The Coming of Bill Read online

  Chapter VII

  Cutting the Tangled Knot

  There are some men whose mission in life it appears to be to go aboutthe world creating crises in the lives of other people. When there isthunder in the air they precipitate the thunderbolt.

  Bailey Bannister was one of these. He meant extraordinarily well, buthe was a dangerous man for that very reason, and in a properlyconstituted world would have been segregated or kept under supervision.He would not leave the tangled lives of those around him to adjustthemselves. He blundered in and tried to help. He nearly alwaysproduced a definite result, but seldom the one at which he aimed.

  That he should have interfered in the affairs of Ruth and Kirk at thistime was, it must be admitted, unselfish of him, for just now he washaving troubles of his own on a somewhat extensive scale. His wife'sextravagance was putting a strain on his finances, and he was facedwith the choice of checking her or increasing his income. Being verymuch in love, he shrank from the former task and adopted the other wayout of the difficulty.

  It was this that had led to the change in his manner noticed by Steve.In order to make more money he had had to take risks, and only recentlyhad he begun to perceive how extremely risky these risks were. For thefirst time in its history the firm of Bannister was making first-handacquaintance with frenzied finance.

  It is, perhaps, a little unfair to lay the blame for this entirely atthe door of Bailey's Sybil. Her extravagance was largely responsible;but Bailey's newly found freedom was also a factor in the developmentsof the firm's operations. If you keep a dog, a dog with a high sense ofhis abilities and importance, tied up and muzzled for a length of timeand then abruptly set it free the chances are that it will celebrateits freedom. This had happened in the case of Bailey.

  Just as her father's money had caused Ruth to plunge into a whirl ofpleasures which she did not really enjoy, merely for the novelty of it,so the death of John Bannister and his own consequent accession to thethrone had upset Bailey's balance and embarked him on an orgy ofspeculation quite foreign to his true nature. All their lives Ruth andBailey had been repressed by their father, and his removal hadunsteadied them.

  Bailey, on whom the shadow of the dead man had pressed particularlyseverely, had been quite intoxicated by sudden freedom. He had been acipher in the firm of Bannister & Son. In the firm of Bannister & Co.he was an untrammelled despot. He did that which was right in his owneyes, and there was no one to say him nay.

  It was true that veteran members of the firm, looking in the glass,found white hairs where no white hairs had been and wrinkles onforeheads which, under the solid rule of old John Bannister, had beensmooth; but it would have taken more than these straws to convinceBailey that the wind which was blowing was an ill-wind. He haddeveloped in a day the sublime self-confidence of a young Napoleon. Hewas all dash and enterprise--the hurricane fighter of Wall Street.

  With these private interests to occupy him, it is surprising that heshould have found time to take the affairs of Ruth and Kirk in hand.But he did.

  For some time he had watched the widening gulf between them with painedsolicitude. He disliked Kirk personally; but that did not influencehim. He conceived it to be his duty to suppress private prejudices.Duty seemed to call him to go to Kirk's aid and smooth out his domesticdifficulties.

  What urged him to this course more than anything else was Ruth'sgrowing intimacy with Basil Milbank; for, in the period which hadelapsed since the conversation recorded earlier in the story, when Kirkhad first made the other's acquaintance, the gifted Basil had become avery important and menacing figure in Ruth's life.

  To Ruth, as to most women, his gifts were his attraction. He dancedwell; he talked well; he did everything well. He appealed to a side ofRuth's nature which Kirk scarcely touched--a side which had only comeinto prominence in the last year.

  His manner was admirable. He suggested sympathy without expressing it.He could convey to Ruth that he thought her a misunderstood andneglected wife while talking to her about the weather. He could makehis own knight-errant attitude toward her perfectly plain withoutsaying a word, merely by playing soft music to her on the piano; for hehad the gift of saying more with his finger-tips than most men couldhave said in a long speech carefully rehearsed.

  Kirk's inability to accompany Ruth into her present life had givenBasil his chance. Into the gap which now lay between them he hadslipped with a smooth neatness born of experience.

