret of the extraordinary success 
 of the imposture. Lord Radclyffe had accepted the 
 bricklayer's son almost as his own, with that same 
 obstinate reserve with which he had at first flouted 
 the very thought of the man's pretensions. Who could 
 
322 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 tell what persuasion was used ? what arguments ? 
 what threats ? 
 
 And the man was an impostor after all ! and he had 
 been murdered, when one word, perhaps, would have 
 effaced him from the world as completely, and less 
 majestically, than had been done by death. 
 
 Mr. Warren talked of it all, and Louisa listened with 
 half an ear, even whilst every sense of hearing in her 
 was concentrated on the floor above, in a vain en- 
 deavour to get a faint inkling of what went on in Lord 
 Radclyffe's room. She had heard her uncle's step 
 on the landing, the few hurried sentences exchanged 
 with the doctor before entering the sick chamber, the 
 opening and shutting of a door. Then again the lighter 
 footsteps of the nurses, who had evidently been sent 
 out of the room when Sir Thomas went in. Louisa 
 heard the faint hum of their voices as they descended 
 the stairs, even a suppressed giggle now and then : 
 they were happy, no doubt, at the few moments of 
 respite from constant watching which had apparently 
 been accorded them. 
 
 They ran quickly down the last flight of stairs, and 
 across the hall towards the servants' quarters. Their 
 chattering was heard faintly echoing through the 
 baize doors. Then nothing more. 
 
 Less than a quarter of an hour went by, and 
 again she heard the opening and shutting of a door, 
 and men's footsteps on the landing. 
 
 Louisa could not believe either her eyes, which were 
 gazing on the clock, or her ears, which heard now quite 
 distinctly the voice of Sir Thomas descending the 
 
THE HAND OF DEATH WAS ON HIM 323 
 
 stairs, and Dr. Newington's more pompous tones in 
 reply. 
 
 " The interview," remarked Mr. Warren, " did not 
 last very long." 
 
 But already she had risen from her chair, desperately 
 anxious, wondering what the meaning could be of the 
 shortness of the interview. She was not kept long in 
 suspense : for a moment or two later Sir Thomas Ryder 
 came in, followed by Dr. Newington. One glance at her 
 uncle's face told her the whole disappointing truth 
 even before he spoke. 
 
 " It was useless, my dear," he said, " and Dr. New- 
 ington was quite right. Lord Radclyffe, I am sorry 
 to say, is hardly conscious. He is evidently unable 
 to understand what is said, and certainly quite in- 
 capable of making any effort to reply." 
 
 " I was afraid so," added Dr. Newington in his usual 
 conventional tones. " The patient, you see, is hardly 
 conscious. His mind is dormant. He just knows me 
 and his nurses, but he did not recognize Sir Thomas." 
 
 Louisa said nothing : the blank, hopeless disap- 
 pointment, following on the excitement of the past 
 two hours, was exceedingly difficult to bear. The 
 ruling passion — strong even in the midst of despair — 
 the pride that was in her, alone kept her from an utter 
 breakdown. She was grateful to her uncle, who very 
 tactfully interposed his tall figure between her and 
 the indifferent eyes of the doctor. Mr. Warren looked 
 more sympathetic than ever, and that was just as 
 trying to bear as the pompousness of Dr. Newington. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Louisa had absolutely ceased 
 
324 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 to think. The whole future from this moment ap- 
 peared as an absolute blank. She had not begun to en- 
 visage the possibility of going back to the hotel, having 
 utterly failed in accomplishing that which she had set 
 heart and mind to do : the throwing of the first feeble 
 ray of light on the impenetrable darkness of Luke's 
 supposed guilt. She certainly had not envisaged the 
 going to bed to-night, the getting up to-morrow, 
 the beginning of another day, with its thousand and 
 one trivial tasks and incidents, all the while that she 
 had failed in doing that which alone could prevent 
 the awful catastrophe of to-morrow ! 
 
 Luke standing in the dock, like a common criminal ! 
 
 " I'll just see about getting a cab, dear," said her 
 uncle kindly. 
 
 The first of those thousand and one trivialities, which 
 would go on and on from now onwards, in endless 
 monotony, whilst Luke mounted, step by step and 
 alone, that terrible Calvary which meant his trial and 
 his condemnation — and on the summit of which there 
 awaited him already an awful and shameful death. 
 
 It was indeed unthinkable. No wonder that her 
 mind rebelled at the task : refusing all thoughts, 
 remaining like a grey, blank slate, from which every 
 impression of past and future has been wiped out. 
 
 Sir Thomas Ryder went out of the room, and Mr. 
 Warren went with him. They left the door ajar, so that 
 she could hear them talking in the hall. Mr. Warren 
 said — 
 
 " Don't go out, Sir Thomas. It's a horrid night. 
 Fletcher will get you a cab." 
 
THE HAND OF DEATH WAS ON HIM 
 
 And Sir Thomas replied : " Thank you." 
 
 " Won't you," said the younger man, " wait in 
 the library ? " 
 
 He had apparently rung a bell, for the man-servant 
 came into the hall, and was duly told off to whistle for 
 a cab. 
 
 " I'd rather go into another room, for a moment, 
 Mr. Warren, if I may," said Sir Thomas. " There are 
 just one or two little questions I would like to put 
 to you." 
 
 " Certainly, Sir Thomas," replied Mr. Warren with 
 alacrity. 
 
 The two men went together into the dining-room. 
 Louisa, by shutting her eyes, could almost see them, 
 sitting there in the stately and gloomy room which 
 she knew so well. She could call to mind the last 
 occasion on which she had lunched there, with Lord 
 Radclyffe and Luke, and Edie and Jim. It was the 
 day on which the impostor first forced his way into 
 the house. Louisa had a clear vision of him even 
 now, just as she had seen him standing that day in 
 the hall, before his interview with Lord Radclyffe. 
 Parker was helping him with his coat, and Louisa had 
 seen his face : the bricklayer's son, who had come 
 forward with his marvellous array of lies, and who had 
 been so implicitly believed, that he himself had to pay 
 for his lies with a most horrible death. 
 
 For that death now — and because of the impene- 
 trable mystery which the impostor had taken with him 
 to his humble grave — Luke stood in danger of being 
 punished with death that was even more horrible than 
 
326 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 that caused by a stab in the neck under cover of dark- 
 ness and of fog." 
 
 The one chance that there had been of rinding a clue 
 to the mystery had been dissipated by the silence of the 
 sick man upstairs. The hand of death was upon him 
 too. He also would take the secret of the bricklayer's 
 son silently with him to the grave. 
 
 Louisa's eyes, vacant and tearless, wandered aim- 
 lessly round the room. Dr. Newington was sitting 
 at the desk, writing either a letter or a prescription, 
 which apparently required a considerable amount of 
 thought. He seemed deeply absorbed in what he 
 wrote, and from time to time referred to a small 
 note-book which he took out of his pocket. 
 
 The scratching of his stylo against the paper was the 
 only sound that struck Louisa's ear, the rest of the 
 house seemed lonely and still. Only from far away 
 came the shrill screeching of the cab-whistle. 
 
 Louisa rose and went to the door, peeping out into 
 the hall. It was deserted, and the dining-room door 
 was shut. She slipped out into the hall. Dr. Newing- 
 ton apparently did not trouble himself about her. 
 Very softly she closed the library door behind her. 
 
 Then she ran swiftly upstairs. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 A MERE WOMAN FIGHTING FOR THE THING SHE LOVED 
 
 LOUISA reached the landing slightly out of breath. 
 She knew her way about the old house very well. 
 Two doors now were opposite to her. One of these had 
 been left ajar — intentionally, no doubt — it was the one 
 that gave on a smaller morning-room, where, in the 
 olden days, Lord Radclyffe used to have his breakfast 
 and write his private letters, the library being given 
 over to Mr. Warren and to official correspondence. 
 
 From this side of the house, and right through the 
 silence that hung over it, Louisa could hear very 
 faintly rising from the servants' quarters below the 
 sound of women's voices chattering and giggling. The 
 nurses, then, had not returned to their post. With the 
 indifference born of long usage, they were enjoying 
 every minute of the brief respite accorded them, con- 
 tent to wait for the doctor's call if the patient had 
 immediate need of them. 
 
 Through the chink of the door the red glow of a 
 shaded lamp came as a sharp crimson streak cutting 
 the surrounding gloom. 
 
 Louisa pushed open the door that was ajar, and tip- 
 toed softly in. 
 
 The little room had been transformed for present 
 
 327 
 
328 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 emergencies. The desk had been pushed aside, and a 
 small iron bedstead fitted up for the night nurse. A 
 woman's paraphernalia were scattered about on the 
 massive early Victorian furniture : a comb and brush, 
 a cap and apron neatly folded, a couple of long pins 
 Uttered the table which used to look so severe with its 
 heavy inkstand and firm blotting-pad. The piano had 
 been relegated into a corner, and the portrait of Luke 
 which always hung over the mantelpiece had been 
 removed. 
 
 The door into the bedroom was wide open, and with- 
 out any hesitation Louisa went in. The bed was im- 
 mediately in front of her, and between it and the 
 hanging lamp beyond, a screen had been placed, so 
 that the upper part of the sick man's figure was in- 
 visible at first in the gloom, and the fight lay like a 
 red patch right across the quilt at the foot. 
 
 Louisa advanced noiselessly, and then halted beside 
 the bed. The room was pleasantly warm, and the 
 smell of disinfectants, of medicines, and of lavender- 
 water hung in the air — the air of a sick-room oppres- 
 sive and enervating. 
 
 Gradually Louisa's eyes became accustomed to the 
 semi-darkness. She fixed them on the sick man, who 
 lay quite still against the pillows, his face no less white 
 than the linen against which it rested. Louisa had no 
 idea that any man could alter so in such a brief while. 
 It almost seemed difficult to recognize in the white 
 emaciated figure that lay there with the stillness of 
 death, the vigorous man of a few months ago. 
 
 The face had the appearance of wax, deep lines from 
 
FIGHTING FOR THE THING SHE LOVED 329 
 
 the nostrils to the corners of the mouth accentuating 
 its hollow appearance ; the hair was almost snow-white 
 now and clung matted and damp to the forehead and 
 sunken temples. 
 
 Lord Radclyffe seemed unconscious of Louisa's 
 presence in the room ; but his eyes were wide open 
 and fixed on a spot high up on the wall immediately 
 opposite to the bed. Louisa looked to see on what 
 those eyes were gazing so intently, and turning she 
 saw the splendid portrait of Luke de Mountford 
 — painted by the greatest living master of portraiture 
 — which" we all admired in the rooms of the Royal 
 Academy a few years ago. It had been taken away 
 from the boudoir, and brought in here so that the sick 
 man might have the semblance now that he was parted 
 from the reality. 
 
 Only a feeble breath escaped Lord Radclyffe's parted 
 lips : there was no distortion in the face, and the 
 hands lay still — waxen-white against the quilt. Louisa 
 looked down on the sick man without, at first, at- 
 tempting to speak. She looked down on this the last 
 chord of hope's broken lute, the frail thread on which 
 hung Luke's one chance of safety : this feeble life 
 almost ended, this weak breath which alone could 
 convey words of hope ! For the moment Louisa's 
 heart almost misgave her, when she thought of what 
 she meant to do : to bring, namely, this wandering 
 spirit back to earth, in order to make it conscious of 
 such misery as no heart of man could endure and 
 not break. It seemed like purposeless, inhuman 
 cruelty ! 
 
