A Man of Means Page 5

  THE DIVERTING EPISODE OF THE EXILED MONARCH

  Fifth of a Series of Six Stories [First published in _Pictorial Review_,September 1916]

  The caoutchouc was drawing all London. Slightly more indecent than theSalome dance, a shade less reticent than ragtime, it had driven thetango out of existence. Nor, indeed, did anybody actually caoutchouc,for the national dance of Paranoya contained three hundred andfifteen recognized steps; but everybody tried to. A new revue, "Hullo,Caoutchouc," had been produced with success. And the pioneer of thedance, the peerless Maraquita, a native Paranoyan, still performed itnightly at the music-hall where she had first broken loose.

  The caoutchouc fascinated Roland Bleke. Maraquita fascinated him more.Of all the women to whom he had lost his heart at first sight, Maraquitahad made the firmest impression upon him. She was what is sometimescalled a fine woman.

  She had large, flashing eyes, the physique of a Rugby Internationalforward, and the agility of a cat on hot bricks.

  There is a period of about fifty steps somewhere in the middle of thethree hundred and fifteen where the patient, abandoning the comparativedecorum of the earlier movements, whizzes about till she looks like asalmon-colored whirlwind.

  That was the bit that hit Roland.

  Night after night he sat in his stage-box, goggling at Maraquita andapplauding wildly.

  One night an attendant came to his box.

  "Excuse me, sir, but are you Mr. Roland Bleke? The Senorita Maraquitawishes to speak to you."

  He held open the door of the box. The possibility of refusal did notappear to occur to him. Behind the scenes at that theater, it wasgenerally recognized that when the Peerless One wanted a thing, she gotit--quick.

  They were alone.

  With no protective footlights between himself and her, Roland came tothe conclusion that he had made a mistake. It was not that she was anyless beautiful at the very close quarters imposed by the limits ofthe dressing-room; but he felt that in falling in love with her he hadundertaken a contract a little too large for one of his quiet, diffidentnature. It crossed his mind that the sort of woman he really liked wasthe rather small, drooping type. Dynamite would not have made Maraquitadroop.

  For perhaps a minute and a half Maraquita fixed her compelling eyes onhis without uttering a word. Then she broke a painful silence with thisleading question:

  "You love me, _hein_?"

  Roland nodded feebly.

  "When men make love to me, I send them away--so."

  She waved her hand toward the door, and Roland began to feel almostcheerful again. He was to be dismissed with a caution, after all. Thewoman had a fine, forgiving nature.

  "But not you."

  "Not me?"

  "No, not you. You are the man I have been waiting for. I read about youin the paper, Senor Bleke. I see your picture in the 'Daily Mirror!' Isay to myself, 'What a man!'"

  "Those picture-paper photographs always make one look rather weird,"mumbled Roland.

  "I see you night after night in your box. Poof! I love you."

  "Thanks awfully," bleated Roland.

  "You would do anything for my sake, _hein_? I knew you were that kindof man directly I see you. No," she added, as Roland writhed uneasilyin his chair, "do not embrace me. Later, yes, but now, no. Not till theGreat Day."

  What the Great Day might be Roland could not even faintly conjecture. Hecould only hope that it would also be a remote one.

  "And now," said the Senorita, throwing a cloak about her shoulders, "youcome away with me to my house. My friends are there awaiting us. Theywill be glad and proud to meet you."

  * * * * *

  After his first inspection of the house and the friends, Roland came tothe conclusion that he preferred Maraquita's room to her company. Theformer was large and airy, the latter, with one exception, small andhairy.

  The exception Maraquita addressed as Bombito. He was a conspicuousfigure. He was one of those out-size, hasty-looking men. One suspectedhim of carrying lethal weapons.

  Maraquita presented Roland to the company. The native speech of Paranoyasounded like shorthand, with a blend of Spanish. An expert couldevidently squeeze a good deal of it into a minute. Its effect on thecompany was good. They were manifestly soothed. Even Bombito.

  Introductions in detail then took place. This time, for Roland'sbenefit, Maraquita spoke in English, and he learned that most of thosepresent were marquises. Before him, so he gathered from Maraquita, stoodthe very flower of Paranoya's aristocracy, driven from their native landby the Infamy of 1905. Roland was too polite to inquire what on earththe Infamy of 1905 might be, but its mention had a marked effect on thecompany. Some scowled, others uttered deep-throated oaths. Bombitodid both. Before supper, to which they presently sat down, was over,however, Roland knew a good deal about Paranoya and its history. Theconversation conducted by Maraquita--to a ceaseless _bouche pleine_accompaniment from her friends--bore exclusively upon the subject.

  Paranoya had, it appeared, existed fairly peacefully for centuries underthe rule of the Alejandro dynasty. Then, in the reign of Alejandro theThirteenth, disaffection had begun to spread, culminating in the Infamyof 1905, which, Roland had at last discovered, was nothing less than theabolition of the monarchy and the installation of a republic.

  Since 1905 the one thing for which they had lived, besides thecaoutchouc, was to see the monarchy restored and their beloved Alejandrothe Thirteenth back on his throne. Their efforts toward this endhad been untiring, and were at last showing signs of bearing fruit.Paranoya, Maraquita assured Roland, was honeycombed with intrigue. Thearmy was disaffected, the people anxious for a return to the old orderof things.

  A more propitious moment for striking the decisive blow was never likelyto arrive. The question was purely one of funds.

