The story of a modern woman  by Ella Hepworth Dixon  New York  The Cassell Publishing Company  31 East 17th Street ( Union Square )  CHAPTER I  AN END AND A BEGINNING  GLARING spring sunshine and a piercing east wind rioted out of doors , and here and there overflowing flower-baskets made startling patches of colour against the vague blue-grey of the streets , but indoors , in the tall London house , there was only a sickly , yellow twilight , for the orange-toned blinds were scrupulously drawn down .  There was awe in the passages , and hushed tones even in the kitchen , as if the dead could hear !  Some wreaths and crosses of wax-like , exotic flowers lay on the hall-table , filling the passage with their sensuous odour .  Friends calling to inquire had left them there , but they had not yet been taken up to that darkened room where a marble figure — a figure which was strangely unlike Professor Erle — lay stretched , in an enduring silence , on the bed .  Downstairs , in the little study giving on a meagre London yard , a girl was bending over a desk .  ‘ You will , I know , be grieved to hear that my dear father passed suddenly away the night before last , ’ she wrote , while a great nerve in her forehead went tick , tick , tick .  The visitors who came all day long , leaving bits of paste-board , spoke in low , inquisitive tones .  When the bell rang , there were veiled whispers at the hall-door .  ‘So terrible — so sudden !  ’ Mary could hear them inquire how she was keeping up ?  And Elizabeth 'sanswer : ‘Miss Erle is as well as could be expected.’ The trite , worn-out , foolish sentence almost made her laugh .  All the stock phrases of condolence , all the mental trappings of woe , seemed to be ready-made for the ‘sad occasion , ’ like the crape skirts and cloaks which had been forwarded immediately from the mourning establishment in Regent Street .  ‘Yes , I am as well as could be expected , ’ she thought , ‘and father is dead .  Father is dead.’  And all the long afternoon she went on mechanically writing : ‘ I am sure you will be sorry when I tell you that my dear father — ’ on paper bordered with black an inch deep .  How he would have disliked that foolish ostentation of mourning ; it was contrary to the spirit of his life .  ‘To-morrow , ’ she said to herself , ‘I must send for some note paper with a narrower edge.’ These letters were to be sent abroad .  The English newspapers had sufficiently announced the death , for Professor Erle was perhaps the best-known man of science of the day .  In the little back room they had to light the lamp early , there was so much to do , so many details to arrange .  The ceremony was to be as simple as might be ; above all , no paid priest would stand at the grave to give ‘hearty thanks’ that the great thinker had been ‘delivered out of the miseries of this sinful world.’ The sinful world would have as its spokesman another famous professor , who had asked to be allowed to say a few words .  Then there were the newspapers .  There was the brisk , smartly-dressed young gentleman who came to do a leader for a daily paper , and who proceeded to make a number of notes in shorthand , asking innumerable questions as his omnivorous glance travelled rapidly round the study .  Another press-man — a small , apologetic man with greyish hair and a timid cough — asked to see the house for the Weekly Planet .  He begged of Elizabeth on the hall steps , to tell him if the Professor had said anything — anything particular , which would work up as a leader , just at the last ?  ‘Oh !  sir , ’ said Elizabeth , ‘did n't you know ?  Master did n't say anything .  He just died in his sleep.’  The daughter went about her tasks with a sense of detachment , of intense aloofness .  ‘I wonder if I really feel it ?  ’ she thought , ‘and why I have never cried ?  I should like to , but it is impossible ; I shall never , never cry again.’ It was as if Death , with his cruel , searing wings had cauterised her very soul .  Sometimes she pictured herself in her long crepe veil at the funeral , and heard in imagination her friends murmuring pitying words , as they all followed the coffin up the Highgate slope .  Alison Ives , of course , would be with her ; she would stay by her , perhaps , and hold her hand .  And probably Vincent Hemming would be near .  Yes , he too would be there .  At dinner-time she had to sit down to table alone .  She was hungry , and she ate , hardly knowing what was on her plate .  Nothing happened as it does in tales and romances .  In innumerable novels she had read how the heroine , in a house of mourning , lies on the bed for days and steadily refuses to eat .  As for Mary , a demon of unrest possessed her during that horrible week , and it was as if she could not eat nourishing food enough .  She never stopped arranging , writing , adding up accounts .  It was useless to try and read .  Did she but take up a book , that dominant image in her mind — the image of a dear face turned to marble , with the cold , triumphant smile of eternity on its lips — shut out the sense of the words as her eyes travelled down the page .  And the strange , unmistakable odour of death , mixed with the voluptuous scent of waxen hot-house flowers , hung , night and day , about the staircase .  Towards the end of the week , there was more noise and bustle , and at last had come the morning when the house swarmed with undertakers 'men , and Mary and her young brother Jimmie , who had arrived from Winchester , sat with a few old friends in the dining-room , waiting for the signal to go .  There was the shuffling of men 'sfeet , as they staggered down the narrow London staircase with their heavy burden , and then someone had made the girl swallow some sal volatile , and she was pushed gently into the first mourning carriage , along with her brother .  They had made the boy drink some of the sal volatile too , and they both felt strangely elated and highly strung .  There were only those two now , and Mary felt warmly drawn to Jimmie , as they sat side by side in their new black clothes , the two chief personages in the ceremony of to-day .  She even pretended not to hear when , some gutter urchins making complicated cartwheels as their contribution to the imposing procession , Jimmie , boy-like , gave way to a furtive giggle .  The drive to Highgate seemed interminable , but at last , when the long procession crept slowly up the hill , it was in a kind of stupor that the girl saw and heard what happened .  There was , she remembered afterwards , a long line of people , habited in black , awaiting them in silence inside the cemetery gate ; a tolling bell , neighing horses , and a penetrating scent of early lilac .  