  Bailey hated Basil. Men, as a rule, did, without knowing why. Basil'sreputation was shady, without being actually bad. He was a suspect whohad never been convicted. New York contained several husbands who eyedhim askance, but could not verify their suspicions, and the apparenthopelessness of ever doing so made them look on Basil as a man who hadcarried smoothness into the realms of fine art. He was considered toogifted to be wholesome. The men of his set, being for the most partamiably stupid, resented his cleverness.

  Bailey, just at present, was feeling strongly on the subject of Basil.He was at that stage of his married life when he would have preferredhis Sybil to speak civilly to no other man than himself. And onlyyesterday Sybil had come to him to inform him with obvious delight thatBasil Milbank had invited her to join his yacht party for a lengthyvoyage.

  This had stung Bailey. He was not included in the invitation. The wholeaffair struck him as sinister. It was true that Sybil had never shownany sign of being fascinated by Basil; but, he told himself, there wasno knowing. He forbade Sybil to accept the invitation. To soothe herdisappointment, he sent her off then and there to Tiffany's with aroving commission to get what she liked; for Bailey, the stern, strongman, the man who knew when to put his foot down, was no tyrant. But hewould have been indignant at the suggestion that he had bribed Sybil torefuse Basil's invitation.

  One of the arguments which Sybil had advanced in the brief discussionwhich had followed the putting down of Bailey's foot had been that Ruthhad been invited and accepted, so why should not she? Bailey had notreplied to this--it was at this point of the proceedings that theTiffany motive had been introduced, but he had not forgotten it. Hethought it over, and decided to call upon Ruth. He did so.

  It was unfortunate that the nervous strain of being the Napoleon ofWall Street had had the effect of increasing to a marked extent theportentousness of Bailey's always portentous manner. Ruth rebelledagainst it. There was an insufferable suggestion of ripe old age andfatherliness in his attitude which she found irritating in the extreme.All her life she had chafed at authority, and now, when Bailey sethimself up as one possessing it, she showed the worst side of herselfto him.

  He struck this unfortunate note from the very beginning.

  "Ruth," he said, "I wish to speak seriously to you."

  Ruth looked at him with hostile eyes, but did not speak. He did notknow it, poor man, but he had selected an exceedingly bad moment forhis lecture. It so happened that, only half an hour before, she andKirk had come nearer to open warfare than they had ever come.

  It had come about in this way. Kirk had slept badly the night before,and, as he lay awake in the small hours, his conscience had troubledhim.

  Had he done all that it was in him to do to bridge the gap between Ruthand himself? That was what his conscience had wanted to know. Theanswer was in the negative. On the following day, just before Bailey'scall, he accordingly sought Ruth out, and--rather nervously, for Ruthmade him feel nervous nowadays--suggested that he and she and WilliamBannister should take the air in each other's company and go and feedthe squirrels in the park.

  Ruth declined. It is possible that she declined somewhat curtly. Theday was close and oppressive, and she had a headache and a generalfeeling of ill-will toward her species. Also, in her heart, sheconsidered that the scheme proposed smacked too much of Sundayafternoon domesticity in Brooklyn. The idea of papa, mamma, and babysporting together in a public park offended her sense of the socialproprieties.

  She did not reveal these thoughts to Kirk because she was more than alittle ashamed o
f them. A year ago, she knew, she would not haveobjected to the idea. A year ago such an expedition would have been adaily occurrence with her. Now she felt if William Bannister wished tofeed squirrels, Mamie was his proper companion.

  She could not put all this baldly to Kirk, so she placed the burden ofher refusal on the adequate shoulders of Lora Delane Porter. Aunt Lora,she said, would never hear of William Bannister wandering at large insuch an unhygienic fashion. Upon which Kirk, whose patience was not sorobust as it had been, and who, like Ruth, found the day oppressive andmaking for irritability, had cursed Aunt Lora heartily, given it as hisopinion that between them she and Ruth were turning the child from ahuman being into a sort of spineless, effeminate exhibit in a museum,and had taken himself off to the studio muttering disjointed things.

  Ruth was still quivering with the indignation of a woman who has beencheated of the last word when Bailey appeared and announced that hewished to speak seriously to her.

  Bailey saw the hostility in her eyes and winced a little before it. Hewas not feeling altogether at his ease. He had had experience of Ruthin this mood, and she had taught him to respect it.

  But he was not going to shirk his duty. He resumed:

  "I am only speaking for your own good," he said. "I know that itis nothing but thoughtlessness on your part, but I am naturallyanxious----"

  "Bailey," interrupted Ruth, "get to the point."