  At the mention of the word "funds," Roland, who had become thoroughlybored with the lecture on Paranoyan history, sat up and took notice.He had an instinctive feeling that he was about to be called upon fora subscription to the cause of the distressful country's freedom.Especially by Bombito.

  He was right. A moment later Maraquita began to make a speech.

  She spoke in Paranoyan, and Roland could not follow her, but he gatheredthat it somehow had reference to himself.

  As, at the end of it, the entire company rose to their feet and extendedtheir glasses toward him with a mighty shout, he assumed that Maraquitahad been proposing his health.

  "They say 'To the liberator of Paranoya!'" kindly translated thePeerless One. "You must excuse," said Maraquita tolerantly, as a bevyof patriots surrounded Roland and kissed him on the cheek. "They are sograteful to the savior of our country. I myself would kiss you, were itnot that I have sworn that no man's lips shall touch mine till the royalstandard floats once more above the palace of Paranoya. But that will besoon, very soon," she went on. "With you on our side we can not fail."

  What did the woman mean? Roland asked himself wildly. Did she laborunder the distressing delusion that he proposed to shed his blood onbehalf of a deposed monarch to whom he had never been introduced?

  Maraquita's next remarks made the matter clear.

  "I have told them," she said, "that you love me, that you are willingto risk everything for my sake. I have promised them that you, therich Senor Bleke, will supply the funds for the revolution. Once more,comrades. To the Savior of Paranoya!"

  Roland tried his hardest to catch the infection of this patrioticenthusiasm, but somehow he could not do it. Base, sordid, mercenaryspeculations would intrude themselves. About how much was a good,well-furnished revolution likely to cost? As delicately as he could, heput the question to Maraquita.

  She said, "Poof! The cost? La, la!" Which was all very well, but hardlysatisfactory as a business chat. However, that was all Roland could getout of her.

  * * * * *

  The next few days passed for Roland in a sort of dream. It was the kindof dream which it is not easy to
distinguish from a nightmare.

  Maraquita's reticence at the supper-party on the subject of detailsconnected with the financial side of revolutions entirely disappeared.She now talked nothing but figures, and from the confused mass whichshe presented to him Roland was able to gather that, in financingthe restoration of royalty in Paranoya, he would indeed be riskingeverything for her sake.

  In the matter of revolutions Maraquita was no niggard. She knew how thething should be done--well, or not at all. There would be so much forrifles, machine-guns, and what not: and there would be so much for theexpense of smuggling them into the country. Then there would be so muchto be laid out in corrupting the republican army. Roland brightened alittle when they came to this item. As the standing army of Paranoyaamounted to twenty thousand men, and as it seemed possible to corruptit thoroughly at a cost of about thirty shillings a head, the obviouscourse, to Roland's way of thinking was to concentrate on this side ofthe question and avoid unnecessary bloodshed.

  It appeared, however, that Maraquita did not want to avoid bloodshed,that she rather liked bloodshed, that the leaders of the revolutionwould be disappointed if there were no bloodshed. Especially Bombito.Unless, she pointed out, there was a certain amount of carnage, looting,and so on, the revolution would not achieve a popular success. True, thebeloved Alejandro might be restored; but he would sit upon a thronethat was insecure, unless the coronation festivities took a bloodthirstyturn. By all means, said Maraquita, corrupt the army, but not at therisk of making the affair tame and unpopular. Paranoya was an emotionalcountry, and liked its revolutions with a bit of zip to them.

  It was about ten days after he had definitely cast in his lot with therevolutionary party that Roland was made aware that these things were alittle more complex than he had imagined. He had reconciled himself tothe financial outlay. It had been difficult, but he had done it. Thathis person as well as his purse would be placed in peril he had notforeseen.

  The fact was borne in upon him at the end of the second week by thearrival of the deputation.

  It blew in from the street just as he was enjoying his after-dinnercigar.

  It consisted of three men, one long and suave, the other two short,stout, and silent. They all had the sallow complexion and unduehairiness which he had come by this time to associate with the native ofParanoya.

  For a moment he mistook them for a drove of exiled noblemen whom hehad not had the pleasure of meeting at the supper-party; and he waitedresignedly for them to make night hideous with the royal anthem. Hepoised himself on his toes, the more readily to spring aside if theyshould try to kiss him on the cheek.

  "Mr. Bleke?" said the long man.

  His companions drifted toward the cigar-box which stood open on thetable, and looked at it wistfully.

  "Long live the monarchy," said Roland wearily. He had gathered in thecourse of his dealings with the exiled ones that this remark generallywent well.

  On the present occasion it elicited no outburst of cheering. On thecontrary, the long man frowned, and his two companions helped themselvesto a handful of cigars apiece with a marked moodiness.

  "Death to the monarchy," corrected the long man coldly. "And," he addedwith a wealth of meaning in his voice, "to all who meddle in the affairsof our beloved country and seek to do it harm."

  "I don't know what you mean," said Roland.

  "Yes, Senor Bleke, you do know what I mean. I mean that you will bewell advised to abandon the schemes which you are hatching with themalcontents who would do my beloved land an injury."

  The conversation was growing awkward. Roland had got so into the habitof taking it for granted that every Paranoyan he met must of necessitybe a devotee of the beloved Alejandro that it came as a shock to himto realize that there were those who objected to his restoration tothe throne. Till now he had looked on the enemy as something in theabstract. It had not struck him that the people for whose correctionhe was buying all these rifles and machine-guns were individuals with alively distaste for having their blood shed.