330 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Even if she could call that enfeebled mind back to 
 the hideous realities of to-day, what chance was there 
 that the few words which this dying man could utter 
 would be those that could save Luke from the 
 gallows ? 
 
 Was it not better to let the broken heart sink to rest 
 in peace, the weakened mind go back to the land of 
 shadows, unconscious of further sorrow ? 
 
 Uncertain now and vaguely fearful, she looked up 
 at the portrait of Luke. The eyes in the magnificently 
 painted picture seemed endowed with amazing 
 vitality. To the loving, heart-broken woman it seemed 
 as if they made a direct appeal to her. Yet, what 
 appeal did they make ? 
 
 To let the old man — " Uncle Rad " — die in peace, 
 ignorant of the awful fate which must inevitably befall 
 the man whom he loved with such strange, such en- 
 during affection ? 
 
 Or did those eyes ask for help there, where no other 
 human being could lend assistance now ? 
 
 " Lord Radclyffe ! " 
 
 The words escaped her suddenly, almost frighten- 
 ing her, though all along she knew that she had meant 
 to speak. 
 
 " Do you know me, Lord Radclyffe ? " she said 
 again. " It is Louisa Harris." 
 
 No reply. The great eyes with the shadow of death 
 over them were gazing on the face, on which they had 
 always loved to dwell. 
 
 " Lord Radclyffe," she reiterated, and the deep notes 
 of her contralto voice quivered with the poignancy of 
 
FIGHTING FOR THE THING SHE LOVED 331 
 
 her emotion, " Luke is in very great danger, the gravest 
 possible danger that can befall any man. Do you 
 understand me?" 
 
 Again no reply. But the great eyes — sunken and 
 glassy — slowly fell from the picture to her face. 
 
 " Luke," she repeated, dwelling on the word, " I 
 must speak to you about Luke." 
 
 And the lips, stiff and cold, opened slightly, and from 
 between them escaped the word, feebly, like the breath 
 of a dying man — 
 
 " Luke ! " 
 
 "He is in grave danger, Lord Radclyffe," she said 
 slowly, " in danger of death." 
 
 And this time the faded lips framed the words dis- 
 tinctly — 
 
 " Luke ... in danger of death ! " 
 
 The hands which had lain on the quilt up to now, 
 still and waxen as those of a lifeless image, began to 
 tremble visibly, and the eyes — those great, hollow eyes — 
 had a searching anxious expression in them now. 
 
 " Philip de Mountford has been murdered," said 
 Louisa. " You knew that, did you not ? " 
 
 The sick man nodded. Life and consciousness were 
 slowly returning, and with them understanding and 
 the capacity for suffering. 
 
 " And Luke is accused of having murdered him." 
 
 The trembling of the hands ceased. With a quick, 
 jerky movement they were drawn back against the 
 figure, then used as a leverage. With a sudden acces- 
 sion of strength, the sick man slowly but steadily drew 
 himself up, away from the pillows, until he was almost 
 
A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 sitting up in bed. There was understanding in the 
 eyes now, understanding and an awful look of horror. 
 
 " It is not true ! " he murmured. 
 
 " It is true," she said. " Luke was known to have 
 quarrelled with Philip de Mountford, and the dagger- 
 stick with which the crime was committed was found 
 in the Park — stained with blood — the dagger-stick 
 which belonged to Luke." 
 
 " Luke didn't do it," murmured the sick man. 
 
 " I know that he didn't," she replied firmly ; "but 
 he pleads guilty. He owns that the stick was his, and 
 will give no denial, no explanation. He is taking upon 
 himself the crime of another ..." 
 
 "It is not true ! " once more murmured the sick 
 man. 
 
 Then he fell back exhausted against the pillows. 
 
 There he lay once more, with that awful stillness of 
 death : the hands rested on the quilt as if modelled in 
 wax. The eyes were closed, and from between the 
 pale, parted lips not the faintest breath seemed to 
 escape. Helpless and anxious Louisa looked round her. 
 On a table close by stood an array of bottles. 
 She went up to it, trying to read the labels, wondering 
 if there was anything there that was a powerful restora- 
 tive. She found a small bottle labelled "Brandy," 
 and took it up in her hand ; but as she looked up again 
 she saw Dr. Newington standing in the doorway of 
 the boudoir. One of the nurses was with him, and he 
 was armed with his most pompous and most profes- 
 sional manner. 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " he asked sternly. 
 
FIGHTING FOR THE THING SHE LOVED 333 
 
 " I think," she replied, trying to master her excite- 
 ment, " that Lord Radclyffe has fainted. I did not 
 know what to do." 
 
 " I should think not indeed," he said. " And why 
 did you not ring for the nurse ? and why are you 
 here ? " 
 
 " I wished to see Lord Radclyffe myself," she replied. 
 
 " Without my permission ? " 
 
 " You would have refused it." 
 
 " Certainly I should. And I must request you to 
 leave the sick-room at once." 
 
 Baffled and miserable, she stood for a moment hesi- 
 tating, vaguely wondering if she could rebel. Indeed, 
 she had no option but to obey. The doctor was well 
 within his rights : she utterly in the wrong. 
 
 She turned towards the door ready to go ; but in 
 order to reach it from where she stood, she had to go 
 past the foot of the bed. 
 
 The nurse was busy administering restoratives, and 
 Dr. Newington had taken up the attitude dear to 
 every Englishman : his stand upon the hearthrug, and 
 his hands buried in the pockets of his trousers. He 
 was treating Louisa like a disobedient child, and she 
 had no one to appeal to in this moment of complete 
 helplessness. 
 
 One moment only did she debate with herself. The 
 nurse just then had gone to a side table to fetch some 
 brandy. The patient, so Louisa heard her tell the 
 doctor, had not actually fainted ; he was merely in a 
 state of exhaustion. 
 
 Swift and furtive, like some small animal in danger 
 
334 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 of its life, Louisa slipped in between the screen and the 
 bed, and before the doctor or nurse could prevent her 
 she had bent right over the sick man and whispered 
 close to his ear — 
 
 " Lord Radclyffe, unless you make an effort now, 
 to-morrow Luke will be standing in the dock — branded 
 as a felon. Make an effort for Luke's sake ! " 
 
 And the spirit which had gone wandering in the land 
 of shadows came back to earth at sound of that one 
 name. 
 
 " Luke ! " he whispered, " Luke, my boy. I am 
 strong. I can help you." 
 
 " Miss Harris . . ." interposed the doctor sternly. 
 
 But the sick man's words had put new strength into 
 her. She was ready to fight the doctor now. The con- 
 ventional woman of the world was transformed into 
 just a mere woman fighting for the thing she loved — 
 child, lover, or husband ! it is all the same when that 
 womanly instinct of combat is aroused. 
 
 Dr. Newington would have had to take Louisa 
 Harris by the shoulders now if he meant to eject her ; 
 for until the patient spoke, here she meant to remain. 
 
 " Doctor," she said quietly, " you have another duty 
 to perform than that of watching over your patient. 
 An innocent man is accused of a terrible crime. Lord 
 Radclyffe, though very weak, is fully conscious. If 
 he can save his nephew by a word, that word must be 
 spoken to-night." 
 
 "Send for Tom Ryder," murmured the sick man, 
 " he'll understand." 
 
 The words came in gasps, but otherwise fairly dis- 
 
FIGHTING FOR THE THING SHE LOVED 335 
 
 tinctly. Dr. Newington, in all his professional ex- 
 perience, had never been placed in such an extraor- 
 dinary dilemma. He was not quite so obstinate about 
 the whole thing as he had originally been, and a kind 
 of hopeless bewilderment showed itself upon his face. 
 
 " Will you send for Sir Thomas, doctor ? " asked 
 Louisa. " You see that Lord Radclyffe wishes it." 
 
 The doctor shrugged his shoulders. The responsi- 
 bility was getting all too heavy for him. Besides being 
 a fashionable physician, he was also a man, and as 
 such not altogether inhuman. He had seen much 
 acute suffering, both mental and physical, through- 
 out the length of his career, but never had he been 
 brought face to face with such an acute psychological 
 problem, and — frankly ! — he did not know how to deal 
 with it. 
 
 So he sent the nurse to ask Sir Thomas Ryder once 
 more to step upstairs, whilst he himself went up to his 
 patient, and with the mechanical movement born of 
 life-long habit, he placed his white, podgy fingers on 
 the feebly fluttering pulse. 
 
 " God only knows what will be the issue," he said 
 almost inaudibly. " I don't." 
 
 The sick man, on the other hand, seemed to be 
 husbanding his strength. He had most obediently 
 taken the brandy which had been given him, and now 
 he lay back quietly among the pillows, with eyes closed 
 and lips slightly parted. The hands wandered some- 
 what restlessly along the smooth surface of the quilt, 
 otherwise Lord Radclyffe lay perfectly still. It even 
 seemed — to Louisa's supersensitive gaze — as if an ex- 
 
A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 pression of content had settled over the pale face. Once 
 the sick man opened his eyes and looked up at the 
 portrait ; the lips murmured the one word — " Luke ! " 
 and slowly, very slowly two tears formed in the sunken 
 eyes and trickled down the wan cheeks. 
 
 " You had better," said the doctor curtly, " leave 
 the patient to me and to Sir Thomas." 
 
 "Certainly," she replied. "I'll wait in the next 
 room." 
 
 " Sir Thomas will call you, no doubt, if your presence 
 is desirable." 
 
 She was ready enough to obey now : her uncle's 
 footstep was heard on the landing outside. Quietly 
 she relinquished her place beside the bed, and as she 
 did so she bent down and kissed the poor old hand that 
 wandered so restlessly along the folds of the quilt. 
 
 As Sir Thomas entered the room she was just 
 leaving it. They met under the lintel of the door. 
 
 " He seems stronger," she whispered, pointing to 
 the sick man. " I think that he will make an effort — 
 for Luke's sake." 
 
 She waited a moment in the doorway, until she saw 
 Sir Thomas Ryder installed on one side of the bed, 
 and the doctor on the other side, with his finger on the 
 patient's pulse. Then she retreated into the morning- 
 room, and moved by some unaccountable impulse she 
 went to the piano, and opening it, she sat down, and 
 with exquisite softness began to play the opening bars 
 of one of her favourite songs. 
 
 She sang hardly above a whisper ; the velvety tones 
 of her voice sounded like the murmur of ghosts through 
 
FIGHTING FOR THE THING SHE LOVED 337 
 
 the heavy tapestries of the room. Whenever her voice 
 died away in the intervals of the song she could hear 
 the hum of men's voices, her uncle's low and clear, now 
 and then a word from the doctor, and through it all 
 the voice of theeick man, feeble and distinct, speaking 
 the words that would mean life to Luke. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 AND THUS HER HOUR HAD COME 
 
 HALF an hour had gone by. The fountain pen 
 dropped from Sir Thomas's cramped fingers. 
 
 He had been writing, slowly but incessantly, ever 
 since he sat down beside the sick man, and put his 
 first question to him. Lord Radclyffe, with the te- 
 nacity peculiar to a strong nature, had clung to his 
 own strength and will-power, and had spoken clearly, 
 so that Sir Thomas could not only understand, but 
 could write down what he heard, word for word — 
 not omitting a phrase — accurately and succinctly. 
 