Sunlight on the paths , on the shining marble tombs , on the humble little mounds covered in plush-like grass ; then a moving mass of black , a yawning hole , the creaking of ropes , and the mellifluous voice of the eminent professor , speaking his oration over some upturned clay .  ‘England — I may say the world — is mourning to day for her illustrious son’ — how the people pressed round the yawning gap , and pushed against the guelder rose-tree overhead , so that the flowers fell in a minute white shower on to the oaken coffin below — ‘the world is mourning for her illustrious son .  Not that those tears will flow in vain , for they will moisten and fructify the precious tree of Truth , a tree which is evermore putting forth fresh branches and new fruits which are indispensable to the physical and moral evolution of humanity.’  In a neighbouring laburnum-bush , a thrush was swelling its brown throat with a joyous morning song .  Athwart the pale sky dappled with fleecy clouds , the lilac bushes were burgeoning with waxen , pinkish blossoms .  The very air throbbed with coming life .  ‘Nature , ’ continued the orator , in his measured , lecture-room tones , ‘Nature , who works in inexorable ways , has taken to herself a life full of arduous toil , of epoch-making achievement , of immeasurable possibilities , but to what end , and for what purpose , is not given to us , who stand to-day with full hearts and yearnings eye around his last resting-place , to know.’  The sun was warm overhead , the scent of the pink may was strong in the nostrils ; a joyous twittering in an adjacent bush told of mating birds , of new life in the nests , of Nature rioting in an insolent triumph .  The orator paused for an instant , coughed , and felt in his breast pocket for his notes .  He was anxious , above all things , that the reporters should not print a garbled version of his speech .  Round the open grave pressed the devotees of science , the followers of the religion of humanity ; grey-skinned , anxious-looking men and women , with lined foreheads and hair prematurely tinged with grey ; large heads with bulging foreheads , thin throats and sloping shoulders ; the women with nervous , overworked worked faces , the men with the pathetic , unrestful features of those who are sustained in a life of self-denial by their ethical sense alone .  The ceremony of to-day was a great moral demonstration .  All classes who think were represented .  Side by side stood a white-haired Radical Countess in simple half-mourning and the spare form of a Socialist working woman , with red , ungloved wrists and an inspired look on her worn face .  There , with her mother , Lady Jane , was Alison Ives .  Lady Jane , who was impressionable , was already exhibiting a pocket-handkerchief , and not far off , Mary caught for one instant the brown , wistful eyes of Vincent Hemming .  The sun grew hotter and hotter overhead .  One or two of the mourners began putting up umbrellas .  The perfume of pink hawthorn became almost oppressive ; an early butterfly hovered over a baby 'sgrave planted with sweet-smelling flowers .  A light breeze fluttered a laburnum-bush which hung over a neighbouring marble tomb , a large , opulent , marble tomb , on which was cut in glittering gilt letters : ‘Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.’ And everywhere there was the whiteness of graves .  In ridges , in waves , in mounds , they stuck , tooth-like , from the fecund earth .  They shone , in gleaming , distant lines , up to the ridge of the hill ; they crowded in serried battalions , down to the cemetery gates .  The speaker was concluding his speech .  ‘For though to isolated men , ’ he said , raising his voice so that all who were on the edge of the crowd should hear , ‘it may be given here and there to scale the loftiest heights — ay , and ever new height rising upon height in the great undiscovered country which we call the realm of Science ; there , too , the Finite touches the Infinite , and must recognise what of tentativeness , what of inconclusiveness belongs to mere human effort .  Here , on a sudden , the dark , impenetrable curtain , which none may draw aside , envelops us ; here we know not whether all ends with this our last prison house , or if to us may be opened out yet further cycles of aspiring activity.’  In the silence which followed there was heard one long , sweet , penetrating bird-call .  One of the chief mourners , the boy Jimmie , was sobbing loudly when the professor 'svoice stopped , and with something gripping at her throat , the sister led him away .  She reproached herself with having brought him ; the young , she thought , should not know what sorrow is .  The two spare , black-clad figures stepped aside up the hill .  Out yonder , at their feet , the dun-colour of the buildings lost in the murkiness of the horizon line , London was spread out .  Here and there a dome , a spire loomed out of the dim bluish-grey panorama .  A warm haze hung over the great city ; here and there a faint fringe of tree-tops told of a placid park ; now and again the shrill whistle of an engine , blown northward by the wind , spoke of the bustle of journeys , of the turmoil of railway-stations , of partings , of arrivals , of the change and travail of human life , of the strangers who come , of the failures who must go .  ‘Jim , ’ said the girl suddenly , taking the boy by the arm , ‘there 'sLondon !  We 'regoing to make it listen to us , you and I .  We 'renot going to be afraid of it — just because it 'sbig , and brutal , and strong.’  ‘N — no , dearest , ’ said the boy , turning up a pretty , sensitive face , and a pink nose all smeared with tears .  ‘Of course not.’  The black crowd yonder was swaying , separating , and disintegrating itself into separate sable dots which were now seen descending the paths to the cemetery-gate .  And slowly , they too stepped down the gravel path .  They came home to a house that was empty and orderly again ; a house in which his door stood open , the pale light of a spring afternoon filling the desolate room .  The blinds were pulled up , and downstairs , in the kitchen , the servants had begun to talk and laugh .  Towards dusk , Jimmie got engrossed in a new book of adventures , but the girl , restless still , wandered about the house in her black gown looking at everything with strange eyes .  Something terrible , unforeseen had happened which altered her whole life .  Towards the boy poring over the picture-book she felt much of a mother 'sfeelings ; it behoved her to look after him now that his father was gone .  