  Bailey drew a long breath.

  "Well, then," he said, baulked of his preamble, and rushing on hisfate, "I think you see too much of Basil Milbank."

  Ruth raised her eyebrows.

  "Oh?"

  The mildness of her tone deceived Bailey.

  "I do not like to speak of these things," he went on more happily; "butI feel that I must. It is my duty. Basil Milbank has not a goodreputation. He is not the sort of man who--ah--who--in fact, he has nota good reputation."

  "Oh?"

  "I understand that he has invited you to form one of his yacht party."

  "How did you know?"

  "Sybil told me. He invited her. I refused to allow her to accept theinvitation."

  "And what did Sybil say?"

  "She was naturally a little disappointed, of course, but she did as Irequested."

  "I wonder she didn't pack her things and go straight off."

  "My dear Ruth!"

  "That is what I should have done."

  "You don't know what you are saying."

  "Oh? Do you think I should let Kirk dictate to me like that?"

  "He is certain to disapprove of your going when he hears of theinvitation. What will you do?"

  Ruth's eyes opened. For a moment she looked almost ugly.

  "What shall I do? Why, go, of course."

  She clenched her teeth. A woman's mind can work curiously, and she wasassociating Kirk with Bailey in what she considered an unwarrantableintrusion into her private affairs. It was as if Kirk, and not Bailey,were standing there, demanding that she should not associate with BasilMilbank.

  "I shall make it my business," said Bailey, "to warn Kirk that this manis not a desirable companion for you."

  The discussion of this miserable yacht affair had brought back toBailey all the jealousy which he had felt when Sybil had first told himof it. All the vague stories he had ever heard about Basil were surgingin his mind like waves of some corrosive acid. He had become a leadingmember of the extreme wing of the anti-Milbank party. He regarded Basilwith the aversion which a dignified pigeon might feel for a circlinghawk; and he was now looking on this yacht party as a deadly peril fromwhich Ruth must be saved at any cost.

  "I shall speak to him very strongly," he added.

  Ruth's suppressed anger blazed up in the sudden way which before nowhad disconcerted her brother.

  "Bailey, what do you mean by coming here and saying this sort of thing?You're becoming a perfect old woman. You spend your whole time pryinginto other people's affairs. I'm sorry for Sybil."

  Bailey cast one reproachable look at her and left the room with paineddignity. Something seemed to tell him that no good could come to himfrom a prolongation of the interview. Ruth, in this mood, always hadbeen too much for him, and always would be. Well, he had done his dutyas far as he was concerned. It now remained to do the same by Kirk.

  He hailed a taxi and drove to the studio.

  Kirk was busy and not anxious for conversation, least of all withBailey. He had not forgotten their last _tete-a-tete_.

  Bailey, however, was regarding him with a feeling almost offriendliness. They were bound together by a common grievance againstBasil Milbank.

  "I came here, Winfield," he said, after a few moments of awkwardconversation on neutral topics, "because I understand that this manMilbank has invited Ruth to join his yacht party."

  "What yacht party?"

  "This man Milbank is taking a party for a cruise shortly in his yacht."

  "Who is Milbank?"

  "Surely you have met him? Yes, he was at my house one night when youand Ruth dined there shortly after your return."

  "I don't remember him. However, it doesn't matter. But why does thefact that he has asked Ruth on his yacht excite you? Are you nervousabout the sea?"

  "I dislike this man Milbank very much, Winfield. I think Ruth sees toomuch of him."

  Kirk stiffened. His eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch.

  "Oh?" he said.

  It seemed to Bailey for an instant that he had been talking all hislife to people who raised their eyebrows and said "Oh!" but hecontinued manfully.

  "I do not think that Ruth should know him, Winfield."

  "Wouldn't Ruth be rather a good judge of that?"

  His tone nettled Bailey, but the man conscious of doing his dutyacquires an artificial thickness of skin, and he controlled himself.But he had lost that feeling of friendliness, of sympathy with abrother in misfortune which he had brought in with him.

  "I disagree with you entirely," he said.

  "Another thing," went on Kirk. "If this man Milbank--I still can'tplace him--is such a thug, or whatever it is that he happens to be, howdid he come to be at your house the night you say I met him?"