 Once or twice Dr. Newington had to interfere. The 
 patient was in danger of exhaustion, and brandy had 
 again to be administered. Lord Radclyffe took it 
 eagerly : what will-power he had left was concentrated 
 on the desire to keep up his strength. 
 
 From the boudoir came the gentle murmur of a 
 tender song, whispered by Louisa's appealing con- 
 tralto voice. The sick man seemed to enjoy it : it 
 seemed to soothe him too, for every now and again he 
 lay quite still, and listened attentively ; and when 
 he did so his eyes always sought the portrait of Luke. 
 
 When all was finished, and the last word written, 
 Sir Thomas rose and grasped his old friend's emaciated 
 hand. 
 
AND THUS HER HOUR HAD COME 389 
 
 " You'll feel better to-morrow," he whispered 
 cheerily, " when you have your nephew with you. 
 The doctor here must allow you to see him, if you see 
 no one else." 
 
 " Lord Radclyffe must have rest now," said the 
 doctor impatiently. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear sir," rejoined Sir Thomas. " I 
 need not trouble you any more. I can but hope that 
 your patient will be none the worse for the effort." 
 
 The doctor did not reply. The patient, after the 
 great effort, was in a dangerous state of collapse, and 
 required every attention. 
 
 Sir Thomas Ryder took his leave, and, going through 
 the smaller room, he beckoned to Louisa to follow him. 
 
 A moment later the doctor was heard ringing for 
 the nurses. Sir Thomas in the hall was struggling 
 with his coat, whilst Louisa stood by, quite still and 
 patient. She knew that her hour would come, and 
 she was grateful to her uncle for taking her away from 
 here so quickly. 
 
 She had not asked a single question, and Sir Thomas 
 had not volunteered any information. But she was 
 content to wait, until the time when he told her every- 
 thing. 
 
 The cab, which had been called all that long while 
 ago, was still waiting at the door. It was now past 
 eleven o'clock. Silently Sir Thomas and Louisa 
 Harris stepped into the cab, Mr. Warren, sympathetic 
 and attentive to the last, giving the address to the 
 chauffeur on their behalf. 
 
 Less than five minutes later they had arrived at the 
 
340 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Langham Hotel, but they had not exchanged a single 
 word during that time. 
 
 Colonel Harris was in the sitting-room waiting 
 for his daughter's return. The maid had told him 
 that her mistress had gone to Sir Thomas Ryder's, 
 and had promised to be home again in about an hour ; 
 so he was not really anxious, only very worried about 
 her. Personally, he saw no issue to the terrible tangle, 
 and his heart ached for her as much as it did for 
 Luke. 
 
 He found himself quite unable to sit at the Club. 
 Luke de Mountford's name was in every man's mouth. 
 The obsession was unendurable ; the countless argu- 
 ments, adduced by indifferent lips, were positively 
 nerve-racking. Colonel Harris, after half an hour, had 
 enough of it, and went back to the Langham. 
 
 He did not greet his brother-in-law very warmly ; 
 he did not feel very well-disposed towards him, as he 
 had a vague idea that Sir Thomas Ryder was in a 
 measure responsible for Luke's terrible fate. 
 
 " Loo, dear, it's very late," he said with gentle 
 reproach, when she came in. 
 
 " You'll have to forgive her, Will," interposed Sir 
 Thomas. " She came over to have a talk with me, 
 and we went on to try and see old Rad, who is dying, 
 I am afraid, poor chap. 
 
 "Now, my dear," he added, turning to Louisa 
 whilst he dived into his breast-pocket, from which he 
 extracted a notebook, "go to your own room and 
 read this through very quietly, while I talk to your 
 father." 
 
AND THUS HER HOUR HAD COME 341 
 
 He gave her the book, which she took without a 
 word. 
 
 " It won't," he added, " take you very long to 
 read. When you have finished, bring me the notes 
 back ; I want them to-night." 
 
 She kissed her father before she went out of the 
 room. He and she had both guessed — by that un- 
 explainable subtle intuition born of sympathy — what 
 the pages of that notebook contained. 
 
CHAPTER XLI 
 
 WHICH TELLS OF THE CONTENTS OE THE NOTEBOOK 
 
 LOUISA sat beside the fire and read. The notes 
 ' were written in Sir Thomas's clear caligraphy : 
 in short, jerky sentences, just as the sick man had 
 spoken them, usually in reply to questions put to him. 
 
 As Louisa read on she could almost hear Lord 
 Radclyffe's whispered words, whilst she herself sang 
 Tosti's melancholy song : " Good-bye ! " 
 
 "I was not altogether ignorant of my brother 
 Arthur's marriage over in Martinique, but he had 
 always given me to understand that the marriage 
 was not a strictly legal one, and that his son Philip 
 had no right whatever to claim any possible succession 
 to our family title and estates. Even on his death- 
 bed Arthur assured me of this, and said to me most 
 emphatically : ' Luke is your heir ! my son Philip 
 has no legal claim ! ' 
 
 " I never made the slightest effort to communicate 
 with Arthur's widow or with his child ; for Arthur 
 had assured me that they were well provided for, and 
 quite happy amongst their own kindred. After the 
 catastrophe of St. Pierre I completely lost sight of 
 them. 
 
 " Then oame a letter addressed to me from St. 
 
 342 
 
THE CONTENTS OF THE NOTEBOOK 343 
 
 Vincent, the first inkling which I had that not only did 
 Arthur's son know of his father's position in life, but 
 that he had full and justifiable reasons for believing 
 that he himself was heir-presumptive to the family 
 title and estates which would have been his father's, 
 had the latter outlived the present holder. 
 
 " This letter was followed by several others, about 
 which neither Luke nor Mr. Warren knew anything ; 
 for I told them nothing. At last there came one from 
 Brussels. By this time I had searched carefully through 
 some letters which my brother Arthur had desired 
 that I should destroy after his death, but which I had 
 always kept by me, meaning one day to comply with 
 his wish. 
 
 " I had more than a suspicion then that my brother's 
 marriage was a perfectly legal one, and that his son 
 was the only true heir-presumptive to the title and 
 estates, which I had always fondly thought could only 
 devolve upon Luke. I went over to Brussels deter- 
 mined to see this Philip, before he set foot in England. 
 The thought that he would supersede Luke was more 
 than I could bear. 
 
 "I arrived in Brussels early one morning, having 
 crossed over in the night. At once I drove to the 
 mean hotel where he was lodging. He was sharing a 
 room with a man with whom he had picked up 
 a casual acquaintanceship on the sea voyage between 
 the West Indies and Antwerp. The two men had 
 come over together in the Belgian boat. They 
 looked a pair of young blackguards, but it did 
 not take me very long to be convinced that for 
 
SU A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 some reason best known to himself my brother Arthur 
 had deceived me, and that his son Philip was indeed 
 the legitimate and rightful heir to the title which I 
 hold. The papers were authentic and undisputable. 
 This much I knew, and that Luke whom I loved best 
 in all the world, more than any father has ever loved 
 his son, would never be Earl of Radclyffe, so long as 
 Philip de Mountford lived. 
 
 "Men will say that I am an abandoned criminal, 
 and indeed it may be so. May God forgive me here- 
 after, for I killed my brother's son. I pretended to 
 rejoice at his home-coming, and in half an hour had 
 gained his confidence. In the afternoon we went out 
 together, and after a short walk we picked up a taxi- 
 cab. Philip gave the driver the address of a restaurant 
 at which I had asked him to dine with me. I kept 
 carefully in the shadow, so that the man shouldn't see 
 me. Then, on the way in the cab, I killed him. When 
 his head was turned away from me I plunged an old 
 Italian stiletto, which I had carried about with me ever 
 since I had had letters from Philip, straight into his 
 neck. 
 
 " He died instantly without a groan, and I was sick 
 to death ; but I managed to sit quietly beside him 
 until the cab pulled up. Then I jumped out and told 
 the chauffeur to drive my friend on to some remote 
 place on the boulevards. 
 
 " I watched the cab until it was out of sight, then 
 I hailed another, and drove straight to the Gare du 
 Nord, and crossed back to England that night. I 
 threw the stiletto overboard into the sea. I had spent 
 
THE CONTENTS OF THE NOTEBOOK 345 
 
 twelve hours in Brussels, and I had killed Philip de 
 Mountford, and made sure that Luke would be Earl 
 of Radclyffe after me. 
 
 " It was not likely that, in their search for the missing 
 criminal who had stabbed an unknown stranger in a 
 cab, the Belgian police would suspect an English 
 peer. The mystery of that crime has remained im- 
 penetrable, because nothing was ever known of the 
 stranger who was murdered. At the mean hotel 
 where he lodged no one knew anything about him. 
 Only one person knew, and he was silent for purposes 
 of his own. 
 
 " Before the police searched the unknown stranger's 
 room, the room which he shared with the chance friend 
 whom he had picked up on the Belgian boat, the latter 
 already had found and concealed the papers, which 
 would have revealed the identity of the murdered 
 man, if not that of his murderer. 
 
 "I, at home in England, wondered how it was that 
 the Belgian police had never discovered that the 
 murdered man was named Philip de Mountford, and 
 that he claimed to be the heir to the Earldom of 
 Radclyffe. I expected paragraphs in the paper, some 
 unpleasantness even, but none came. 
 
 " I could not understand it, for I had forgotten the 
 existence of the chance friend. 
 
 " And then one day last April I understood. Once 
 more I had letters from abroad, from a man who 
 claimed to be my brother's son. At first I thought the 
 whole thing a silly imposture, until the day when a 
 man confronted me in my own house, armed with every 
 
346 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 proof that I had killed Philip de Mountford in Brussels. 
 He had the latter's passports, his birth and marriage 
 certificates, his letters of identification : all, all the 
 papers that he had filched from among the dead 
 man's things, and which he now flaunted before me, 
 daring me to prove him an impostor. ' If I am not 
 Philip de Mountford,' he said to me, 'then where is 
 Philip de Mountford ? ' And from that hour, I was 
 as wax in his hands. He held me, and he knew it. 
 I might have proved him an impostor, and he could 
 prove me a murderer. 
 
 " Heaven alone knows how I did not lose my reason 
 then ! I floundered in a sea of wild conjectures, wild 
 projects, wild hopes of escape. But my tyrant held 
 me, and I dared not rebel. 
 
 " And once more I was obsessed with the awful 
 certitude that Luke would never be Earl of Radclyffe 
 after me, while this man lived. 
 
 " He had so taken upon himself the personality 
 of Philip, the evidences which went to prove his iden- 
 tity with the late Arthur de Mountford's son were 
 so strangely circumstantial, that short of my pro- 
 claiming loudly that I had killed my brother's son with 
 my own hand, nothing could prevent the impostor 
 from succeeding in filching Luke's inheritance. 
 
 " And even if I had confessed then, it seemed to me 
 that this man would still succeed in proving that I had 
 murdered an unknown stranger — a chance friend, 
 who was an English bricklayer's son — and that he and 
 he only was Philip de Mountford, the late Arthur's son. 
 