  "Senor Bleke," resumed the speaker, frowning at one of his companionswhose hand was hovering above the bottle of liqueur brandy, "you are aman of sense. You know what is safe and what is not safe. Believe me,this scheme of yours is not safe. You have been led away, but thereis still time to withdraw. Do so, and all is well. Do not so, and yourblood be upon your own head."

  "My blood!" gasped Roland.

  The speaker bowed.

  "That is all," he said. "We merely came to give the warning. Ah, SenorBleke, do not be rash. You think that here, in this great London ofyours, you are safe. You look at the policeman upon the corner of theroad, and you say to yourself 'I am safe.' Believe me, not at all so isit, but much the opposite. We have ways by which it is of no account thepoliceman on the corner of the road. That is all, Senor Bleke. We wishyou a good night."

  The deputation withdrew.

  Maraquita, informed of the incident, snapped her fingers, and said"Poof!" It sometimes struck Roland that she would be more real help in adifficult situation if she could get out of the habit of saying "Poof!"

  "It is nothing," she said.

  "No?" said Roland.

  "We easily out-trick them, isn't it? You make a will leaving your moneyto the Cause, and then where are they, _hein_?"

  It was one way of looking at it, but it brought little balm to Roland.He said so. Maraquita scanned his face keenly.

  "You are not weakening, Roland?" she said. "You would not betray usnow?"

  "Well, of course, I don't know about betraying, you know, but still----.What I mean is----"

  Maraquita's eyes seemed to shoot forth two flames.

  "Take care," she cried. "With me it is nothing, for I know that yourheart is with Paranoya. But, if the others once had cause to suspectthat your resolve was failing--ah! If Bombito----"

  Roland took her point. He had forgotten Bombito for the moment.

  "For goodness' sake," he said hastily, "don't go saying anything toBombito to give him the idea that I'm trying to back out. Of course youcan rely on me, and all that. That's all right."

  Maraquita's gaze softened. She raised her glass--they were lunching atthe time--and put it to her lips.

  "To the Savior of Paranoya!" she said.

  "Beware!" whispered a voice in Roland's ear.

  He turned with a start. A waiter was standing behind him, a small, dark,hairy man. He was looking into the middle distance with the abstractedair which waiters cultivate.

  Roland stared at him, but he did not move.

  That evening, returning to his flat, Roland was paralyzed by the sightof the word "Beware" scrawled across the mirror in his bedroom. It hadapparently been done with a diamond. He rang the bell.

  "Sir?" said the competent valet. ("Competent valets are in attendance ateach of these flats."--_Advt._)

  "Has any one been here since I left?"

  "Yes, sir. A foreign-looking gentleman called. He said he knew you, sir.I showed him into your room."

  The same night, well on in the small hours, the telephone rang. Rolanddragged himself out of bed.

  "Hullo?"

  "Is that Senor Bleke?"

  "Yes. What is it?"

  "Beware!"

  Things were becoming intolerable. Roland had a certain amount ofnerve, but not enough to enable him to bear up against this sinisterpersecution. Yet what could he do? Suppose he did beware to the extentof withdrawing his support from the royalist movement, what then?Bombito. If ever there was a toad under the harrow, he was that toad.And all because a perfectly respectful admiration for the caoutchouchad led him to occupy a stage-box several nights in succession at thetheater where the peerless Maraquita tied herself into knots.

  * * * * *

  There was an air of unusual excitement in Maraquita's manner at theirnext meeting.

  "We have been in communication with Him," she whispered. "He willreceive you. He will give an audience to the Savior of Paranoya."
r />   "Eh? Who will?"

  "Our beloved Alejandro. He wishes to see his faithful servant. We are togo to him at once."

  "Where?"

  "At his own house. He will receive you in person."

  Such was the quality of the emotions through which he had been passingof late, that Roland felt but a faint interest at the prospect ofmeeting face to face a genuine--if exiled--monarch. The thought did flitthrough his mind that they would sit up a bit in old Fineberg's officeif they could hear of it, but it brought him little consolation.

  The cab drew up at a gloomy-looking house in a fashionable square.Roland rang the door-bell. There seemed a certain element of the prosaicin the action. He wondered what he should say to the butler.

  There was, however, no need for words. The door opened, and they wereushered in without parley. A butler and two footmen showed them into aluxuriously furnished anteroom. Roland entered with two thoughtsrunning in his mind. The first was that the beloved Alejandro had got anuncommonly snug crib; the second that this was exactly like going to seethe dentist.

  Presently the squad of retainers returned, the butler leading.

  "His Majesty will receive Mr. Bleke."

  Roland followed him with tottering knees.

  His Majesty, King Alejandro the Thirteenth, on the retired list, was agenial-looking man of middle age, comfortably stout about the middleand a little bald as to the forehead. He might have been a prosperousstock-broker. Roland felt more at his ease at the very sight of him.

  "Sit down, Mr. Bleke," said His Majesty, as the door closed. "I havebeen wanting to see you for some time."

  Roland had nothing to say. He was regaining his composure, but he had along way to go yet before he could feel thoroughly at home.

  King Alejandro produced a cigaret-case, and offered it to Roland,who shook his head speechlessly. The King lit a cigaret and smokedthoughtfully for a while.

  "You know, Mr. Bleke," he said at last, "this must stop. It really must.I mean your devoted efforts on my behalf."

  Roland gaped at him.