  Bailey winced. He wished the world was not perpetually reminding himthat Basil and Sybil were on speaking terms.

  "Sybil invited him. I may say he has asked Sybil to make one of theyacht party. I absolutely forbade it."

  "But, Heavens! What's wrong with the man?"

  "He has a bad reputation."

  "Has he, indeed!"

  "And I wish my wife to associate with him as little as possible. And Ishould advise you to forbid Ruth to see more of him than she can help."

  Kirk laughed. The idea struck him as comic.

  "My good man, I don't forbid Ruth to do things."

  Bailey, objecting to being called any one's good man, especiallyKirk's, permitted his temper to get the better of him.

  "Then you should," he snapped. "I have no wish to quarrel with you. Icame in here in a friendly spirit to warn you; but I must say that fora man who married a girl, as you married Ruth, in direct opposition tothe wishes of her family, you take a curious view of your obligations.Ruth has always been a headstrong, impulsive girl, and it is for you tosee that she is protected from herself. If you are indifferent to herwelfare, then all I can say is that you should not have married her.You appear to think otherwise. Good afternoon."

  He stalked out of the studio, leaving Kirk uncomfortably conscious thathe had had the worst of the argument. Bailey had been officious, nodoubt, and his pompous mode of expression was not soothing, but therewas no doubt that he had had right on his side.

  Marrying Ruth did not involve obligations. He had never considered herin that light, but perhaps she was a girl who had to be protected fromherself. She was certainly impulsive. Bailey had been right there, ifnowhere else.

  Who was this fellow Milbank who had sprung suddenly from nowhere intothe position of a menace? What were Ruth's feelings toward him? Kirkthrew his mi
nd back to the dinner-party at Bailey's and tried to placehim.

  Was it the man--yes, he had it now. It was the man with the wave ofhair over his forehead, the fellow who looked like a poet. Memory cameto him with a rush. He recalled his instinctive dislike for the fellow.

  So that was Milbank, was it? He got up and put away his brushes. Therewould be no more work for him that afternoon.

  He walked slowly home. The heat of the day had grown steadily moreoppressive. It was one of those airless, stifling afternoons whichafflict New York in the summer. He remembered seeing something about arecord in the evening paper which he had bought on his way to thestudio, a whole column about heat and humidity. It certainly feltunusually warm even for New York.

  It was one of those days when nerves are strained, when molehillsbecome mountains, and mountains are all Everests. He had felt it whenhe talked with Ruth about Bill and the squirrels, and he felt it now.He was conscious of being extraordinarily irritated, not so much withany particular person as with the world in general. The very vaguenessof Bailey's insinuations against Basil Milbank increased hisresentment.

  What a pompous ass Bailey was! What a fool he had been to give Baileysuch a chance of snubbing him! What an extraordinarily futile andunpleasant world it was altogether!

  He braced himself with an effort. It was this heat which was making himmagnify trifles. Bailey was a fool. Probably there was nothing whateverwrong with this fellow Milbank. Probably he had some personal objectionto the man, and that was all.

  And yet the image of Basil which had come back to his mind was notreassuring. He had mistrusted him that night, and he mistrusted himnow.

  What should he do? Ruth was not Sybil. She was not the sort of woman aman could forbid to do things. It would require tact to induce her torefuse Basil's invitation.

  As he reached the door an idea came to him, so simple that he wonderedthat it had not occurred to him before. It was, perhaps, an echo of hisconversation with Steve.

  He would get Ruth to come away with him to the shack in the Connecticutwoods. As he dwelt on the idea the heat of the day seemed to becomeless oppressive and his heart leaped. How cool and pleasant it would beout there! They would take Bill with them and live the simple lifeagain, in the country this time instead of in town. Perhaps out there,far away from the over-crowded city, he and Ruth would be able to cometo an understanding and bridge over that ghastly gulf.

  As for his work, he could do that as well in the woods as in New York.And, anyhow, he had earned a vacation. For days Mr. Penway had beenhinting that the time had arrived for a folding of the hands.

  Mr. Penway's views on New York and its record humidity were strong andcrisply expressed. His idea, he told Kirk, was that some sport with aheart should loan him a couple of hundred bucks and let him beat it tothe seashore before he melted.