How long the time seemed — would the interminable day never end ?  There must be lots for her to do .  And casting about in her mind , she remembered that this was the day on which she always gave out the groceries from her store cupboard ; there was the seamstress to pay , too , who was altering a black dress for her up-stairs .  So Mary dragged herself down to the kitchens and presently to the top of the house .  It would be nice of her , she thought , to go in and speak to the woman who was sewing alone .  It was sad for a young woman to be alone .  The pale , pinkish light of a spring evening fell on a drab-complexioned girl , whose fat hand moved , as she sewed , with the regularity of a machine .  Now the needle was thrust in the fold of black stuff , and the light fell on her ill-cut nails ; now the hand was aloft , in the semi- obscurity ; it was all tame , monotonous and regular as a clock .  She was a docile , humble , uncomplaining creature , who suggested inevitably some patient domestic animal .  Her features , rubbed out and effaced with generations of servility , spoke of the small mendacities of the women of the lower classes , of the women who live on ministering to the caprices of the well-to-do .  To-day it would seem she had assumed an appropriately dolorous expression .  It sometimes soothed Mary to stitch .  Taking up a strip of black merino , she began to hem .  The seamstress 'shand continued to move with docile regularity , and , as Mary looked at her , she was curiously reminded of many women she had seen : ladies , mothers of large families , who sat and sewed with just such an expression of unquestioning resignation .  The clicking sound of the needle , the swish of the drawn-out thread , the heavy breathing of the work-woman , all added to the impression .  Yes , they too were content to exist subserviently , depending always on someone else , using the old feminine stratagems , the well-worn feminine subterfuges , to gain their end .  The woman who sews is eternally the same .  The light began to fail now ; very soon it would be dark .  Mary threw down her work with an impatient gesture , and , in the grey twilight , an immense pity seized her for the patient figure bending , near the window , over her foolish strips of flounces , the figure of the woman at her monotonous toil .  CHAPTER II  A CHILD  THE life of Mary Erle , like that of many another woman in the end of the nineteenth century , had been more or less in the nature of an experiment .  Born too late for the simple days of the fifties , when all it behoved a young girl to do was to mind her account-book , read her Tennyson , show a proper enthusiasm for fancy-work stitches , and finally , with many blushes , accept the hand of the first young man who desired to pay taxes and to fulfil the duties of a loyal British subject ( and the young man , it must be remembered , in the middle of this century , actually did both ) , Mary was yet too soon for the time when parents begin to take their responsibilities seriously , and when the girl is sometimes as carefully prepared , as thoroughly equipped , as her brother for the fight of life .  A garden full of flowers , a house full of books , scraps of travel : these things were her education .  Out of the years she could pick scenes and figures which typified her bringing-up .  There was the plain , self-contained , and not too clean baby .  A child who was always grubbing in a garden , for it lived then in a house in St. John 'sWood ; a child who was devoted to animals and insects , who was on intimate terms with the many-legged wood-lice , which curled themselves up with all haste into complete balls when she touched them ; a child for whom snails and black-beetles had no terrors , and who had much to say to the green , hairy caterpillars which hung about the pear tree .  There was a huge , fluffy , black cat , too , which represented , perhaps , the child 'sprimitive idea of a deity ; for , though she adored it , the adoration was leavened with a wholesome awe , a feeling which was not unconnected with certain unmerited chastisements in the shape of scratches on her fat , bare legs .  More often , to be sure , the black cat was amiable , and even allowed itself to be carried up to bed , with its hind legs straying out helplessly from under the child 'sarm , to be presently concealed with all haste and caution under the white sheets and blankets , from whence its sharp-pointed ears and wide black cheeks arose with the most exquisitely mirth-provoking effect .  With what inscrutable amber eyes did the black cat gaze for hours into hers !  how it imposed on her babyish imagination with its self-contained , majestic manners , its air of detachment from the vain shows of the world !  The man with the kind smile , whom the child called ‘father , ’ used to laugh at her adoration , tell her she was a little Egyptian , and called the cat ‘Pasht.’ She thought it a funny name , and not being altogether sure the black cat would approve of it , generally addressed it as ‘you.’ And the cat would sit on long summer afternoons on the grass under the pear tree , or on foggy autumn days on a stool by the fireside , with paws neatly tucked away , its neck-ruff fluffed out , purring benignly in response to her confidences .  Indeed , in looking back , the first tragedy of the child 'slife was the death of the black cat .  It lay , one sultry July day , under a laurel bush in the garden , with glazed eyes which gave no signs of life .  All morning and all afternoon the child sat there and fanned the flies away , until her idol was stiff , and then a hole was hastily dug , and the black cat was thrust out of sight .  And never any more , in the warm summer afternoons , did a soft , furry thing go sailing , tail in air , over the close-cropped lawn ; nor , on winter evenings , was a rhythmical purring to be heard hard by the tall fender which guarded the nursery fire .  It was the first great void ; the first heartache had come .  A strange , indolent child , whose little hands were usually thrust beneath her pinafore when anyone spoke to her ; for surely she could not be always washing herself , and to be on really intimate terms with insects and things , one cannot , like grown-up people , be always thinking of one 'snails .  She usually , too , concealed a small piece of putty about her person — an unpardonable sin , this , in the eyes of mother and nurse — for putty is useful in a thousand ways , and is , besides , so thrillingly delicious to feel surreptitiously in the recesses of one 'spocket .  At this time the child held the whole race of dolls in high scorn .  