  "You are a very young man. I had expected to see some one much older.Your youth gives me the impression that you have gone into this affairfrom a spirit of adventure. I can assure you that you have nothing togain commercially by interfering with my late kingdom. I hope, beforewe part, that I can persuade you to abandon your idea of financing thismovement to restore me to the throne.

  "I don't understand--er--your majesty."

  "I will explain. Please treat what I shall say as strictly confidential.You must know, Mr. Bleke, that these attempts to re-establish me as areigning monarch in Paranoya are, frankly, the curse of an otherwisevery pleasant existence. You look surprized? My dear sir, do you knowParanoya? Have you ever been there? Have you the remotest idea what sortof life a King of Paranoya leads? I have tried it, and I can assureyou that a coal-heaver is happy by comparison. In the first place, theclimate of the country is abominable. I always had a cold in the head.Secondly, there is a small but energetic section of the populace whosesole recreation it seems to be to use their monarch as a target forbombs. They are not very good bombs, it is true, but one in, say, tenexplodes, and even an occasional bomb is unpleasant if you are thetarget.

  "Finally, I am much too fond of your delightful country to wish to leaveit. I was educated in England--I am a Magdalene College man--and I havethe greatest horror of ever being compelled to leave it. My present lifesuits me exactly. That is all I wished to say, Mr. Bleke. For both oursakes, for the sake of my comfort and your purse, abandon this scheme ofyours."

  * * * * *

  Roland walked home thoughtfully. Maraquita had left the royal residencelong before he had finished the whisky-and-soda which the genial monarchhad pressed upon him. As he walked, the futility of his situation camehome to him more and more. Whatever he did, he was bound to displeasesomebody; and these Paranoyans were so confoundedly impulsive when theywere vexed.

  For two days he avoided Maraquita. On the third, with something of theinstinct which draws the murderer to the spot where he has buried thebody, he called at her house.

  She was not present, but otherwise there was a full gathering. Therewere the marquises; there were the counts; there was Bombito.

  He looked unhappily round the crowd.

  Somebody gave him a glass of champagne. He raised it.

  "To the revolution," he said mechanically.

  There was a silence--it seemed to Roland an awkward silence. As if hehad said something improper, the marquises and counts began to driftfrom the room, till only Bombito was left. Roland regarded him with someapprehension. He was looking larger and more unusual than ever.

  But to-night, apparently, Bombito was in genial mood. He came forwardand slapped Roland on the shoulder. And then the remarkable fact came tolight that Bombito spoke English, or a sort of English.

  "My old chap," he said. "I would have a speech with you."

  He slapped Roland again on the shoulder.

  "The others they say, 'Break it with Senor Bleke gently.' Maraquita say'Break it with Senor Bleke gently.' So I break it with you gently."

  He dealt Roland a third stupendous punch. Whatever was to be brokengently, it was plain to Roland that it was not himself. And suddenlythere came to him a sort of intuition that told him that Bombito wasnervous.

  "After all you have done for us, Senor Bleke, we shall seem to youungrateful bounders, but what is it? Yes? No? I shouldn't wonder,perhaps. The whole fact is that there has been political crisis inParanoya. Upset. Apple-cart. Yes? You follow? No? The Ministry havebeen--what do you say?--put through it. Expelled. Broken up. No moreministry. New ministry wanted. To conciliate royalist party, that isthe cry. So deputation of leading persons, mighty good chaps, prominentmerchants and that sort of bounder, call upon us. They offer me to bePresident. See? No? Yes? That's right. I am ambitious blighter, SenorBleke. What about it, no? I accept. I am new President of Paranoya. Sono need for your kind assistance. Royalist revolution up the spout. Nomore royalist revolution."

  The wave of relief which swept over Roland ebbed sufficiently after aninterval to enable him to think of some one but himself. He was not fondof Maraquita, but he had a tender heart, and this, he felt, would killthe poor girl.

  "But Maraquita----?"

  "That's all right, splendid old chap. No need to worry about Maraquita,stout old boy. Where the husband goes, so does the wife go. As you say,whither thou goes will I follow. No?"

  "But I don't understand. Maraquita is not your wife?"

  "Why, certainly, good old heart. What else?"

  "Have you been married to her all the time?"

  "Why, certainly, good, dear boy."

  The room swam before Roland's eyes. There was no room in his mindfor meditations on the perfidy of woman. He groped forward and foundBombito's hand.

  "By Jove," he said thickly, as he wrung it again and again, "I knew youwere a good sort the first time I saw you. Have a drink or something.Have a cigar or something. Have something, anyway, and sit down and tellme all about it."

  THE EPISODE OF THE HIRED PAST

  Final Story of the Series [First published in _Pictorial Review_,October 1916]

  "What do you mean--you can't marry him after all? After all what? Whycan't you marry him? You are perfectly childish."

  Lord Evenwood's gentle voice, which had in its time lulled the Houseof Peers to slumber more often than any voice ever heard in theGilded Chamber, had in it a note of unwonted, but quite justifiable,irritation. If there was one thing more than another that Lord Evenwooddisliked, it was any interference with arrangements already made.

  "The man," he continued, "is not unsightly. The man is not conspicuouslyvulgar. The man does not eat peas with his knife. The man pronounces hisaitches with meticulous care and accuracy. The man, moreover, is worthrather more than a quarter of a million pounds. I repeat, you arechildish!"

  "Yes, I know he's a very decent little chap, Father,"
said Lady Eva."It's not that at all."

  "I should be gratified, then, to hear what, in your opinion, it is."

  "Well, do you think I could be happy with him?"