 " When did I first dream of killing him, as I killed 
 
THE CONTENTS OF THE NOTEBOOK 347 
 
 the other ? I could not tell you that. But it was 
 some time ago, and I watched my opportunity with 
 patience and perseverance. Then at last the oppor- 
 tunity came, following on terrible provocation. That 
 dark, foggy November night, that you all remember 
 so well ! I was to meet my tyrant at the Veterans' 
 Club at nine o'clock. I drove up there, and as I 
 stepped out of the cab I came face to face with Luke. 
 Something in the boy's manner told me what had 
 happened. He didn't tell me, but I guessed. The 
 two men had quarrelled, and Luke had had to endure 
 the other's arrogance. 
 
 " The news upset me. I felt faint and choked with 
 the fog. Luke didn't like to leave me, and seeing how 
 I tottered he gave me his stick to lean upon. We 
 walked together for a little while up and down, and 
 I felt stronger and better. I begged.Luke to leave me. 
 Presently — as the impostor came out at the Club 
 door — Luke obeyed at last, and said ' good night ' to 
 me. 
 
 " Paul Baker — I knew that that was his name — 
 wanted me to drive straight back to Grosvenor Square, 
 but asked me to drop him first near the railings of 
 Green Park. He often walked about there in the 
 evenings — it was a curious fad which he had. We 
 called a cab, and he told the driver where to pull up. 
 When I was sitting next to him, I realized that I had 
 a stick in my hand. I really had forgotten that it 
 was Luke's. Whilst I toyed with it, I noticed that the 
 top came out, and that a sharp dagger was concealed 
 inside the body of the stick. 
 
848 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 " Paul Baker was looking out of the window at the 
 fog, and inside the cab it was very dark, so he did 
 not know what I was doing. I killed him, just as I 
 had killed Arthur's son, with a dagger-thrust through 
 the neck. This time I did not feel sick, because I 
 hated this man so. When the driver pulled up near 
 Green Park, I jumped out quite coolly and told the 
 man to take my friend to some distant address in 
 Kensington. 
 
 " I threw the stick away behind the railings in the 
 Park. I had forgotten that the stick was Luke's : 
 I knew that it was not mine, and that therefore they 
 could not trace it to me. 
 
 " I did not imagine for a moment that Luke could 
 be accused of a crime which he had not committed. 
 I did not think that justice could be so blind. 
 
 " All I wanted was to be rid of my tyrant, and that 
 Luke's inheritance should not be filched from him." 
 
CHAPTER XLII 
 
 WHICH TELLS ONCE MORE OP COMMONPLACE INCIDENTS 
 
 THE notebook fell out of Louisa's hands on to 
 her lap. 
 
 How simple the tragedy seemed, now that she knew. 
 
 How understandable was the mystery of Luke's 
 silence. He knew that Uncle Rad was guilty. There 
 lay the awful difficulty ! 
 
 " Uncle Rad has been father, mother, brother, sister 
 to us all ! Bless him ! " That was Luke's feeling 
 with regard to Uncle Rad. 
 
 The un-understandable was so simple after all ! 
 
 Louisa went back to the sitting-room. The two men 
 were sitting, smoking in silence. Colonel Harris, too, 
 understood the mystery at last. His loyalty was 
 crowned with the halo of justification. 
 
 The public never knew, I think, that Luke de Mount- 
 ford had actually been arrested for the murder of 
 the Clapham Road bricklayer. The police the next 
 day applied for a remand, and then Luke was brought 
 quietly before the magistrate, and equally quietly 
 dismissed. 
 
 He*was free to go and see Uncle Rad. 
 
 349 
 
350 A TRUE WOMAN 
 
 Louisa did not see him the whole of that day ; for 
 he sat by the bedside of the sick man, whose strange 
 and perturbed spirit was slowly sinking to rest. Uncle 
 Had was at peace, for he held the hand and looked 
 into the face of the man on whom he had lavished the 
 storehouse of an affection that had known no bounds. 
 
 The two men understood one another perfectly. 
 He who had committed a crime, and he who was ready 
 to bear its burden — both had done their share for the 
 other's sake. 
 
 It was only after the magnificent obsequies of the 
 Earl of Radclyffe that the truth about the murder 
 of the bricklayer's son was made known to the public 
 at large. 
 
 It had to be done for Luke's sake. Colonel Harris 
 insisted upon it with all the weight of his fatherly 
 authority. Sir Thomas Ryder did likewise. 
 
 For Louisa's sake too it had to be. But twenty-four 
 hours before the publication of the confession in the 
 newspapers, Luke and Louisa had been quietly mar- 
 ried by special licence, and had gone abroad. 
 
 Once more we must think of them as the common- 
 place, conventional man and woman of the world, 
 who outwardly behaved just like thousands of English 
 men and women of their class behave. 
 
 When they came back from their honeymoon — which 
 lasted one year abroad, and all the rest of their lives 
 after that — there was not a trace in them, in their 
 appearance, their manner, their mode of life, of the 
 terrible tragedy which had threatened to annihilate 
 honour, life, and love. 
 
COMMONPLACE INCIDENTS 351 
 
 " Ah ! those English ! " murmured the foreign 
 Excellencies who graced the English court. " They 
 have no heart, no sentiment ! Lord and Lady Rad- 
 clyffe ! they behave just as if he had never been 
 accused of murder ! as if his uncle had never been the 
 awful criminal that he was ! They are hypocrites, 
 these English, and they have no heart ! " 
 
 Convention was once more the master ! Its giant 
 hands held the strings which made the puppets dance. 
 
 But at times his grip would relax : when Luke and 
 Louisa were all alone, no prying eyes to watch, no 
 indifferent gaze to see the unburdening of their hearts. 
 Then Luke would lie at Louisa's feet : for his love was 
 worship, and his passion uncontrolled. His arms 
 would encircle the perfect form that he loved with 
 such intensity that at times the happiness of loving 
 had in it an exquisite sense of pain. The tragedy 
 of the past was never quite absent from them then : 
 the ghost of a great crime, and the shadow of a still 
 greater renunciation, threw a mystic halo over their 
 love for one another. And at those times — like 
 Paolo and Prancesca — they read no more. 
 
 But these English, they have no heart, you know ! 
 
 THE END 
 
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 1.— NATURAL HISTORY. With nearly 800 pages and 530 original 
 illustrations. Mammals, Reptiles, Fishes, etc., by R. LYDEKKER, 
 F.R.S., V.P.G.S Birds, by R. Bowdler Sharpe, LL.D. Insects by 
 W. F. Kirby, F.L.S. Other branches by B. B. Woodward, F.L.S., F.G.S., 
 F. A. Bather, M.A., F.G.S., W. Garstang, M.A., F.Z.S., R. KlRK- 
 patrick, and R. I. Pocock. 
 
 2 — ASTKONOMY. The History of Astronomy, 'and The Solar 
 System, by Agnes M. Clerke. Geometric Astronomy, by A Fowler, 
 F.R.A.S. The Stellar Universe, by J. ELLARD Gore, F.R.A.S With 
 over 600 pages and 104 illustrations, including a beautifully produced Frontis- 
 piece in Rembrandt Intaglio. 
 
 3.— A History of the World from Earliest Historical Time to 
 the Year 1898. By Edgar Sanderson, M.A., Author of "History of 
 the British Empire,' 1 "The British Empire in the Nineteenth Century,'' etc. 
 Over 800 pages, with numerous maps specially drawn for the work. 
 
 8 
 
From Rhodesia to Egypt 
 
 Including an ascent of Ruwenzorie, and a 
 short account of the Routes from Cape Town 
 to Broken Hill, and Lada to Alexandria. 
 
 By THEO KASSNER, F.R.G.S. 
 
 Author of "Gold Seeking in South Africa,'' " A Geological Sketch Map 
 
 of the De Kaap Goldfields," " Geological Survey Map 
 
 of Southern Transvaal," etc., etc. 
 
 With numerous illustrations from original photographs and 3 maps. 
 In demySvo, cloth gilt and gilt top, I2S. 6d. net. 
 
 This book contains a most interesting account of a journey from 
 Cape Town to the North of Africa. The first chapter is devoted 
 to a survey of the district between the Cape and Broken Hill, and 
 the rest of the book comprises a description of a journey on foot 
 through Eastern Congo and parts of German and British East 
 Africa. Mr. Kassner tells of his adventures with the native races 
 generally, including some of the cannibal tribes. He also gives 
 an account of the wild animals he encounters, and he includes 
 a graphic description of an ascent of Mount Ruwenzorie. The book 
 further contains a study on sleeping sickness, and chapters on the 
 development of the Congo and other parts of Africa. 
 
 Compiled by A. C. R. CARTER 
 
 The Year's Art, I9II 
 
 THIRTY-SECOND YEAR OF ISSUE 
 
 A concise Epitome of all matters relating to the Arts of 
 Painting, Sculpture, Engraving and Architecture, and to Schools 
 of Design which have occurred during the year 1910, together 
 with information respecting the events of 191 1. 
 
 Crown Svo, cloth 5/- net. Over 630 pages with Illustrations 
 
 Growing bigger annually. It is also growing better. . . . For 
 those who have to do with art and artists the volume is simply 
 indispensable, and it is valuable not only for current use, but as a 
 record. In short, we do not know what we should do without it." 
 — Athenctum. 
 
Hutchinson's 1/= Net Library 
 
 OF STANDARD COPYRIGHT BOOKS. 
 
 MESSRS. HUTCHINSON & CO. have pleasure in announc 
 ing a new series of reprints of popular standard books at 
 the price of ONE ShiuinG net. Each work is complete in 
 one volume, is printed in clear type on good paper and taste- 
 fully bound in art cloth, with gilt top and photogravure 
 frontispiece. They are light to handle and portable in size. 
 
 1 A Diplomatist's Wife in Japan 
 
 BY MRS. HUGH FRASER 
 
 " We do not hesitate to say that never before have the more 
 charming aspects of Japan been so attractively presented, and with 
 a clear conscience we can repeat to all lovers of the Island Empire 
 of the East that the possession of this volume will provide them 
 with a perennial feast." — Athenceum. 
 
 2 Five Fair Sisters 
 
 An Italian Episode at the Court of Louis XIV. 
 BY H. NOEL WILLIAMS 
 
 Author of "Madame Recamier and her friends," etc. 
 
 " From cover to cover it is crammed with exciting incidents, 
 romantic adventures, elaborate intrigues, and episodes of love, 
 jealousy and poisoning, all of which occurred in very fact, a feast 
 of thrilling romance narrated with a satisfying fullness of detail, 
 irresistibly entertaining and piquant. There is not a dull page in 
 the whole book. It is a book which everybody should get and read 
 and unfailingly enjoy." — Tribune. 
 
 3 Napoleon 
 
 BY PROFESSOR DR. MAX LENZ 
 
 " This is one of the most masterly studies of Napoleon which 
 have appeared in English. Probably it is the very best short book 
 upon its subject which we have in this country. Written by a 
 German, translated by an Englishman, with all the spontaneous 
 force of an original author, it gives a vivid, complete and yet dis- 
 criminating view of a man whose commentators have hitherto been 
 passionately hostile or passionately adulatory and consequently 
 obscure." — Tribune. 
 
Hutchinson's I/- Library 
 
 4 Ruskin and His Circle 
 
 BY ADA EARLAND 
 
 " Miss Earland's delineation of the great artist and critic is 
 intensely and undeviatingly sympathetic : its effect is that of the 
 presentment of a personality of rare beauty and majesty. Right 
 through the book we are, in truth, in great company. Millais, 
 Rossetti, Carlyle, Morris and Burne-Jones, Miss Mitford and the 
 Brownings, Elizabeth Siddal and Kate Greenaway, and the beauti- 
 ful Lady Mount-Temple — such are a few of the figures into whose 
 company Miss Earland takes us once again ever-willing visitors." 
 