They were a foolish , over-dressed , uninteresting tribe , with manifestly absurd cheeks and eye-lashes , and with a simper which was as artificial as that of the ladies in chignons and flounces who came to call at the house of an afternoon .  She , on her part , was all for the violent delights of miniature guns and real gunpowder , the toilsome construction of fleets of wooden boats with the aid of a blunt knife and a plank of wood ; fleets which were set a-sail , with flying pennants , on the cistern hard by the kitchen .  There were boy neighbours who aided and abetted her in these delights , and great naval battles would come off between the Dutch and English fleets in the kitchen cistern , in which sometimes Van Tromp , and sometimes Blake , emerged victorious .  The child , perhaps , did not take her patriotism seriously , as the boys did ; she was content to be Van Tromp , since they insisted on being Blake and Monk .  All that was of vital importance was that a fight of some sort should come off .  The mother sank early out of ken .  First they said that she was poorly , and had gone to Italy , and then they said that she was very ill , and afterwards that she was in heaven ; so that for a long time the child used to think vaguely , as she sat in the summer-house with pursed-up lips and knitted brows , notching and slicing at her ships , that Italy and heaven were perhaps the same place .  Nurse said that her mummy was an angel now ; but , in all the picture-books , angels had long , smooth hair , wore a kind of night-gown , and had enormous , folding wings .  The child could not picture her mother looking like that ; she always remembered her in many flounces , with a headache ; and certainly , no , certainly , mummy never had any wings out of her back .  The child could recollect that , some little time before her mother went to Italy , they took her upstairs one day and showed her a baby , with a red , crinkled face , lying in an over-trimmed cradle .  She did not care for babies , she would rather have had a nice , new , fluffy kitten to replace the old black cat ; but when they told her it was a little brother , of course that altered matters .  She was sorry her brother should be so small , so fretful , and so red in the face ; she would rather have had him the same size as herself , so that he could have been Van Tromp for once , and she the victorious Blake ; but still , any sort or size of brother was better than none .  Although , in a year or so , the baby developed into something suspiciously like a doll , with his fat , pink cheeks , his round , china-blue eyes , his dump of a nose , and his entire absence of chin , still , he was far more entertaining than that simpering and foolish tribe .  Baby Jim 'spink toes could kick ; his little fist , with the creases of fat at the wrist , could hit out ; there were warlike possibilities in him .  In a word , Baby Jim was alive .  At ten years old the girl began to have strange fits of vanity .  There were little shoes and frocks which she held in high favour , and others which nothing would induce her to put on .  To wear a pinafore , now , was a bitter humiliation , and about this period she had the most definite theories about the dressing of hair .  The discussion on coiffures usually took place in her bath , when a small , slippery person covered in soap-suds was to be heard arguing with her nurse — an argument which was not unusually enforced by physical violence — on the superior attractions of crimped to curled locks .  At ten years old — she was of opinion — a person was grown up , or at least as old as any one need be .  Why , big , tall men , with long beards and spectacles , who came to see her father , would bend down and ask her gravely if she would be their little wife ?  The child had been to more than one wedding , and she was aware that a wife was a person who began by wearing a beautiful white satin train , with white flowers and a veil ; a person who was as imposing as that angel which nurse said her mother had become , although she had not , of course , any wings .  The child was not sure whether she would best like to be a bride or an angel .  The latter , it was true , had the additional attraction of a golden halo ; but she thought , probably , that matters might be compromised , and that she could be a wife and have a halo , too .  The scene shifts now , for they had moved to another quarter of London , and the change made a vast difference in the child 'stastes and habits .  There was no cropped lawn now , where the pear tree made long shadows on summer afternoons , where she had a personal interest in a plot of ground of her own , and at least a bowing acquaintance with a whole host of fussy bumble-bees , gay yellow butterflies , furry caterpillars , and lazy snails .  There was no summer-house in which ship-building could be carried on , and no convenient cistern in which to sail one 'sfleet .  The firing off of toy guns was erased from the list of possible amusements .  The house was a tall one , in a street in town , and rural delights were represented by a square yard at the back , which was haunted by stray , attenuated cats , and in which grew a solitary , stunted sycamore .  But , on the other hand , there was the new fascination of book-shelves , which ran all over the new house , so that the child had but to mount a chair and reach out a small hand , and , lo !  romance and battles , laughter and tears , were all to be enjoyed at her will .  She had only to pick out her volume .  It was a revelation in the possibilities of life .  Looking back now , it must be owned that she led an odd life .  The man with the kind smile was fond of his little daughter , but he was always at work , either at experiments in his laboratory or bending over his desk in the study .  Nothing happened in the way of experience as it does to other children .  One night her father took her to the theatre for the first time .  A famous actress , an old friend , was giving Antony and Cleopatra , and they went first behind the scenes .  They walked across a bare , lofty , cavern-like place , with dusty wooden boards , which sloped upwards , and the child was lifted up to peep through a little hole in a red velvet curtain , and through it she saw a large horse-shoe with quantities of people chattering as they waited .  There was a great deal of tawdry gilt , and many gas chandeliers , and the people , especially at the top of the horseshoe , stamped with their feet and whistled .  She did not care much for the play , when they presently took their places in a box close to the stage .  