  Lady Kimbuck gave tongue. She was Lord Evenwood's sister. She spent avery happy widowhood interfering in the affairs of the various branchesof her family.

  "We're not asking you to be happy. You have such odd ideas of happiness.Your idea of happiness is to be married to your cousin Gerry, whose onlyvisible means of support, so far as I can gather, is the four hundreda year which he draws as a member for a constituency which has everyintention of throwing him out at the next election."

  Lady Eva blushed. Lady Kimbuck's faculty for nosing out the secrets ofher family had made her justly disliked from the Hebrides to SouthernCornwall.

  "Young O'Rion is not to be thought of," said Lord Evenwood firmly. "Notfor an instant. Apart from anything else, his politics are allwrong. Moreover, you are engaged to this Mr. Bleke. It is a sacredresponsibility not lightly to be evaded. You can not pledge yourword one day to enter upon the most solemn contract known to--ah--thecivilized world, and break it the next. It is not fair to the man. It isnot fair to me. You know that all I live for is to see you comfortablysettled. If I could myself do anything for you, the matter would bedifferent. But these abominable land-taxes and Blowick--especiallyBlowick--no, no, it's out of the question. You will be very sorry if youdo anything foolish. I can assure you that Roland Blekes are not to befound--ah--on every bush. Men are extremely shy of marrying nowadays."

  "Especially," said Lady Kimbuck, "into a family like ours. What withBlowick's scandal, and that shocking business of your grandfatherand the circus-woman, to say nothing of your poor father's trouble in'85----"

  "Thank you, Sophia," interrupted Lord Evenwood, hurriedly. "It isunnecessary to go into all that now. Suffice it that there are adequatereasons, apart from all moral obligations, why Eva should not break herword to Mr. Bleke."

  Lady Kimbuck's encyclopedic grip of the family annals was a source ofthe utmost discomfort to her relatives. It was known that more than onefirm of publishers had made her tempting offers for her reminiscences,and the family looked on like nervous spectators at a battle whileCupidity fought its ceaseless fight with Laziness; for the Evenwoodfamily had at various times and in various ways stimulated thecirculation of the evening papers. Most of them were living downsomething, and it was Lady Kimbuck's habit, when thwarted in herlightest whim, to retire to her boudoir and announce that she was notto be disturbed as she was at last making a start on her book. Abjectsurrender followed on the instant.

  At this point in the discussion she folded up her crochet-work, androse.

  "It is absolutely necessary for you, my dear, to make a good match, oryou will all be ruined. I, of course, can always support my decliningyears with literary work, but----"

  Lady Eva groaned. Against this last argument there was no appeal.

  Lady Kimbuck patted her affectionately on the shoulder.

  "There, run along now," she said. "I daresay you've got a headache orsomething that made you say a lot of foolish things you didn't mean.Go down to the drawing-room. I expect Mr. Bleke is waiting there to saygoodnight to you. I am sure he must be getting quite impatient."

  Down in the drawing-room, Roland Bleke was hoping against hope that LadyEva's prolonged absence might be due to the fact that she had gone tobed with a headache, and that he might escape the nightly interviewwhich he so dreaded.

  Reviewing his career, as he sat there, Roland came to the conclusionthat women had the knack of affecting him with a form of temporaryinsanity. They temporarily changed his whole nature. They made him feelfor a brief while that he was a dashing young man capable of thehighest flights of love. It was only later that the reaction came and herealized that he was nothing of the sort.

  At heart he was afraid of women, and in the entire list of the women ofwhom he had been afraid, he could not find one who had terrified him somuch as Lady Eva Blyton.

  Other women--notably Maraquita, now happily helping to direct thedestinies of Paranoya--had frightened him by their individuality. LadyEva frightened him both by her individuality and the atmosphere ofaristocratic exclusiveness which she conveyed. He had no idea whateverof what was the proper procedure for a man engaged to the daughter ofan earl. Daughters of earls had been to him till now mere names in thesociety columns of the morning paper. The very rules of the game werebeyond him. He felt like a confirmed Association footballer suddenlycalled upon to play in an International Rugby match.

  All along, from the very moment when--to his unbounded astonishment--shehad accepted him, he had known that he was making a mistake; but henever realized it with such painful clearness as he did this evening.He was filled with a sort of blind terror. He cursed the fate which hadtaken him to the Charity-Bazaar at which he had first come under thenotice of Lady Kimbuck. The fatuous snobbishness which had made him leapat her invitation to spend a few days at Evenwood Towers he regretted;but for that he blamed himself less. Further acquaintance with LadyKimbuck had convinced him that if she had wanted him, she would have gothim somehow, whether he had accepted or refused.

  What he really blamed himself for was his mad proposal. There had beenno need for it. True, Lady Eva had created a riot of burning emotions inhis breast from the moment they met; but he should have had the sense torealize that she was not the right mate for him, even tho he might havea quarter of a million tucked away in gilt-edged securities. Their livescould not possibly mix. He was a commonplace young man with a fondnessfor the pleasures of the people. He liked cheap papers, picture-palaces,and Association football. Merely to think of Association football inconnection with her was enough to make the folly of his conductclear. He ought to have been content to worship her from afar as someinaccessible goddess.

  A light step outside the door made his heart stop beating.

  "I've just looked in to say good night, Mr.--er--Roland," she said,holding out her hand. "Do excuse me. I've got such a headache."

  "Oh, yes, rather; I'm awfully sorry."

  If there was one person in the world Roland despised and hated at thatmoment, it was himself.