 —Pall Mall Gazette, 
 
 5 In the Strange South Seas 
 
 BY BEATRICE GRIMSHAW 
 
 Author of " From Fiji to the Cannibal Islands," etc. 
 
 " One of the most fascinating books of modern travel that have 
 appeared for many a long day. Her good humour pervades her 
 style of writing, which is invariably bright, crisp and splendidly 
 descriptive. In every respect this 13 a book to get and to read." — 
 Daily Telegraph. 
 
 6 Louise de La Valliere 
 
 BY JULES LAIR 
 
 " For him, and consequently for his readers, ' the little La 
 Valliere ' is not merely a Royal mistress like another, but a definite, 
 and even a sympathetic human being. When we close the book 
 we understand her and feel very sorry for her. There is a simple 
 sincerity of emotion in her story, and the emotion, no less than 
 the facts, is reflected in M. Lair's admirable narrative." — Times. 
 
 7 Richard Jefferies 
 
 A Biographical Study 
 BY EDWARD THOMAS 
 
 Author of "The Heart of England," etc. 
 
 " The mind and work of Jefferies can be portrayed, and Mr. 
 Thomas has done it admirably, in a way not unworthy to rank with 
 the spiritual self-revelation in his author's own beautiful ' Story 
 of My Heart.' " — Times. 
 
 8 A Princess of Intrigue 
 
 Madame de Longueville and Her Times 
 BY H. NOEL WILLIAMS 
 
 Author of " Five Fair Sisters," etc. 
 
 " Mr. H. Noel Williams has packed an amazing quantity and 
 variety of entertaining information between the covers of 'A Princess 
 of Intrigue,' a vivid picture of the life of the French Court of her 
 day — the period of Mazarin and Anne of Austria. Mr. Williams' 
 great aim is to arrest and hold the attention of his readers. In this 
 he is entirely successful." — Outlook. 
 
 II 
 
A ROYAL WORK. A Book for every Home. 
 
 Edward the Peacemaker 
 
 The Story of the Life of 
 
 King Edward VII. and his Queen 
 
 Told by W. H. WILKINS, M.A., F.S.A. 
 
 Author of " The Love of an Uncrowned Queen,'' etc. 
 AND BY OTHER WELL-KNOWN BIOGRAPHERS 
 
 WITH 782 BEAUTIFUL ILLUSTRATIONS 
 including 21 coloured Plates 
 
 Demy qto, in two handsome volumes, cloth richly gilt and gilt edges, 
 8s. net each. 
 
 This is undoubtedly the best record of the late King's life that has been 
 published, and the illustrations comprise very many fine drawings made 
 specially for the work, and a vast number of reproductions of pictures by 
 great painters, choice engravings and new photographs 
 
 BOOKS FOR THE COUNTRYSIDE 
 
 Uniform in size, shape and price 
 Each in ("j\ X S) richly gilt rounded corners, 5s. net. 
 
 By FRANK FINN, B.A. (Oxon.), F.Z.S., &C. 
 
 EGGS AND NESTS OF BRITISH BIRDS 
 
 With 20 coloured plates and many other illustrations including coloured 
 and uncoloured illustrations of all the British Birds' -Eggs, reproduced 
 from the actual eggs. 
 
 BIRDS OF THE COUNTRYSIDE 
 
 With 12 coloured plates, Il8 illustrations from photographs printed on art 
 paper, and numerous outline drawings. 
 
 PETS AND HOW TO KEEP THEM 
 
 With a large number of illustrations from photographs 
 and 12 coloured plates 
 
 WILD FRUITS OF THE COUNTRYSIDE 
 
 By F. EDWARD KULME, F.L.S., F.S.A., &C. 
 
 Author of " Butterflies and Moths of the Countryside," etc., etc. 
 
 With 36 coloured plates by the Author, and 25 illustrations from phott- 
 eraihs on art paper. Uniform with "Birds of the Countryside." 
 
HUTCHINSON'S 
 
 New 6s. Novels 
 
 Each in Crown Svo, Cloth Gilt 
 
 A most Important novel which has been eagerly awaited 
 by the public for some years. 
 
 Adrian Savage 
 
 By LUCAS MALET 
 
 Author of "The Wages of Sin," " Sir Richard Calmady," 
 "The Far Horizon," etc. 
 
 The action of the novel takes place partly in Paris, partly in 
 the rich residential quarter of a certain South of England watering- 
 place ; and covers, in time, two of the earliest years of the present 
 century. It recounts the fortunes of a young man of letters, an 
 Anglo-Frenchman, and the sentimental complications in which he 
 finds himself involved. It touches on modern developments in 
 religious thought, in art, and the position of woman. It is a novel 
 of character rather than of incident, though it contains some strongly 
 dramatic scenes. It may be said to have a happy ending, in as 
 far, at least, as the hero is concerned. 
 
 13 
 
New ©/- Novel* 
 
 Lilamani 
 
 A Study in Possibilities 
 
 By MAUD DIVER 
 
 Author of "Captain Desmond, V.C.," "The Great Amulet," ete. 
 
 In this novel Mrs. Diver breaks fresh ground, both as to 
 setting and types of character. The action of the story takes place 
 in the South of France, on Lake Como, and in Surrey. But though 
 the setting is not Indian, the interest centres in a high-caste Hindu 
 girl, who has broken purdah and come to Europe with her father to 
 study medicine. At Antibes she meets Nevil Sinclair, a baronet's 
 son, with a gift for painting, which has been thwarted by his 
 father's wish that he should devote himself to politics and the life of a 
 country gentleman. 
 
 The first part of the book depicts the idyll of their courtship 
 and ultimate marriage, in defiance of obvious difficulties on both 
 sides, the greatest being the girl's complete break with her country 
 and permanent loss of caste. How Lilamani works out her own 
 and her husband's salvation the reader must find out for himself. 
 
 Moll o' the Toll Bar 
 
 By THEODORA WILSON WIL80N 
 
 Author of " Bess of Hardendale," etc. 
 
 A stirring tale of romance and adventure in Cumberland during 
 the rough starvation days of the Napoleonic wars, when law and 
 order in country districts was as the people made it. Moll o' the 
 Toll Bar, who is quite unaware of her real parentage, lives with her 
 grandfather — a queen of the countryside, owing to her strong 
 personality. Harry Brackenthwaite, grandson to Lady Bracken- 
 thwaite has returned from the wars to discover his dead uncle's heir. 
 Mysterious sheepstealing is being carried on, in which Moll, her 
 grandfather and Harry Brackenthwaite become involved in a very 
 horrible manner. The story works out the discovery of the sheep- 
 stealing mystery and Moll's identity. 
 
 14 
 
New ©/- Novek 
 
 Mrs. Thompson 
 
 By W. B. MAXWELL 
 
 Author ef "Seymour Charlton," " The Guarded Flame," "Vivien," etc. 
 
 This is a purely realistic novel, in which the author traces 
 step by step the life of a woman of strong character, temperament 
 and emotions. Throughout her story she has shown nothing but 
 evidences of unusual power, until a crisis, or snapping point, is 
 reached, and then she displays an almost unusual weakness, and, 
 in consequence, commits a great mistake and throws herself into 
 a sea of troubles. The main interest of the book lies in the series of 
 events which follow the mistake, and her efforts to avert its results. 
 The mistake occurs, as is natural in the case of a really strong 
 woman, when she surrenders herself to an overwhelming love. 
 
 Mac's Adventures 
 
 By JANE BARLOW 
 
 Author of "Irish Idylls," " Bogland Studies," "Irish Neighbours," et«. 
 
 The stories in which these adventures of Mac Barry are related 
 have hitherto appeared disconnectedly, and are here for the first 
 time collected and chronologically arranged. It is thought that 
 they gain considerably thereby, both as a whole and in parts. For 
 although each story is to a certain extent independently complete 
 when brought together, they acquire an atmosphere not separately 
 attainable, which to Mac's personality, seen from varying points 
 of view, and developed in different circumstances, gives an increased 
 distinctness and consistency, so that he stands out a more solid 
 and substantial figure. It is interesting to state that Mr. Swin- 
 burne expressed his delight with Mac and acknowledged him as 
 •ae of his dearest and most cherished friends. 
 
 IS 
 
New ©/- Nov* 
 
 Some Happenings 
 of Glendalyne 
 
 By DOROTHEA CONYERS 
 
 Author of "The Strayings of Sandy," etc. 
 
 Eve O'Neill, a rich heiress, is suddenly ordered by her guardian, 
 the O'Neill of Glendalyne in Ireland, to come to live with him. He 
 is a religious recluse and possessed of considerable wealth. She 
 finds the place steeped in neglect, the house stripped of furniture, 
 and the garden a wilderness, while everywhere are signs of colossal 
 extravagance. The novel contains the fascinating mystery of a lost 
 heir, who is found by the heroine, and her love story gives the book 
 an additional interest. There is some hunting in the wild rough 
 country ; the author introduces a good deal of Irish life and 
 racing and describes the love affair of Madge Green, the trainer's 
 niece. 
 
 Half a Truth 
 
 By RITA 
 
 Author of "Calvary," " Saba Macdonald, " " Peg the Rake," "Souls,"' ete. 
 
 That " Half a Truth is ever the blackest of Lies " is the subject 
 of this versatile author's new novel. The story commences in 
 America and the three principal characters claim American 
 nationality. The fact that Mrs. Humphreys has recently visited 
 the United States probably accounts for the excellent study she 
 has given of the millionaire Patrick Maddison and his wife Octavia. 
 The latter is one of the most sympathetic and admirable portraits 
 ever drawn by living author, and few could read the conclusion of 
 her faithfulness and devotion to an unworthy husband with un- 
 moved susceptibility. 
 
 The Irish portion of the story possesses all " Rita's " distinctive 
 skill and charm and peculiar insight into national characteristics, 
 The book is a virile, enthralling and admirable piece of work that 
 will rank tha writer still higher on the rtlt of popular authors. 
 
 i4 
 
New O/- Novels 
 
 A True Woman 
 
 By BARONESS ORCZY 
 
 Author of "The Scarlet Pimpernel," "The Elusive Pimpernel," etc. 
 
 The story of a woman into whose humdrum existence there 
 suddenly enters the element of a tragedy, the prologue of which 
 tells of an extraordinary and unaccountable crime committed 
 in Paris, which presently, by a strange sequence of events, finds 
 its counterpart in London. It is the true woman's con- 
 nection with the perpetrator of the crime that forms the nucleus 
 of the book. The story itself is a romantic one of love with a, 
 modern setting. 
 
 The Dawn of All 
 
 By ROBERT HUGH BENSON 
 
 Author of "The Light Invisible," "None Other Gods," tte. 
 
 This is a kind of companion volume — though in no sense a 
 sequel — of the " Lord of the World." In the " Lord of the World " 
 the author worked out what seemed to him would be the develop- 
 ment of human history a hundred years hence, if irreligion pre- 
 vailed along the lines it is following at present. In the " Dawn 
 of All " he pursues the other " cross road," and sketches the world 
 as it appears to him it would be should Catholicism be triumphant. 
 He discusses freely, in the persons of his characters, and represents 
 in their adventures the problems and accusations that surround the 
 path of religion ; and the book winds up to a dramatic close that 
 will make some people certainly very angry indeed. The book, 
 tkarefora, it fully as much an attempt te challengo as to p«rsuade. 
 