There was a stout lady in long amber draperies , who kept throwing her arms round a tired-looking man with a brown face and a suit of gilt armour .  The child was more amused when , between the acts , they went behind the scenes again to see the famous actress in her dressing-room .  Unfortunately , the stout lady looked fatter than ever when seen close , but there were so many amusing things about — a wig with long plaits , several serpent bracelets , a diadem , and a beautiful golden girdle set with emeralds as big as pheasants 'eggs .  There was a middle-aged gentleman , too , who sat at his ease in a shabby armchair , and drank some pinkish , sparkling wine out of a low , round glass .  Some one said that he was the editor of a great paper .  The child had never seen an editor ; she was glad to see one , because she had always thought they were quite different from other people .  She liked to see him laugh , and whisper in a familiar , condescending way to the stout lady , and yet keep on drinking the pink wine out of the round glass .  The child was incorrigibly idle .  A mild , non-descript , unimaginative governess and a fat , bald Frenchman who came once a week to instruct her in the Gallic tongue did nothing to take away the inherent unattractiveness of ‘lessons.’ She could read , and that was enough .  The child read all day long .  She lay concealed among the footstools under the long dining-room table , poring over The Ancient Mariner — her favourite poem — or thrilled with the lurid emotion of Wuthering Heights .  A little later Villette became her cherished book ; a well-thumbed copy , long ago bereft of its cover , stands on the girl 'sshelf to-day .  Poor drab , patient , self-contained Miss Snow !  How the child 'sheart ached for you in your bare , dismal , Belgian schoolroom , when Dr. John grew fickle ; how she rejoiced when you found your ugly , be-spectacled Fate ; how choky she felt at the throat when she read those last pessimistic , despairing words — words full of the sound and fury of angry seas and moaning winds .  Why , poor patient hypochondriacal soul , were you destined never to be happy ?  And all these people were real to the child , much more real than the people she saw when she went out to tea-parties in her best frock and sash .  They were as real as the little Tin Soldier and the little Sea-maiden of Hans Christian Andersen , types of humanity which will last as long as there are tender little human hearts to be touched .  And , later on , there is the rather plain girl of fourteen , with somewhat inscrutable eyes , and a seriousness which would have been portentous were it not laughable .  Gone , for the time being , were her fits of high spirits and her wild gaiety ; lost , the love of battle , and even the love of books about battles .  The girl had much to occupy her mind .  She began to understand something of life now .  It was no longer a kind of coloured picture-book , made to catch the eye and amuse an idle half-hour .  The pictures meant a great deal more than that .  There were dreadful things , sad things , horrible things behind .  Things that the girl could only guess at , but which were there , she was sure , all the same .  The world , she could see from her books and newspapers , was full of injustice .  There was the great wrong which had been done some eighteen hundred years ago , when the most beautiful life that was ever lived had come to a shameful end .  The girl was always reading that moving story ; the Old Testament , with its revengeful , Jewish Deity , did not appeal to her at all .  The poignant tragedy enacted at Jerusalem ate into her heart , and this child of fourteen felt herself burdened with the reproach which that senseless crime has left on humanity for well-nigh two thousand years .  Yes , those were serious days .  Once in her teens , she had to make up her mind on many subjects .  There were the questions of marriage , of maternity , of education .  The girl had learned French by now , and the chance fingering of a small , last-century volume made her approach those supremely feminine subjects under the somewhat insecure guidance of Jean Jacques Rousseau .  She imbibed , indeed , the Swiss philosopher 'sdiatribes on virtue before she had comprehended what civilised mankind stigmatises as vice .  Emile : ou , de l'Education was wearily , conscientiously toiled through for the sake of posterity .  Le Contrat Social was a work which it behoved a person of fourteen — a person who wished to understand the scheme of civilisation — to know .  Strange , anxious days , passed in the twilight of ignorance , groping among the vain shadows with which man in his wisdom has elected to surround the future mothers of the race .  It was not , of course , till years afterwards , that Mary became conscious of the fine irony of the fact that man — the superior intelligence — should take his future companion , shut her within four walls , fill that dimly-lighted interior with images of facts and emotions which do not exist , and then , pushing her suddenly into the blinding glare of real life , should be amazed when he finds that his exquisite care of her ethical sense has stultified her brain .  The girl was reading David Copperfield when she descended one day , with knitted brows , to the room where her governess was laboriously copying in water-colours a lithographed bunch of roses .  ‘What is a lost woman really , Miss Brown ?  ’ demanded the girl , with her tense look .  ‘Dickens says that little Em'ly is a lost woman , because she goes to Italy with that Mr. Steerforth .  Was Mr. Steerforth a lost man , too ?  ’  CHAPTER III  A YOUNG GIRL  LOOKING back , across the vague , misty years , the egotism , the ferocious egotism , of the young girl appears well-nigh incredible .  At eighteen , she , with her fluffy hair and her white shoulders , is the most important thing in her little world .  There is the day she first discovers she has a throat with fine lines ; the secret delight with which she hears an artist tell her that the movements of her body are graceful .  Does black , or blue , or white become her best ?  It is never too late , and she is never too tired , when she comes back from a ball , to light all the candles again in her bedroom and examine herself critically , anxiously , in the glass .  There is a little pink spot of excitement on each cheek ; her hair is ruffled .  She looks pretty , she has been happy to-night .  Some one — no matter who — has told her she looks charming .  There is the desire of the young girl to coquet , to play with , to torture , when she first learns the all-powerful influence which she possesses by the primitive fact of her sex .  