  In the drawing-room Ruth was playing the piano softly, as she had doneso often at the studio. Kirk went to her and kissed her. A markedcoolness in her reception of the kiss increased the feeling ofnervousness which he had felt at the sight of her. It came back to himthat they had parted that afternoon, for the first time, on definitelyhostile terms.

  He decided to ignore the fact. Something told him that Ruth had notforgotten, but it might be that cheerfulness now would blot out theresentment of past irritability.

  But in his embarrassment he was more than cheerful. As Steve had beenon the occasion of his visit to old John Bannister, he was breezy,breezy with an effort that was as painful to Ruth as it was to himself,breezy with a horrible musical comedy breeziness.

  He could have adopted no more fatal tone with Ruth at that moment. Allthe afternoon she had been a complicated tangle of fretted nerves. Herquarrel with Kirk, Bailey's visit, a conscience that would not lie downand go to sleep at her orders, but insisted on running riot--all thesethings had unfitted her to bear up amiably under sudden, self-consciousbreeziness.

  And the heat of the day, charged now with the oppressiveness oflong-overdue thunder, completed her mood. When Kirk came in and beganto speak, the softest notes of the human voice would have jarred uponher. And Kirk, in his nervousness, was almost shouting.

  His voice rang through the room, and Ruth winced away from it like astricken thing. From out of the hell of nerves and heat and interferingbrothers there materialized itself, as she sat there, a very vividhatred of Kirk.

  Kirk, meanwhile, uneasy, but a little guessing at the fury behindRuth's calm face, was expounding his great scheme, his panacea for allthe ills of domestic misunderstandings and parted lives.

  "Ruth, old girl."

  Ruth shuddered.

  "Ruth, old girl, I've had a bully good idea. It's getting too warm foranything in New York. Did you ever feel anything like it is to-day? Whyshouldn't you and I pop down to the shack and camp out there for a weekor so? And we would take Bill with us. Just we three, with somebody todo the cooking. It would be great. What do you say?"

  What Ruth said languidly was: "It's quite impossible."

  It was damping; but Kirk felt that at all costs he must refuse to bedamped. He clutched at his cheerfulness and held it.

  "Nonsense," he retorted. "Why is it impossible? It's a great idea."

  Ruth half hid a yawn. She knew she was behaving abominably, and she wasglad of it.

  "It's impossible as far as I'm concerned. I have a hundred things to dobefore I can leave New York."

  "Well, I could do with a day or two to clear up a few bits of work Ihave on hand. Why couldn't we start this day week?"

  "It is out of the question for me. About then I shall be on Mr.Milbank's yacht. He has invited me to join his party. The actual day isnot settled, but it will be in about a week's time."

  "Oh!" said Kirk.

  Ruth said nothing.

  "Have you accepted the invitation?"

  "I have not actually answered his letter. I was just going to when youcame in."

  "But you mean to accept it?"

  "Certainly. Several of my friends will be there. Sybil for one."

  "Not Sybil."

  "Oh, I know Bailey has made some ridiculous objection to her going, butI mean to persuade her."

  Kirk did not answer. She looked at him steadily.

  "So Bailey did call on you this afternoon? He told me he was going to,but I hoped he would think better of it. But apparently there are nolimits to Bailey's stupidity."

  "Yes, Bailey came to the studio. He seemed troubled about this yachtparty."

  "Did he advise you to forbid me to go?"

  "Well, yes; he did."

  "And now you have come to do it?"

  "Not at all. I told Bailey that you were not the sort of woman oneforbade to do things."

  "I'm not."

  There was a pause.

  "All the same, I wish you wouldn't go."

  Ruth did not answer.

  "It would be very jolly out at the shack."

  Ruth shuddered elaborately and gave a little laugh.

  "Would it? It's rather a question of taste. Personally, I can't imagineanything more depressing and uncomfortable than being cooped up in adraughty frame house miles away from anywhere. There's no reason whyyou should not go, though, if you like that sort of thing. Of course,you must not take Bill."

  "Why not?"

  Kirk spoke calmly enough, but he was very near the breaking point. Allhis good resolutions had vanished under the acid of Ruth's manner.

  "I couldn't let him rough it like that. Aunt Lora would have a fit."