 17 
 
New O/- Novels 
 
 The Vision of Balmaine 
 
 By G. B. BURGIN 
 
 Author. of "The Shutters of Silence," etc. 
 
 In " The Vision of Balmaine," Mr. G. B. Burgin makes an 
 entirely new departure with his hero, a man whose conceit is so 
 colossal that he imagines the world could not possibly get on 
 without him. It is only when he suffers for another man's crime 
 and thus expiates a sin of his early youth, that he becomes human, 
 and, in the depth of his despair, sees " The Vision," which influences 
 the whole of his after-life. A very pretty love interest lightens the 
 mystic's grief at his own shortcomings. This powerful story will 
 provide a surprise for those who have only studied Mr. Burgin in 
 his lighter moments. 
 
 The Princess of New York 
 
 By COSMO HAMILTON 
 
 Author of " The Infinite Capacity," " Adam's Clay," etc. 
 
 Mr. Cosmo Hamilton's new novel is called " The Princess of 
 New York," because the heroine is the daughter of the Steel King. 
 How she comes to Europe for the first time, meets a charming young 
 Oxford man on board ship, who afterwards goes to her rescue when, 
 by a series of accidents, she has fallen into the hands of a family 
 of titled cardsharpers ; how she is wanted by the police for an 
 illegal act in the performance of which she was the innocent 
 instrument, and is rushed out of London in a commandeered motor 
 car of the Oxford man and spends forty-eight hours with him, like 
 Paul and Virginia, between two haystacks are only a few of the 
 exciting and romantic incidents with which " The Princess of New 
 York " is crowdedt 
 
 18 
 
New ©/- Novels. 
 
 A NEW NOVEL 
 
 By 
 H. DE VERE STAGPOOLE 
 
 Author of "The Blue Lagoon," etc. 
 
 The Ship of Coral 
 
 A West Indian Romance 
 
 "The Ship of Coral" is Mr. Stacpoole's fourth 
 tropical romance, and perhaps his most important book. 
 In this story Mr. Stacpoole has done for the West Indies 
 and Caribbean Sea what in " The Blue Lagoon " he did 
 for the Pacific. Blueness and great spaces of sunshine, 
 an islet off the Caicos, Martinique with its palms and 
 Ceiba trees, St. Pierre the modern Pompeii with all its 
 beauty and charm are the backgrounds in the " Ship of 
 Coral" for one of the most poetical love stories ever 
 written. 
 
 The Hand of Venus 
 
 By Dr. J. MORGAN DE GROOT 
 
 Author of " The Bar Sinister." 
 
 In this story the author tells how a statue of Venus, 
 fashioned by the hand of the great Greek sculptor Phidias, 
 comes to play an important part in the life of Ventimore a 
 modern English artist. By means of a curious clue the 
 image is discovered buried in a field in the outskirts of 
 Rome, where the scene of the novel is partly laid. How 
 the artist's fate was influenced by the hand of the statue 
 must be left for the author to tell in his own words. The 
 book has a powerful plot, and a strong love interest. 
 
 19 
 
Flaws 
 
 By JANE BARLOW 
 
 Author of " Bogland Studies," " Irish Neighbours," &c. 
 
 The characters who appear in the novel " Flaws " are drawn 
 ess preponderantly from the Irish peasant class than is the case in 
 many of the author's stories. Its scene is laid partly in a Home 
 for Indigent Ladies, maintained near an Irish village, by a fortune 
 made in the United States ; and partly in an inland southern county, 
 where much purturbation was caused among the inhabitants of a 
 remote hamlet by the imagined discovery of an amateur astronomer. 
 Another incident is the stratagem adopted by a sort of ' handy-man * 
 for the protection of his late master's daughter from a hardly less 
 imaginary danger. 
 
 The Real Mrs. Holyer 
 
 By E. M. CHANNON 
 
 Author of " A Street Angel" and " The Authoress. > 
 
 The readers of this author's previous novel, "The Authoress," 
 will remember how deftly the plot was unravelled, and how skilfully 
 one's sympathy was enlisted in the pathetic figure of the heroine 
 with all her faults. In this new story will be found most of these 
 excellent features that combined to make the success of her earlier 
 work. There is plenty of incident and there are some powerful 
 character-studies. But the mystery which is part of the story 
 is unsolved until the end is reached, when the puzzling question it 
 answered ag to whom ii the real Mrs, Holy«n 
 
Hutchinson's New 2/- Net Series. 
 
 In Crown 8vo. Cloth (Jilt. 
 
 They and I 
 
 By JEROME K. JEROME 
 
 Author of " Paul Kelver," " Three Men in a Boat," &c. 
 
 " This is Mr. Jerome's peculiar vintage, sparkling with spontaneous gaiety, 
 and rich in the deeper tone which suggests itself from time to time behind the 
 sparkle. The author is said to have described the work as a more mature 
 ' Three Men in a Boat.' That is just what it is." — Evening Standard. 
 
 Seymour Charlton 54o Pae e. 
 
 By W. B. MAXWELL 
 
 Author of " Vivien," " The Guarded Flame," etc. 
 
 " It is a grand story, one to enchant, to hold the attention, to read and 
 re-read for its many charms. ... It is a splendid novel ; it ought to be very 
 popular." — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 " ' Seymour Charlton ' is on a large scale, running to more than 530 closely 
 printed pages. Mr. Maxwell takes bis work seriously, and he has given us a 
 very fine and careful study, interesting in every page, carefully and patiently 
 studied throughout. It is not at all likely that we shall see any better novel 
 than this during the winter season. It is a pleasure to keep company with a 
 high-minded and scrupulous artist like Mr. Maxwell." — British Weekly. 
 
 Calvary 
 
 By "RITA" 
 
 Author of "The House Called Hurrish," " Peg the Rake," &c. 
 
 One is accustomed to surprises from the pen of this versatile writer, but 
 in this novel she takes her reader by storm. The story itself is alive with 
 human interest, and the characters seem to live. One strange and mystical 
 being, known as " The Wanderer," would alone create interest enough to be 
 pursued through the book with eager zest. 
 
. NEW VOLUMES . 
 HUTCHINSON'S Is. NET NOVELS 
 
 Each in Cr. Zi>o., Cloth Gilt, with coloured Wrappers. 
 
 Petticoat Government baroness orczy 
 The Necromancers R h. benson 
 
 Kingsmead baroness von hutten 
 
 Torn Sails allen raine 
 
 The Ladies' Paradise emile zola 
 
 A Winnowing R. h. benson 
 
 The Mysteries of Marseilles 
 
 EMILE ZOLA 
 
 VOLUMES NOW BOUND IN CLOTH GILT. 
 The Strayings of Sandy 
 
 DOROTHEA CONYERS 
 
 A Spirit in Prison Robert hichens 
 
 The Three Brothers eden phillpotts 
 
 A Double Thread 
 
 ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER 
 
 Tatterley tom gallon 
 
 Gonfessions of a Ladies' Man 
 
 WM. LE QUEUX 
 
 I Forbid the Banns f frankfort moore 
 
1 
 
 Ls. NET BOOKS. 
 
 Each In crown 8vo, cloth gilt, coloured paper wrapper 
 
 The Elusive Pimpernel 200th thousand 
 
 By BARONESS ORCZY 
 
 Author of " The Scarlet Pimpernel," &c. 
 
 This novel contains further exciting incidents in the life of the 
 Scarlet Pimpernel during the French Revolution after the King's 
 death. It is about the same length as " the Scarlet Pimpernel," 
 and most of the characters in that novel reappear in the new book — 
 especially Chauvelin, the French agent. 
 
 Some new personages also appear on the scene. 
 
 A Welsh Singer 356tn thousand 
 
 By ALLEN RAINE 
 
 Author of " A Welsh Witch," ' : Torn Sails," &c. 
 
 Allen Raine's novels have now reached a sale totalling over 
 TWO MILLIONS. This, her most popular novel, is sure of a 
 huge reception. 
 
 The Daily Mail says : " Wales has waited long for her novelist, 
 but he seems to have come at last in Allen Raine, who, in his per- 
 fectly beautiful story, ' A Welsh Singer,' has at once proved himself 
 a worthy interpreter and exponent of the romantic spirit of his 
 country." 
 
 The Story of an African Farm 
 
 By OLIVE SCHREINER 
 
 111th thousand 
 
 The demand for this wonderful novel (which unquestionably is 
 Olive Schreiner's masterpiece) in the more expensive editions has 
 been enormous. 
 
 The Soul Market 9th edition 
 
 " England's Own Jungle." 
 
 By OLIVE CHRISTIAN MALVERY 
 (Mrs, Archibald Mackirdy) 
 
 " Her book is more interesting than any novel, for there are 
 life-stories on every page. It is like a novelist's sketch-book — full 
 of suggestive incidents and outlines of character, anecdotes, 
 epigrams, out-of-the-way facts. Humour and pity, tragedy and 
 mirth, tread in each other's steps. She says she does not expect 
 her book to be popular ; I, on the other hand, prophesy that it will 
 be read and talked about a great deal." — Evening News. 
 
Is. NET BOOKS— continued. 
 
 Each In crown 8vo, with attractive paper covers In three colours. 
 
 This— My Son 
 
 By RENE BAZIN 
 
 One of the most stirring and human novels that has been 
 written by the popular author of that successful book, ** The Nun." 
 
 " BRIMFUL OF HUMOTJB." 
 
 Green Ginger 
 
 By ARTHUR MORRISON 
 
 Author of " Tales of Mean Streets," etc. 
 
 " It is long since we laughed so much over ludicrous situations. 
 We are always heartily and wholesomely entertained. Should 
 prove something more than the success of a season. It is assuredly 
 one of the funniest books that we have had for some time." — 
 Daily Telegraph. 
 
 Virginia of the Rhodesians 
 
 7th edition 
 By CYNTHIA STOCKLEY 
 
 " Deserves more than moderate praise. It is smart, acidulated 
 and very clever indeed." — Daily Mail 
 
 "Will remind the reader of some of the best work of Mr. 
 Kipling." — Newcastle Leader. 
 
 The author's recent book, " Poppy : a South African Girl," has 
 met with a considerable success, nine editions having been called 
 for within a short time of its publication. 
 
 The City 
 
 By FREDERICK CARREL 
 
 Author of " The AdTentures of John Johns," etc. 
 
 " A novel of such power as to stand well in comparison with 
 Zola's ' Argent,' but the treatment of it is more expert and 
 spontaneous. The hold the novel takes on you is surprising." — 
 Illustrated London News. 
 
Is. NET BOOKS— continued. 
 
 Each In crown 8vo, with attractive paper covers In three colours. 
 
 The Heart of a Child 
 
 59th thousand 
 
 Being passages from the early life of 
 Sally Scape, Lady Kidderminster. 
 
 By FRANK DANBY 
 
 " A work of art. Sally is a delightful acquaintance." — Times. 
 
 " Sally is a real woman, and Frank Danby is heartily to be con 
 gratulated." — Mr. W. L. Courtney in the Daily Telegraph. 
 