With all the arrogance which belongs to personal purity , she stands on her little pedestal and looks down on mankind with a somewhat condescending smile .  She is — and she feels it instinctively — a thing apart , a kind of forced plant , a product of civilisation .  At present the ball-room , with its artificial atmosphere , its fleeting devotions , its graceful mockery of real life , is the scene of her little triumphs .  The eyes of all men — young and old alike — follow the girl approvingly , wistfully , as she ascends the staircase , her full heart beating against her slim satin bodice , the clear , peachlike cheeks pink with excitement , her swimming eyes raised invitingly to some favourite partner , or dropped as she passes a man she wishes to avoid .  At the door her slender white arms and shoulders disappear in a circle of black coats ; the programme is scrawled all over ; she notes exultantly that one or two men are scowling at each other , and that she has no dance to give some one who has joined the group too late .  It is the woman 'sfirst taste of power .  There is , too , the joie de vivre , the delight of the young animal at play , the imperious will-to-live of a being in perfect health .  The girl must dance till her feet ache horribly , the room swings round , and the pink dawn comes creeping in behind the drawn blinds ; but still she must go on till that music stops , the swaying , voluptuous heartrending music which draws her feet round and round .  The violins , with their navrant tones , the human , dolorous strains of the cornets , the brilliant , metallic , artificial sounds of the piano , all act powerfully on the young girl 'snervous system .  Then come the stifling crowded supper-room , with its indigestible food and sweet champagne ; the young men who move nearer and look at her with strange eyes , after they have eaten and drunk .  It is all new and intoxicating , and a little frightening ; but it is life , or the nearest approach to it that a young girl , gently nurtured and carefully looked after , can possibly know .  Admiration , at this period , is the very breath of her nostrils .  No matter from whom , no matter when or where .  A smile , seen like a flash , on a face in a passing hansom ; the ill-bred pertinacity of a raised lorgnette at a theatre ; the dubious gaze of men about town , leaning against ball-room doors — nothing offends her .  It is simply incense burnt at the feet of her youth .  But at last , out of the vague crowd of black coats and wistful eyes , the first lover emerges .  It is a little difficult to recall his face , after all these years .  Looking back dispassionately , he seems to have been very like all the others , only that he made her suffer , while the others , perhaps , suffered a little for her sake .  There were the horrible half-hours of torture when she waited , in some crowded party , for his sleek head and his somewhat foolish smile to appear in the door-way ; the blank , empty days when there was no letter ; the shamefully sweet , the incredible surrender to the first tentative embrace , a surrender which tortured her night and day , and then the joy , the supreme joy , of knowing , for certain , that he cared .  It is all a little remote , now , but the beautiful secret was hugged like a very treasure .  He was young , he was poor , there were difficulties of every sort to contend with , and finally there was a parting , one warm , windy night in November .  It was a Sunday , about seven o'clock , and through the window , which was ajar in the drawing-room where they stood , came the sound of a tolling bell .  It was only a neighbouring church summoning pious folk to evening service , but it sounded like a knell .  It was a well-nigh hopeless affair , and all that they could do was to promise to write to each other .  For some weeks the girl watched , in the column of the shipping intelligence , the eastward progress of a Peninsular and Oriental steamer on its way to Australia , and after that , on the mornings when the mail came in , she would stand with her heart in her mouth , and her hand on the knob of the dining-room door , afraid to go in and find that no foreign envelope lay beside her plate .  For some months , to be sure , the letters nearly always lay there , but gradually they got rarer and rarer , and one day she told herself finally that she need not expect any more .  Torture is not made more bearable by being slowly applied .  During the months in which those letters from Australia grew rarer , the girl understood for the first time the helplessness , the intolerable burden which society has laid on her sex .  All things must be endured with a polite smile .  Had she been a boy , she was aware that she might have made an effort to break the maddening silence ; have stifled her sorrow with dissipation , with travel or hard work .  As it was , the trivial round of civilised feminine existence made her , in those days , almost an automaton .  One looks back , with wonder , at the courage of the girl .  To find a smile with which to face her father at the dinner table ; to take a sisterly interest in Jim 'sexploits at school ; to show due surprise each time her brother announced the arrival of a new batch of rabbits ; and a partisan 'sjoy in the licking which Smith minor had administered to Jones major — these were the immediate duties which lay before her .  Not feeling strong just now , the girl gave up going to balls ; they reminded her too much of that episode which she wished to forget ; and now the prospect that opened out before her was a vista of years full of scientific soirées where one walked down long sparsely-peopled rooms and looked through microscopes at things which wriggled and squirmed .  Sometimes the girl felt strangely like one of those much-observed bacilli ; the daughter of a scientist , she knew well enough that her little troubles had about as much importance as theirs in relation to the vast universe .  Yet there she was , fixed down under her little glass case , while the world kept a coldly observant eye upon her .  Ah , the torture of the young — the young who are always unhappy , and whose little lives are continually coming to a full stop , with chapters that cease bluntly , brutally , without reason and without explanation .  That she was thrown aside , dropped overboard , as it were , in the terrific battle for existence mattered nothing to the young girl .  Having no self-pity , she never questioned the justice of the blow that had been dealt her .  