  "Are you going out with the guns to-morrow?" asked Lady Eva languidly.

  "Oh, yes, rather! I mean, no. I'm afraid I don't shoot."

  The back of his neck began to glow. He had no illusions about himself.He was the biggest ass in Christendom.

  "Perhaps you'd like to play a round of golf, then?"

  "Oh, yes, rather! I mean, no." There it was again, that awful phrase. Hewas certain he had not intended to utter it. She must be thinking him aperfect lunatic. "I don't play golf."

  They stood looking at each other for a moment. It seemed to Roland thather gaze was partly contemptuous, partly pitying. He longed to tell herthat, tho she had happened to pick on his weak points in the realm ofsport, there were things he could do. An insane desire came upon himto babble about his school football team. Should he ask her to feel hisquite respectable biceps? No.

  "Never mind," she said, kindly. "I daresay we shall think of somethingto amuse you."

  She held out her hand again. He took it in his for the briefest possibleinstant, painfully conscious the while that his own hand was clammy fromthe emotion through which he had been passing.

  "Good night."

  "Good night."

  Thank Heaven, she was gone. That let him out for another twelve hours atleast.

  A quarter of an hour later found Roland still sitting, where she hadleft him, his head in his hands. The groan of an overwrought soulescaped him.

  "I can't do it!"

  He sprang to his feet.

  "I won't do it."

  A smooth voice from behind him spoke.

  "I think you are quite right, sir--if I may make the remark."

  Roland had hardly ever been so startled in his life. In the first place,he was not aware of having uttered his thoughts aloud; in the second, hehad imagined that he was
alone in the room. And so, a moment before, hehad been.

  But the owner of the voice possessed, among other qualities, thecat-like faculty of entering a room perfectly noiselessly--a fact whichhad won for him, in the course of a long career in the service of thebest families, the flattering position of star witness in a number ofEngland's raciest divorce-cases.

  Mr. Teal, the butler--for it was no less a celebrity who had broken inon Roland's reverie--was a long, thin man of a somewhat priestly cast ofcountenance. He lacked that air of reproving hauteur which many butlerspossess, and it was for this reason that Roland had felt drawn to himduring the black days of his stay at Evenwood Towers. Teal had beenuncommonly nice to him on the whole. He had seemed to Roland, strickenby interviews with his host and Lady Kimbuck, the only human thing inthe place.

  He liked Teal. On the other hand, Teal was certainly taking a liberty.He could, if he so pleased, tell Teal to go to the deuce. Technically,he had the right to freeze Teal with a look.

  He did neither of these things. He was feeling very lonely and veryforlorn in a strange and depressing world, and Teal's voice and mannerwere soothing.

  "Hearing you speak, and seeing nobody else in the room," went on thebutler, "I thought for a moment that you were addressing me."

  This was not true, and Roland knew it was not true. Instinct told himthat Teal knew that he knew it was not true; but he did not press thepoint.

  "What do you mean--you think I am quite right?" he said. "You don't knowwhat I was thinking about."

  Teal smiled indulgently.

  "On the contrary, sir. A child could have guessed it. You have justcome to the decision--in my opinion a thoroughly sensible one--that yourengagement to her ladyship can not be allowed to go on. You are quiteright, sir. It won't do."

  Personal magnetism covers a multitude of sins. Roland was perfectly wellaware that he ought not to be standing here chatting over his and LadyEva's intimate affairs with a butler; but such was Teal's magnetism thathe was quite unable to do the right thing and tell him to mind his ownbusiness. "Teal, you forget yourself!" would have covered the situation.Roland, however, was physically incapable of saying "Teal, you forgetyourself!" The bird knows all the time that he ought not to standtalking to the snake, but he is incapable of ending the conversation.Roland was conscious of a momentary wish that he was the sort of man whocould tell butlers that they forgot themselves. But then that sortof man would never be in this sort of trouble. The "Teal, you forgetyourself" type of man would be a first-class shot, a plus golfer, andwould certainly consider himself extremely lucky to be engaged to LadyEva.

  "The question is," went on Mr. Teal, "how are we to break it off?"

  Roland felt that, as he had sinned against all the decencies in allowingthe butler to discuss his affairs with him, he might just as well gothe whole hog and allow the discussion to run its course. And it was anundeniable relief to talk about the infernal thing to some one.

  He nodded gloomily, and committed himself. Teal resumed his remarks withthe gusto of a fellow-conspirator.

  "It's not an easy thing to do gracefully, sir, believe me, it isn't.And it's got to be done gracefully, or not at all. You can't go to herladyship and say 'It's all off, and so am I,' and catch the next trainfor London. The rupture must be of her ladyship's making. If somefact, some disgraceful information concerning you were to come to herladyship's ears, that would be a simple way out of the difficulty."

  He eyed Roland meditatively.

  "If, for instance, you had ever been in jail, sir?"

  "Well, I haven't."

  "No offense intended, sir, I'm sure. I merely remembered that you hadmade a great deal of money very quickly. My experience of gentlemen whohave made a great deal of money very quickly is that they have generallydone their bit of time. But, of course, if you----. Let me think. Do youdrink, sir?"

  "No."

  Mr. Teal sighed. Roland could not help feeling that he was disappointingthe old man a good deal.

  "You do not, I suppose, chance to have a past?" asked Mr. Teal, not veryhopefully. "I use the word in its technical sense. A deserted wife? Somepoor creature you have treated shamefully?"

  At the risk of sinking still further in the butler's esteem, Roland wascompelled to answer in the negative.