 " To say that * The Heart of a Child ' justifies its title is already 
 to give it high praise. Sally has our sympathy from first to last* 
 A delightful book." — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 Servitude 
 
 By IRENE OSGOOD 
 
 "Servitude" is really a very notable achievement in the 
 creation of atmosphere. The story of devotion and adventure 
 which is pursued through these thrilling pages would in itself recom- 
 mend the book to the lover of keen and vibrant romance, but the 
 setting is of such unusual lustre that the most lasting impression 
 comes from it. ' Servitude ' is a book which is likely to prove more 
 than a nine days' wonder." — Morning Post. 
 
 Nor all your Tears 
 
 By MAUD H. YARDLEY 
 
 " Mrs. Yardley is to be complimented on so notable a step for- 
 ward towards higher honours in the field of fiction. She shows in- 
 creasing dramatic power, has a pleasing style and a grip of the art 
 of characterisation." — Bystander. 
 
 Redemption 
 
 By RENE BAZIN 
 
 " Redemption " is an able study of the shop girl, who may 
 differ a little in a provincial French city from the London type, but 
 who in the main is the same ; the refinements, the difficulties, and 
 the temptations of this class are perfectly and sympathetically con- 
 ceived and described." — Globe* 
 
 25 
 
HUTCHINSON'S SELECT NOVELS UNlFOR ^, T ,o N 
 
 Each tn crot»n 8<oo, handsome cloth gilt, 3». 94. 
 
 3 A House in Bioomsbury Mrs. Oliphaat 
 
 4 The Vangeanee of James Vansittart Mrs. J. H. Neetell 
 i The Heritage of Langdale Mm. Alexander 
 
 8 A Marriage Ceremony Ada Cambridge 
 
 9 Fidelia Ada Cambridge 
 
 10 The Mistress of Quest Adeline Sergeant 
 
 11 Roger Vanbrugh's Wife Adeline Sergeaat 
 
 19 A Welsh Singer Allen Raine 
 
 18 The Story of an African Farm .. .. Olive Schreiier 
 
 14 Tatter ley Tom Gallon 
 
 It The Idol-Maker Adeline Sergeant 
 
 17 Qrif B. L. Farjeon 
 
 15 A Humbler In Wide Shoes E. Sutcliffe Maroh 
 
 19 Dr. Luttrell's First Patient Rosa N. Oarey 
 
 30 Torn Sails Allen Rain* 
 
 21 Woman and the Shadow Arabella Kenealy 
 
 12 By Right of Sword A. W. Marohmoat 
 
 33 Into the Highways and Hedges .. F. F. Moutresor 
 
 94 At the Cross Roads P. P. Montresor 
 
 It By Berwen Banks Allen Raine 
 
 II Garthowen Allen Raine 
 
 IT Mollie's Prince RoiaN.Oarey 
 
 13 A Dash for a Throne A. W. Marohmoat 
 
 19 Life's Trivial Round Row N. Oarey 
 
 M A Double Thread Ellen Tuorneycroft Fewttr 
 
 tl A Corner of The West Bdith Henrietta Fowler 
 
 •3 The Minister of State , J. A. Stenart 
 
 14 The Farringdons Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler 
 
 36 My Lady Frivol Rosa N. Carey 
 
 38 The Love of Richard Herrlck .. Arabella Kenealf 
 
 ST Babs the Impossible Sarah Grand 
 
 11 In High Places II. E. Braddoa 
 
 19 A Welsh Witch Allen Raine 
 
 10 Paul Kelver Jerome K, Jerome 
 
 41 The Yellow Van Richard Whiteing 
 
 49 Place and Power Ellen Thorneyoreft leirler 
 
 44 On the Wings of the Wind Allen Raine 
 
 48 Love Decide* Oharlee Gharriee 
 
 47 Hearts of Wales Allen Ralie 
 
 •3 Linked by Fate Oharloa CrarTiae 
 
 41 In the Name of a Woman A. W. Marohmoat 
 
 10 A Lost Edon 1I.X. Braddom 
 
 tl The Rose of Life M. E. Braddoa 
 
 12 The Man Who Won Mrs. BaiUie-ReynoMe 
 
 13 Love the Tyrant Oharlee Qarvice 
 
 64 Queen of the Rushes Allen Raine 
 
 tt Thalassa Mrs. Baillie-Reynolda 
 
 •7 Kate of Kate Hall Ellen Thorneyoroft Fowler 
 
 and A. L. Felicia 
 
 ft A Quaker Wooing Mrs. Pred Reyaolla 
 
 W A Girl of Spirit Oharlee Qaryloe 
 
 •0 Where Love Leads Oharlee Garvioe 
 
 61 A Dull Girl's Destiny Mrs. Bafflie-ReyneHa 
 
 CI Gold In the Gutter Oharlee Garyioe 
 
 M The Cuckoo in the Nost Mrs. Oliphant 
 
 M Prisoners Mary Oholmondelef 
 
 « Fair Margaret H. Rider Haggar* 
 
 0$ The Far Horizon Lucas Malet 
 
 IT In Subjection inea The*aeretett Fewler 
 
 26 
 
Hutchinson's 7d. Novels. 
 
 ▲ new aerie* of successful copyright works of fiction, printed ite 
 dear, readable type on good paper, and tastefully bound la art elota, 
 witk gold lettering. 
 
 la foolseap 8vo, with designed title page and frontispieee. 
 ON ART PAPER. 
 
 PRISONERS 
 
 By MARY CHOLMONDELEY. 
 
 MY LADY FRIVOL Author of "Bod Fott.go,"**. 
 
 By ROSA N. CAREY. 
 
 Author of " MoUis'i Priac»," In. 
 
 INTO THE HIGHWAYS AND HEDGES 
 
 By F. F. MONTRESOR, 
 
 A RI5INQ STAR 
 
 By DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY, 
 
 Author of " A Bofuo'a Ooiwiemw," *». 
 
 THB MAN WHO WON 
 
 By Mrs. BAILLIE REYNOLDS, 
 
 Author of " A DuU Oiol'i Bootiay," *e. 
 
 THB UNDER SECRETARY 
 
 By WILLIAM LE QUEUX, 
 
 Author of " The Oonfeasioua of a Lndy's If ««," &o. 
 
 TOMMY AND CO. 
 
 By JEROME K. JEROME, 
 
 Author of " They end I," *•• 
 
 THE ONE WHO LOOKED ON 
 
 By F. F. MONTRBSOR, 
 
 THALASSA 
 
 By Mrs. BAILLIE REYNOLDS, 
 
 Author of " Tho Una Who Woa,° *o. 
 
 Th*. GAMBLERS 
 
 By WILLIAM LE QUEUX, 
 
 Author of " ConfoMien of a L*diet" Mm.'' 
 
 LADY ELVERTON'S EMERALDS 
 
 By DOROTHEA CONYERS, 
 
 Author of " Tho Straying! of SanOy," a*. 
 
 LITANY LANE 
 
 By Mr*. BAILLIE SAUNDERS, 
 
 Author of " luiato la Bosiety," *». 
 
 AT THE CROSS ROADS 
 
 By F. F. MONTRESOR, 
 
 BY ORDER OP THB CZAR 
 
 By JOSEPH HATTON, 
 
 Author of " I* Mule AMtM,." *e 
 siot Mltton. 
 «7 
 
Hutchinson £ Co.'s New 6d. Novels. 
 
 263 WICKED SIR DARE 
 
 264 THE SLAVES OF ALLAH 
 
 265 WYNDHAM'S DAUGHTER 
 
 266 UNDER THE THATCH 
 
 267 THAT STRANGE CIRL 
 
 268 THE LADY OF THE CAMEO 
 
 269 THE GUARDIANSHIP OF GABRIELLE ... 
 
 270 A WHITE MAN 
 
 271 MISS ESTCOURT 
 
 272 A SIMPLE SAVAGE 
 
 273 THE MISCHIEF OF THE CODS 
 
 274 FRANK SINCLAIR'S WIFE 
 
 275 A SENSE OF HUMOUR 
 
 276 NELLIE 
 
 277 VERONIQUE 
 
 278 THE MYSTERY OF THE ROYAL MAIL 
 
 279 A STORMY VOYAGER 
 
 280 MY LOVE KITTY 
 
 281 THE KING OF FOUR CORNERS 
 
 282 NOT IN SOCIETY 
 
 283 MARRIAGE BY CAPTURE 
 
 284 VIOLET 
 
 285 THE MYSTERY OF JOHN PEPPERCORN 
 
 286 THE LADY OF SHALL NOT 
 
 287 ANTHONY WILDING 
 
 288 MISS BETTY'S MISTAKE 
 
 289 A8 IT HAPPENED 
 
 28 
 
 ... Charles Garvice 
 
 ... G. B. Burgin 
 
 ... Annie S. Swan 
 
 ... Allen Raine 
 
 ... Charles Garvice 
 
 ... Tom Gallon 
 
 ... E. Everett-Green 
 
 ... E. M. Royle 
 
 ... Charles Garvice 
 
 ... G. B. Burgin 
 
 ... Bertha Clay 
 
 ... Mrs. J. H. Riddell 
 
 f Beryl Faber & 
 ""I Cosmo Hamilton 
 
 ... Charles Garvice 
 
 ... Florence Marryat 
 
 ... B. L. Farjeon 
 
 ... Annie S. Swan 
 
 ... Charles Garvice 
 
 ... G. B. Burgin 
 
 ... Joseph Hatton 
 
 ... Bertha Clay 
 
 ... Charles Garvice 
 
 ... Tom Gallon 
 
 ... E. Everett-Green 
 
 ... Rafael Sabatini 
 
 ... Adeline Sergeant 
 
 ... Ashton Hilliers 
 
Hutchinson's ©d. Novels 
 
 Well printed on good paper in clear readable type. 
 
 Hutchinson's Sixpenny copyright Novels stand easily 
 
 ahead of all other similar reprints. 
 
 ALREADY PUBLISHED. 
 
 180 The Adventures of Police-Constable 
 
 Vane, M.A. Alice and Claude Askew 
 
 218 Raoul: Gentleman of Fortune .. .. H. 0. Bailey 
 
 244 Colonel Stow H.O.Bailey 
 
 173 Love for an Hour Is Love for ever .. Amelia Bavr 
 
 227 The Conventionalists R.H.Benson 
 
 132 The Rose of Life Miss M. E. Braddon 
 
 236 Our Adversary M. E. Braddon 
 
 60 WasitaSin? Anna, Oomtesse de Bremont 
 
 140 The Wood End J. E. Buokrose 
 
 95 The Marble City G. B. Burgin 
 
 192 The Devil's Due G. B. Burgin 
 
 214 The Belles of Vaudroy G.B.Burgin 
 
 94 Life's Trivial Round Rosa N. Oarey 
 
 50 Mollie's Prince Rosa N. Oarey 
 
 146 My Lady Frivol Rosa N. Oarey 
 
 143 Sir Charles Dan vers Mary Oholmondeley 
 
 125 The Danvers Jewels Mary Obolmondeley 
 
 182 Prisoners Mary Obolmondeley 
 
 223 Heavy Odds Marcus Clarke 
 
 261 The Crime of the Duchess .. Bertha M. Olay 
 
 166 The Thorn Bit Dorothea Couyers 
 
 199 Cloth Versus Silk Dorothea Oonyer 
 
 245 Three Girls and a Hermit Dorothea Oonyers 
 
 66 The Village Blacksmith Darley Dale 
 
 97 The Grand Duke Carlton Dawe 
 
 259 A Bride of Japan Carlton Dawe 
 
 260 The Fatal Kiss Kit Dealtry 
 
 86 The Summit House Mystery .. .. L. Dougall 
 
 106 The Secret of Wold Hall Evelyn Everett-Green 
 
 174 Married in Haste Evelyn Everett-Green 
 
 195 DufFerin's Keep .. Evelyn Everett-Green 
 
 213 Superfluous Sisters Evelyn Everett-Green 
 
 233 Guy Fu Ikes of the Towers .. Evelyn Everett-Green 
 
 105 Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square.. B. L. Farjeon 
 
 121 The House of White Shadows .. .. B. L. Farjeon 
 
 61 The Last Tenant B. L. Farjeon 
 
 187 A Secret Inheritance B. L. Farjeon 
 
 169 Miser Farebrother B. L. Farjeon 
 
 208 In a Silver Sea B. L. Farjeon 
 
 251 The Mystery of M. Felix B. L. Farjeon 
 
 186 The Stumbling Block Justus Miles Formau 
 
 29 
 
HUTCHINSON'S SIXPENNY NOVELS— continued. 
 