  Conditions being favourable, it only needs a spark to explode a powdermagazine; and there are moments when a word can turn an outwardly calmand patient man into a raging maniac. This introduction of Mrs.Porter's name into the discussion at this particular point broke downthe last remnants of Kirk's self-control.

  For a few seconds his fury so mastered him that he could not speak.Then, suddenly, the storm passed and he found himself cool andvenomous. He looked at Ruth curiously. It seemed incredible to him thathe had ever
loved her.

  "We had better get this settled," he said in a hard, quiet voice.

  Ruth started. She had never heard him speak like this before. She hadnot imagined him capable of speaking in that way. Even in the dayswhen she had loved him most she had never looked up to him. She hadconsidered his nature weak, and she had loved his weakness. Exceptin the case of her father, she had always dominated the persons withwhom she mixed; and she had taken it for granted that her will wasstronger than Kirk's. Something in his voice now told her that she hadunder-estimated him.

  "Get what settled?" she asked, and was furious with herself because hervoice shook.

  "Is Mrs. Porter the mother of the child, or are you? What has Mrs.Porter to do with it? Why should I ask her permission? How does ithappen to be any business of Mrs. Porter's at all?"

  Ruth felt baffled. He was giving her no chance to take the offensive.There was nothing in his tone which she could openly resent. He was notshouting at her, he was speaking quietly. There was nothing for her todo but answer the question, and she knew that her answer would give himanother point in the contest. Even as she spoke she knew that her wordswere ridiculous.

  "Aunt Lora has been wonderful with him. No child could have been betterlooked after."

  "I know she has used him as a vehicle for her particular form ofinsanity, but that's not the point. What I am asking is why she wasintroduced at all."

  "I told you. When you were away, Bill nearly----"

  "Died. I know. I'm not forgetting that. And naturally for a time youwere frightened. It is just possible that for the moment you lost yourhead and honestly thought that Mrs. Porter's methods were the onlychance for him. But that state of mind could not last all the time withyou. You are not a crank like your aunt. You are a perfectly sensible,level-headed woman. And you must have seen the idiocy of it all longbefore I came back. Why did you let it go on?"

  Ruth did not answer.

  "I will tell you why. Because it saved you trouble. Because it gave youmore leisure for the sort of futile waste of time which seems to be theonly thing you care for nowadays. Don't trouble to deny it. Do youthink I haven't seen in these last few months that Bill bores you todeath? Oh, I know you always have some perfect excuse for keeping awayfrom him. It's too much trouble for you to be a mother to him, so youhedge with your conscience by letting Mrs. Porter pamper him andsterilize his toys and all the rest of it, and try to make yourselfthink that you have done your duty to him. You know that, as far aseverything goes that matters, any tenement child is better off thanBill."

  "I----"

  "You had better let me finish what I have got to say. I will be asbrief as I can. That is my case as regards Bill. Now about myself. Whatdo you think I am made of? I've stood it just as long as I could; youhave tried me too hard. I'm through. Heaven knows why it should havecome to this. It is not so very long ago that Bill was half the worldto you and I was the other half. Now, apparently, there is not room inyour world for either of us."

  Ruth had risen. She was trembling.

  "I think we had better end this."

  He broke in on her words.

  "End it? Yes, you're right. One way or the other. Either go back to theold life or start a new one. What we are living now is a horribleburlesque."

  "What do you mean? How start a new life?"

  "I mean exactly what I say. In the life you are living now I am ananachronism. I'm a survival. I'm out of date and in the way. You wouldbe freer without me."

  "That's absurd."

  "Is the idea so novel? Is our marriage the only failure in New York?"

  "Do you mean that we ought to separate?"

  "Only a little more, a very little more, than we are separated now.Never see each other again instead of seeing each other for a fewminutes every day. It's not a very big step to take."

  Ruth sat down and rested her chin on her hand, staring at nothing. Kirkwent to the window and looked out.

  Over the park the sky was black. In the room behind him the light hadfaded till it seemed as if night were come. The air was heavy andstifling. A flicker of lightning came and went in the darkness over thetrees.

  He turned abruptly.

  "It is the only reasonable thing to do. Our present mode of life is afarce. We are drifting farther apart every day. Perhaps I have changed.I know you have. We are two strangers chained together. We have made amuddle of it, and the best thing we can do is to admit it.