  "I was afraid not," said Mr. Teal, shaking his head. "Thinking it allover yesterday, I said to myself, 'I'm afraid he wouldn't have one.' Youdon't look like the sort of gentleman who had done much with his time."

  "Thinking it over?"

  "Not on your account, sir," explained Mr. Teal. "On the family's. Idisapproved of this match from the first. A man who has served a familyas long as I have had the honor of serving his lordship's, comes toentertain a high regard for the family prestige. And, with no offense toyourself, sir, this would not have done."

  "Well, it looks as if it would have to do," said Roland, gloomily. "Ican't see any way out of it."

  "I can, sir. My niece at Aldershot."

  Mr. Teal wagged his head at him with a kind of priestly archness.

  "You can not have forgotten my niece at Aldershot?"

  Roland stared at him dumbly. It was like a line out of a melodrama. Hefeared, first for his own, then for the butler's sanity. The latter wassmiling gently, as one who sees light in a difficult situation.

  "I've never been at Aldershot in my life."

  "For our purposes you have, sir. But I'm afraid I am puzzling you. Letme explain. I've got a niece over at Aldershot who isn't muchgood. She's not very particular. I am sure she would do it for aconsideration."

  "Do what?"

  "Be your 'Past,' sir. I don't mind telling you that as a 'Past' she'shad some experience; looks the part, too. She's a barmaid, and you wouldguess it the first time you saw her. Dyed yellow hair, sir," he went onwith enthusiasm, "done all frizzy. Just the sort of young person that ayoung gentleman like yourself would have had a 'past' with. You couldn'tfind a better if you tried for a twelvemonth."

  "But, I say----!"

  "I suppose a hundred wouldn't hurt you?"

  "Well, no, I suppose not, but----"

  "Then put the whole thing in my hands, sir. I'll ask leave off to-morrowand pop over and see her. I'll arrange for her to come here the dayafter to see you. Leave it all to me. To-night you must write theletters."

  "Letters?"

  "Naturally, there would be letters, sir. It is an inseparable feature ofthese cases."

  "Do you mean that I have got to write to her? But I shouldn't know whatto say. I've never seen her."

  "That will be quite all right, sir, if you place yourself in my hands. Iwill come to your room after everybody's gone to bed, and help you writethose letters. You have some note-paper with your own address on it?Then it will all be perfectly simple."

  When, some hours later, he read over the ten or twelve exceedinglypassionate epistles which, with the butler's assistance, he hadsucceeded in writing to Miss Maud Chilvers, Roland came to theconclusion that there must have been a time when Mr. Teal was a gooddeal less respectable than he appeared to be at present. Byronic wasthe only adjective applicable to his collaborator's style of amatorycomposition. In every letter there were passages against which Rolandhad felt compelled to make a modest protest.

  "'A thousand kisses on your lovely rosebud of a mouth.' Don't you thinkthat is a little too warmly colored? And 'I am languishing for thepressure of your ivory arms about my neck and the sweep of your silkenhair against my cheek!' What I mean is--well, what about it, you know?"

  "The phrases," said Mr. Teal, not without a touch of displeasure, "towhich you take exception, are taken bodily from correspondence (which Ihappened to have the advantage of perusing) addressed by the late LordEvenwood to Animalcula, Queen of the High Wire at Astley's Circus. Hislordship, I may add, was considered an authority in these matters."

  Roland criticized no more. He handed over the letters, which, at Mr.Teal's direction, he had headed with various dates covering roughly aperiod of about two m
onths antecedent to his arrival at the Towers.

  "That," Mr. Teal explained, "will make your conduct definitelyunpardonable. With this woman's kisses hot upon your lips,"--Mr. Tealwas still slightly aglow with the fire of inspiration--"you have theeffrontery to come here and offer yourself to her ladyship."

  With Roland's timid suggestion that it was perhaps a mistake to overdothe atmosphere, the butler found himself unable to agree.

  "You can't make yourself out too bad. If you don't pitch it hot andstrong, her ladyship might quite likely forgive you. Then where wouldyou be?"

  Miss Maud Chilvers, of Aldershot, burst into Roland's life like oneof the shells of her native heath two days later at about five in theafternoon.

  It was an entrance of which any stage-manager might have been proudof having arranged. The lighting, the grouping, the lead-up--all wereperfect. The family had just finished tea in the long drawing-room.Lady Kimbuck was crocheting, Lord Evenwood dozing, Lady Eva reading, andRoland thinking. A peaceful scene.

  A soft, rippling murmur, scarcely to be reckoned a snore, had justproceeded from Lord Evenwood's parted lips, when the door opened, andTeal announced, "Miss Chilvers."

  Roland stiffened in his chair. Now that the ghastly moment had come, hefelt too petrified with fear even to act the little part in which he hadbeen diligently rehearsed by the obliging Mr. Teal. He simply sat anddid nothing.

  It was speedily made clear to him that Miss Chilvers would do all theactual doing that was necessary. The butler had drawn no false pictureof her personal appearance. Dyed yellow hair done all frizzy was but onefact of her many-sided impossibilities. In the serene surroundings ofthe long drawing-room, she looked more unspeakably "not much good" thanRoland had ever imagined her. With such a leading lady, his dramacould not fail of success. He should have been pleased; he was merelyappalled. The thing might have a happy ending, but while it lasted itwas going to be terrible.