 ALREADY PUBLISHED. 
 
 » The Splendid Porsenna M». Bag* hm 
 
 HI Kate of Kate Hall B»m Thornevoio* fevrter 
 
 ul A. L. Telkla. 
 
 178 In Subjection MUb Tkornerereft lewler 
 
 M8 AuntPhipps Tom Gallon 
 
 1*7 Meg the Lady Tom Gallon 
 
 75 The Dead Ingleby Tom Gallon 
 
 12 Peplow's Paperchase Tom Galloa 
 
 212 Judy and the Philosopher .. Tom Gallon 
 
 341 Boden's Boy Tom Gallon 
 
 151 Heart for Heart Charles Garvioe 
 
 123 Linked by Fate Charles Garvice 
 
 81 Love Decides Charles G arvice 
 
 122 Love, the Tyrant Charles Garvioe 
 
 1(3 Kyra's Fate Charles Garvice 
 
 168 Nell Of Shorne Mills Charles Garvioe 
 
 181 Olivia and Others Charles Garvice 
 
 135 The Story of a Passion Charles Garvioe 
 
 193 Paid For Charles Garvice 
 
 189 The Mistress Of Court Regina .. Charles Garvice 
 
 198 A Girl of Spirit Charles Garvice 
 
 202 Where Love Leads Charles Garvice 
 
 206 At Love's Cost Charles Garvice 
 
 224 The Gold in the Gutter Charles Garvice 
 
 325 She Loved Him Charles Garvice 
 
 222 The Marquis Charles Garvice 
 
 236 A Life's Mistake Charles Garvice 
 
 230 The Heir of Vering .. Charles Garvice 
 
 235 Floris .. .. Charles Garvice 
 
 239 Leola Dale's Fortune . . . . Charles Garvioe 
 
 256 Sweet as a Rose . . Charles Garvioe 
 
 257 Signa's Sweetheart Charles Garvice 
 
 77 Sylvia's Lovers Mrs. Gaskell 
 
 145 The House Of Riddles Dorothea Gerard 
 
 161 The Three Essentials Dorothea Gerard 
 
 209 The Compromise Dorothea Gerard 
 
 16 Chiffon's Marriage "Gyp" 
 
 157 Adam's Clay Cosmo Hamilton 
 
 237 The Blindness of Virtue Cosmo Hamilton 
 
 155 The Way of the Spirit H. Rider Haggard 
 
 265 Fair Margaret H. Rider Haggard 
 
 181 Love Rules the Oamp Lieut.-Col. A. 0. P. Haggard 
 
 67 Bitter Sweets Joseph Hattou 
 
 16 By Order of the Czar Joseph Hatton 
 
 112 When Greek meets Greek Joseph Hatton 
 
 164 Clytle Joseph Hatton 
 
 210 Cruel London Joseph Hatton 
 
 249 In Male Attire Joseph Hatton 
 
 139 Double Harness Anthony Hope 
 
 76 The Lost Continent Outclifte Byne 
 
 109 Patricia : A Mother "Iota" 
 
 216 Tangled Wedlock Edgar Jepson 
 
 246 Lady Noggs Intervenes Edgar Jepson 
 
 262 The Mystery of the Myrtles .. Edgar Jepson 
 
 134 Paul Kelver Jerome K. Jerome 
 
 19 The Cavaliers S. R. Keightley 
 
 62 The Pikemen 8. R. Keigotley 
 
 3° 
 
HUTCHINSON'S SIXPENNY NOVELS-*m«n*»W. 
 
 ALREADY PUBLISHED 
 
 f 4 In the Ciar's Dominion Le Yoleur 
 
 'JtS The Far Horizon . . . . L«i Malet 
 
 81 By Right of tword A. W. Marchmeai 
 
 II For Love or Crown A. "W. Harohmoat 
 
 199 Tho Greatest Gift.. , A. W. Marchmont 
 
 170 Tho Web of tho Spider H. B. Marriott Watson 
 
 lt8 For Ever and Ever Florence Marryat 
 
 171 Qerald Estcourt Florence Marryat 
 
 13 No Intentions Florence Marryat 
 
 ill The Girls of Foversham Florence Marryat 
 
 34o Nelly Brooke Florence Marryat 
 
 108 The Story of a Sin Helen Mathers 
 
 1*7 The One Who Looked On F. F. Montresor 
 
 88 A Neat of Linnets F. Frankfort Moore 
 
 18 I Forbid the Banns P- Frankfort Moore 
 
 1» Phyllis of Philistia F. Frankfort Moore 
 
 149 Shipmates In Sunshine F. Frankfort Moore 
 
 86 The Secret of the Court F. Frankfort Moore 
 
 148 The White Causeway F. Frankfort Moore 
 
 J64 The Artful Miss Dill F. Frankfort Moore 
 
 188 The Marriage Lease F. Frankfort Moore 
 
 184 An Amateur Adventuress F. Frankfort Moore 
 
 354 Love and the Interloper F. Frankfort Moore 
 
 301 A Man of No Family 0. 0. and B. M. Mott 
 
 130 The Great White Hand J. B. Muddock 
 
 30 A Rising Star David Christie Murray 
 
 78 A Rogue's Conscience David Christie Murray 
 
 348 The Experiences of Loveday Brooke, 
 
 Lady Detective 0. L. Firkia 
 
 99 Franks, Duellist .. Ambrose Pratt 
 
 83 The Successor Richard Pryce 
 
 100 Confessions of a Ladies' Man .. .. William Le Queux 
 
 47 Of Royal Blood William Le Queux 
 
 110 Secrets of the Foreign Office ■■ William Le Queux 
 
 84 The Seven Secrets William Le Queux 
 
 33 The Under Secretary William Le Queux 
 
 169 Whosoever Loveth William Le Queux 
 
 33 A Welsh Singer Allen Kaine 
 
 69 A Welsh Witch Allen Baine 
 
 46 By Berwen Banks Allen Kaine 
 
 36 Garthowen Allen Raine 
 
 98 Hearts of Wales Allen Baine 
 
 88 On the Wings of the Wind .. Allen Baine 
 
 117 Queen of the Rushes Allen Haine 
 
 34 Torn Sails Allen Baine 
 
 188 Neither Storehouse Nor Barn .. .. Allen Baine 
 
 243 Where Billows Roll Allen Baine 
 
 263 All in a Month Allen Baine 
 
 167 A Lady of the Regency Mrs. Stepney-Bawson 
 
 141 The Man who Won Mrs. Baillie-Beynolds 
 
 220 A Dull Girl's Destiny Mrs. Baillie-Beynolds 
 
 262 A False Position Mrs. Baillie-Beynolds 
 
 78 Above Suspicion Mrs. J. H. Bidden 
 
 136 A Life's Assize Mrs. J. H. Biddell 
 
 127 The Rich Husband Mrs. J. H. Biddell 
 
 143 The Ruling Passion Mrs. J. H. Biddell 
 
 3i 
 
HUTCHINSON'S SIXPENNY NOVELS— continued. 
 
 ALREADY PUBLISHED 
 
 163 Austin Friars Mrs. J. H. RIddell 
 
 203 The World in the Church Mrs. .7. H Riddell 
 
 247 The Earl's Promise Mrs. J. H. Hidden 
 
 38 An Old Rogue's Tragedy "Rita" 
 
 104 A Vagabond Lover "Rita" 
 
 71 A Woman of Samaria "Rita" 
 
 39 Good Mrs. Hypocrite "Rita" 
 
 40 Peg the Rake "Rita" 
 
 16 The Jesters "Rita" 
 
 116 The Silent Woman "Rita" 
 
 84 The Sinner "Rita" 
 
 153 Kitty the Rag "Rita" 
 
 178 Queer Lady Judas "Rita" 
 
 191 Souls "Rita" 
 
 204 The Masqueraders "Rita" 
 
 229 The House Called Hurrlsh .. .. "Rita" 
 
 89 The Way of a Man Morley Roberts 
 
 179 A Son Of Empire Morley Roberts 
 
 196 The Adventure of the Broad Arrow Morley Roberts 
 
 177 The Trampling of the Lilies .. Rafael Sabatini 
 
 200 Love at Arms Rafael Sabatini 
 
 232 The Shame of Motley Rafael Sabatini 
 
 228 The Mayoress's Wooing Mrs. Baillie Saunders 
 
 114 Reparation Adeline Sergeant 
 
 73 Roger Vanbrugh's Wife Adeline Sergeant 
 
 93 The Sixth Sense Adeline Sergeant 
 
 205 The Idol Maker Adeline Sergeant 
 
 231 Little Miss Colwyn .. Adeline Sergeant 
 
 250 St. Maur Adeline Sergeant 
 
 176 The Man Stealers M. P. Shiel 
 
 119 A Son of Gad J. A. Steuart 
 
 190 A Son of Erin Annie S. Swan 
 
 219 An American Woman Annie S. Swan 
 
 234 The Ne'er-Do-Weel Annie S. Swan 
 
 150 Made in His Image Guy Thome 
 
 111 The Gambler Mrs. Catherine Cecil Thurston 
 
 217 The House of Cards Lady Troubridge 
 
 131 Her Grace's Secret Violet Tweedale 
 
 242 Jack Raymond 13. L. Voynich 
 
 147 Starvecrow Farm Stanley Weyman 
 
 91 The Grip of the Bookmaker .. Percy White 
 
 182 The Heart of the Dancer Percy White 
 
 197 Love and the Poor Suitor Percy White 
 
 136 The Yellow Van Richard Whiteing 
 
 215 Bess of Hardendale Theodora Wilson- Wilson 
 
 124 Evelyn's Story Emma Jane Worboise 
 
 175 Lottie Lonsdale Emma Jane Worboise 
 
 207 Campion Court Emma Jane Worboise 
 
 21 The Guardians of Panzy Dolf Wyllarde 
 
 64 Alain Tanger's Wife J.H.Yozall 
 
 83 A Love Episode (with 94 illustrations) . . Emile Zola 
 
 ALSO 
 
 152 Marie Corelli : The Writer and the T. F. G. Coates and 
 
 Woman R. S. Warren Bell 
 
 M8 The Orime Of the Congo i . Oonan Doyle . 
 
 32