  "I am no good to you. I have no part in your present life. You're thequeen and I'm just the prince consort, the fellow who happens to beMrs. Winfield's husband. It's not a pleasant part to have to play, andI have had enough of it. We had better separate before we hate eachother. You have your amusements. I have my work. We can continue themapart. We shall both be better off."

  He stopped. Ruth did not speak. She was still sitting in the sameattitude. It was too dark to see her face. It formed a little splash ofwhite in the dusk. She did not move.

  Kirk went to the door.

  "I'm going up to say good-bye to Bill. Have you anything to say againstthat? And I shall say good-bye to him in my own way."

  She made no sign that she had heard him.

  "Good-bye," he said again.

  The door closed.

  Up in the nursery Bill crooned to himself as he played on the floor.Mamie sat in a chair, sewing. The opening of the door caused them tolook up simultaneously.

  "Hello," said Bill.

  His voice was cordial without being enthusiastic. He was glad to seeKirk, but tin soldiers were tin soldiers and demanded concentratedattention. When you are in the middle of intricate manoeuvres youcannot allow yourself to be more than momentarily distracted byanything.

  "Mamie," said Kirk hoarsely, "go out for a minute, will you? I shan'tbe long."

  Mamie obediently departed. Later, when Keggs was spreading the news ofKirk's departure in the servants' hall, she remembered that his mannerhad struck her as strange.

  Kirk sat down in the chair she had left and looked at Bill. He feltchoked. There was a mist before his eyes.

  "Bill."

  The child, absorbed in his game, did not look up.

  "Bill, old man, come here a minute. I've something to say."

  Bill looked up, nodded, moved a couple of soldiers, and got up. He cameto Kirk's side. His chosen mode of progression at this time was a kindof lurch. He was accustomed to breathe heavily during the journey, andon arrival at the terminus usually shouted triumphantly.

  Kirk put an arm round him. Bill stared gravely up into his face. Therewas a silence. From outside came a sudden rumbling crash. Bill jumped.

  "Funder," he said in a voice that shook a little.

  "Not afraid of thunder, are you?" said Kirk.

  Bill shook his head stoutly.

  "Bill."

  "Yes, daddy?"

  Kirk fought to keep his voice steady.

  "Bill, old man, I'm afraid you won't see me again for some time. I'mgoing away."

  "In a ship?"

  "No, not in a ship."

  "In a train?"

  "Perhaps."

  "Take me with you, daddy."

  "I'm afraid I can't, Bill."

  "Shan't I ever see you again?"

  Kirk winced. How direct children are! What was it they called it in thepapers? "The custody of the child." How little it said and how much itmeant!

  The sight of Bill's wide eyes and quivering mouth reminded him that hewas not the only person involved in the tragedy of those five words. Hepulled himself together. Bill was waiting anxiously for an answer tohis question. There was no need to make Bill unhappy before his time.

  "Of course you will," he said, trying to make his voice cheerful.

  "Of course I will," echoed Bill dutifully.

  Kirk could not trust himself to speak again. The old sensation ofchoking had come back to him. The room was a blur.

  He caught Bill to him in a grip that made the child cry out, held himfor a long minute, then put him gently
down and made blindly for thedoor.

  The storm had burst by the time Kirk found himself in the street. Thethunder crashed and great spears of lightning flashed across the sky. Afew heavy drops heralded the approach of the rain, and before he hadreached the corner it was beating down in torrents.

  He walked on, raising his face to the storm, finding in it a curiousrelief. A magical coolness had crept into the air, and with it astrange calm into his troubled mind. He looked back at the scenethrough which he had passed as at something infinitely remote. He couldnot realize distinctly what had happened. He was only aware thateverything was over, that with a few words he had broken his life intosmall pieces. Too impatient to unravel the tangled knot, he had cut it,and nothing could mend it now.

  "Why?"

  The rain had ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The sun was strugglingthrough a mass of thin cloud over the park. The world was full of thedrip and rush of water. All that had made the day oppressive andstrained nerves to breaking point had gone, leaving peace behind. Kirkfelt like one waking from an evil dream.

  "Why did it happen?" he asked himself. "What made me do it?"

  A distant rumble of thunder answered the question.