Afterwards , in the years to come , she might wonder why she should have been made to suffer so ?  But not then .  One 'sfirst sorrow is a very precious thing .  In those far-off days , she would gladly have sacrificed everything — even life itself — for the young man who forgot to write , and whose face , with its rather foolish smile , it is so difficult to recall exactly as it was .  About this time , when she began to work at the Central London School of Art , father and daughter became great friends .  On the days when he went to lecture at the London University , she would either walk with him , or go to fetch him on those afternoons when he was coming straight home to tea instead of making his way to the Athenæum Club .  With her chin in the air , looking straight before her , she stepped along , in the half-dark , with a royal scorn for the well-dressed loafers who find their pleasure in accosting ladies in the street .  She was twenty-one , and a woman now ; it behoved her to be able to take care of herself .  And after all , they were perhaps more easily disposed of than some of the men who took her in to dinner , men who had tired eyes and a dubious smile , and who were fond of starting doubtful topics with a side-long , tentative glance .  She works now regularly with her father , acting as his amanuensis when his eyes are tired , or verifying facts in the library .  Jimmie , the little brother , has grown into a boy with charming , insinuating manners , who is curiously un-British in his demonstrativeness .  His sister , he says , is the most charming of girls .  He announces that he is always going to live with her .  Nothing shall separate them .  His whole life , he declares , with his arms round her neck , is to be devoted to his dearest Mary .  How well she remembered the last time she and her father had gone out together .  She could recollect driving in a hansom , and their talk on the way to the Foreign Office .  His last book but one had but lately appeared , and was now being scratched and bespluttered assiduously by clerical pens , while it was received with rapture by the large class which like their advanced thinking done for them , and turned out in fat print with ample margins once in every third year .  All the way up the crowded staircase there is a great display of teeth , of tiaras , of stars and orders , of shining bald heads .  The wife of the Foreign Secretary is delighted to see the professor , though no one in that eminently aristocratic gathering ‘insists’ on anything , and most people are content to exchange two fingers , two words , and two smiles , one at greeting and one at passing on .  His Excellency the German Ambassador detains the father and daughter , for he has just heard that the Emperor intends to bestow on the English professor the Order of the Crown , for his distinguished services to the progress of modern thought .  The two move on , and are caught up in other small circles , where they hear agreeable commonplaces , in an atmosphere where everything is taken for granted , and in which smooth phrases and smooth faces abound , faces which have inherited , for hundreds of years , the art of expressing nothing in a polite way .  It is all suave and artificial and decorous .  No epigrams make themselves conspicuous in the well-bred chatter , and one great lady , exhibiting a superfluity of bare flesh , raises a tortoise-shell lorgnette when some one — who can it be ?  — is heard to laugh outright .  A famous guardsman has several charming things to say , and the girl finds her chatter received with flattering attention by the handsome man with the Garter , who is at once a Viceroy and the most suave of diplomats .  Surely , when one looks back , the girl 'seyes are bright again that night ; her blond hair is full of electricity ; she has regained , though with a curious little composed manner , something of the roundness , the joyousness , of nineteen .  Life is a compromise , and must not be taken too seriously .  It is absurd to be much in earnest , and it bores people .  So much the girl has learned .  For the next two or three days , the two hardly left the study , except for a short walk after dinner , for the professor 'sbook absorbed him .  Not feeling himself , he was anxious — terribly anxious — to get it done .  After this they would go abroad , and get a long holiday .  He wanted to go to Zermatt .  At the Riffel Alp he would get the air and exercise he craved .  No , he was not quite himself ; he felt over-strained , nervous , he had a continual headache .  It was , perhaps , he said , a touch of bile .  But one evening , just before dinner , the book was actually done .  Bending over the girl at the desk , he kissed her crisp hair , and wrote at the bottom of the page , in his own cramped hand , these words — ‘The End.’  And so it was , indeed .  The next morning , when the servant went up to call him , the professor had been dead some hours .  The doctors spoke of a clot of blood in the brain , of over-work , and over-strain .  And in the tall , darkened house in Harley Street , the child who had played , the girl who had danced , died too .  CHAPTER IV  ALISON  AS sometimes happens with busy people in London , the Erles had hundreds of acquaintances and but few intimate friends .  A friendship is costly , in point of time , and Mary found , when one chapter of her life was done that spring morning , that there were two people only that she must imperatively see : a man and a woman — Vincent Hemming and Alison Ives .  How their features stood out among the crowd of vague faces , which belonged to that other life !  Alison Ives especially , who always looked like a Reynolds , with her handsome , clever face , her superb air , and her huge hats tied under the chin .  With that grave sweetness which endears to us the Siddons in the National Gallery , she yet had the look of a thinker , modernised by a slightly bored expression , and a little distinguished way which at once made other women in her vicinity look dowdy or vulgar .  Her clothes always seemed to suit her , as its feathers do a bird .  There are women who look like an édition de luxe of a poor book ; Alison Ives suggested that of a classic .  It had been her habit for a couple of years past to sit at the feet of Professor Erle ; she constantly announced , indeed , that he was the only man she wanted to marry , only that he was firm , and would not permit it .  Besides , it was no good trying to compete with her mother , Lady Jane , who was sixty-five — and irresistible .  Women of sixty-five , she said , were nowadays the only people who inspired a great passion .  