  She had a flatteringly attentive reception. Nobody failed to notice her.Lord Evenwood woke with a start, and stared at her as if she had beensome ghost from his trouble of '85. Lady Eva's face expressed sheeramazement. Lady Kimbuck, laying down her crochet-work, took one look atthe apparition, and instantly decided that one of her numerous erringrelatives had been at it again. Of all the persons in the room, shewas possibly the only one completely cheerful. She was used to thesesituations and enjoyed them. Her mind, roaming into the past, recalledthe night when her cousin Warminster had been pinked by a stiletto inhis own drawing-room by a lady from South America. Happy days, happydays.

  Lord Evenwood had, by this time, come to the conclusion that the festiveBlowick must be responsible for this visitation. He rose with dignity.

  "To what are we----?" he began.

  Miss Chilvers, resolute young woman, had no intention of standing therewhile other people talked. She shook her gleaming head and burst intospeech.

  "Oh, yes, I know I've no right to be coming walking in here among a lotof perfect strangers at their teas, but what I say is, 'Right's rightand wrong's wrong all the world over,' and I may be poor, but I havemy feelings. No, thank you, I won't sit down. I've not come for theweekend. I've come to say a few words, and when I've said them I'll go,and not before. A lady friend of mine happened to be reading her DailySketch the other day, and she said 'Hullo! hullo!' and passed it on tome with her thumb on a picture which had under it that it was Lady EvaBlyton who was engaged to be married to Mr. Roland Bleke. And when Iread that, I said 'Hullo! hullo!' too, I give you my word. And not beingable to travel at once, owing to being prostrated with the shock, I camealong to-day, just to have a look at Mr. Roland Blooming Bleke, and askhim if he's forgotten that he happens to be engaged to me. That's all. Iknow it's the sort of thing that might slip any gentleman's mind, but Ithought it might be worth mentioning. So now!"

  * * * * *

  Roland, perspiring in the shadows at the far end of the room, felt thatMiss Chilvers was overdoing it. There was no earthly need for all thissort of thing. Just a simple announcement of the engagement would havebeen quite sufficient. It was too obvious to him that his ally wasthoroughly enjoying herself. She had the center of the stage, and didnot intend lightly to relinquish it.

  "My good girl," said Lady Kimbuck, "talk less and prove more. When didMr. Bleke promise to marry you?"

  "Oh, it's all right. I'm not expecting you to believe my word. I've gotall the proofs you'll want. Here's his letters."

  Lady Kimbuck's eyes gleamed. She took the package eagerly. She neverlost an opportunity of reading compromising letters. She enjoyed themas literature, and there was never any knowing when they might come inuseful.

  "Roland," said Lady Eva, quietly, "haven't you anything to contribute tothis conversation?"

  Miss Chilvers clutched at her bodice. Cinema palaces were a passion withher, and she was up in the correct business.

  "Is he here? In this room?"

  Roland slunk from the shadows.

  "Mr. Bleke," said Lord Evenwood, sternly, "who is this woman?"

  Roland uttered a kind of strangled cough.

  "Are these letters in your handwriting?" asked Lady Kimbuck, almostcordially. She had seldom read better compromising letters in her life,and she was agreeably surprized that one whom she had always imagined acolorless stick should have been capable of them.

  Roland nodded.

  "Well, it's lucky you're rich," said Lady Kimbuck philosophically. "Whatare you asking for these?" she enquired of Miss Chilvers.

  "Exactly," said Lord Evenwood, relieved. "Precisely. Your sterlingcommon sense is admirable, Sophia. You place the whole matter at once ona businesslike footing."

  "Do you imagine for a moment----?" began Miss Chilvers slowly.

  "Yes," said Lady Kimbuck. "How much?"

  Miss Chilvers sobbed.

  "If I have lost him for ever----"

  Lady Eva rose.

  "But you haven't," she said pleasantly. "I wouldn't dream of standing inyour way." She drew a ring from her finger, placed it on the table, andwalked to the door. "I am not engaged to Mr. Bleke," she said, as shereached it.

  Roland never knew quite how he had got away from The Towers. He hadconfused memories in which the principals of the drawing-room scenefigured in various ways, all unpleasant. It was a portion of his lifeon which he did not care to dwell. Safely back in his flat, however, hegradually recovered his normal spirits. Indeed, now that the tumult andthe shouting had, so to speak, died, and he was free to take a broadview of his position, he felt distinctly happier than usual. That LadyKimbuck had passed for ever from his life was enough in itself to makefor gaiety.

  * * * * *

  He was humming blithely one morning as he opened his letters; outsidethe sky was blue and the sun shining. It was good to be alive. He openedthe first letter. The sky was still blue, the sun still shining.

  "Dear Sir," (it ran).

  "We have been instructed by our client, Miss Maud Chilvers, of the Goat and Compasses, Aldershot, to institute proceedings against you for Breach of Promise of Marriage. In the event of your being desirous to avoid the expense and publicity of litigation, we are instructed to say that Miss Chilvers would be prepared to accept the sum of ten thousand pounds in settlement of her claim against you. We would further add that in support of her case our client has in her possession a number of letters written by yourself to her, all of which bear strong prima facie evidence of the alleged promise to marry: and she will be able in addition to call as witnesses in support of her case the Earl of Evenwood, Lady Kimbuck, and Lady Eva Blyton, in whose presence, at a recent date, you acknowledged that you had promised to marry our client.

  "Trusting that we hear from you in the course of post. We are, dear Sir, Yours faithfully, Harrison, Harrison, Harrison, & Harrison."

 
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