She supposed her turn would come — a quarter of a century hence .  But , all the same , the daughter was much admired in the world ; but the world , as understood by her mother , Lady Jane , by no means entirely satisfied this eminently modern young woman .  It was whispered that she had serious views , though it was certain that she was pretty enough to please a Prime Minister , and clever enough to entertain a guardsman , if she found herself next to either at dinner .  Alison did not mind which , she said ; in fact , after a long day in the East-end , when she was tired , she rather preferred the guardsman , who would be content to talk of polo ponies , whereas , when a young woman is put next to a Premier , it behoves her to look , at any rate , very brilliant indeed .  Though she never smoked , was ignorant of billiard cues and guns , and hated playing the man , Alison had been heard to murmur something like an oath .  It was a habit which she had picked up in Paris , when she was working in a sculptor 'sstudio ; and she always declared that dame and sapristi , being in a foreign tongue , were notoriously less efficacious , and by inference more pardonable , than swearing in the vernacular .  For the rest , with the best heart in the world , she had a somewhat caustic tongue , could interpret Chopin like an artist , and always had her hair exquisitely dressed .  What attracted people at once was her womanliness , her lack of snobbishness , her real desire to be in sympathy with her own sex .  Like all exceptional people , she had her moods , and sometimes for months together she was heard of only as forming one of a party in this or that great country house , while at other times she would come to town and study fitfully , or devote herself to the task of helping young girls .  Once , in the middle of the season , she took a lodging in a by-street in the Mile End Road , but she only stayed seven weeks , and , when she appeared again , the expression on her face was sadder than before .  ‘Of course , one ought to know what it is like , ’ she said , when Mary asked her why she had left so soon .  ‘It 'san experience — but a terrible one .  It 'snot only the drunkenness , the down-at-heel vice , the astounding absence of any thrift or forethought , and the incredible repetition of one solitary adjective ; but it seems to me that , when one or two of us go and live down there , we absolutely do no permanent good at all .  The thing will be to bring the East-end here — one by one , of course , just as we go there.’  Alison kept her word .  This spring had found her ensconced in a workman 'sflat in the Mayfair district , with one small servant , whom she had befriended in Whitechapel .  ‘But it 'sas much for myself as her , ’ explained Alison , laughing .  She hated to be thought philanthropic .  ‘All we women are so incredibly dependent on other people .  It 'sabsurd that we do n't know how to do anything useful .  I shall keep my flat , and go to it now and again , when I am tired of shooting-parties .  It will be a little home for my East-end girls , whom I intend to train .  I daresay I shall be disappointed in them , but that 'sinevitable with all experiments .  Anyway , it will probably do me more good than it will them .  The only real slavery nowadays is the slavery of luxury .  We are all getting so pampered that we ca n't exist without it .  People do the most incredible things .  I have known a woman stay with a husband whom she loathed , and whom it was an outrage to live with , simply because she could n't do her own hair .  I 'mgoing to get our cook at Ives Court to teach me how to broil a mutton-chop , though , I daresay , she 'stoo grand for that ; and I shall go and watch the laundry-maid at her work.’  ‘And your hands , you lunatic ?  ’ Mary had exclaimed .  ‘I think I see you with red knuckles.’  ‘Oh , ’ said Alison , laughing , ‘I shall tell that little manicure just out of Bond Street to come twice a week .  There 'sthat new stuff , “ Eau des Orchidées ” ; it 'swonderful .  Do n't imagine I 'mgoing to give up the only old-fashioned quality we modern women have got — our vanity .  It 'sthe only thing that makes us still bearable.’  This was the young woman who was shown into the study by Elizabeth one morning a few days after the funeral at Highgate .  Mary was bending over a desk , busy with her father 'sproofs , when she came in .  The elder girl 'sbeautiful brown eyes were suspiciously shiny ; it had evidently cost her an effort to come into the study which she knew so well .  The two girls wrung each other 'shands silently .  But after the first kiss , in which she said everything that she dared not put in words , Alison , with her ready tact , began talking business at once .  The younger girl announced her plans frankly .  There was just enough money for her to live meagrely , quietly on for the next few years , while she tried her luck at art .  Mary had always meant to paint some day , when her time should be at her own disposal .  To paint was a long-cherished ambition , mused over on drowsy afternoons in the reading-room of the British Museum , nursed during the days when she had remained bending over a desk in her father 'sstudy , patiently inscribing what the professor dictated as he walked up and down the little room .  As for Jimmie , he was to remain at Winchester , and , if he could succeed in winning a scholarship , was to go to Oxford , as the father had wished .  By living carefully this could be managed .  ‘No woman ever made a great artist yet , ’ said Alison , after a pause , ‘but , if you do n't mind being third-rate , of course go in and try .  I suppose it 'llmean South Kensington , the Royal Academy , and then — portraits of babies in pastel or cottage gardens for the rest of your life.’  ‘Oh , don't.’  ‘Never mind , my dear girl .  You must work at something .  Try the British Art School .  Has Vincent Hemming been ?  ’ she added , rather inconsequently .  ‘Oh , yes , he has called .  Two or three times , Elizabeth says , but I have n't seen any one , ’ said Mary , remembering , with a little shudder , the inquisitive voices at the door .  ‘I do n't see why , ’ said Alison , thoughtfully , ‘you should n't take a flat in the same building with me .  Of course , there are little drawbacks .  The ladies use a limited , if somewhat virulent vocabulary , and now and again one has to step over an elderly gentleman who lives just below , and who comes home tired , and sometimes goes to sleep on the stairs .  But one gets accustomed to that.’  ‘I think on the whole , ’ said Mary , smiling , ‘I 'lltake some rooms near .  There are some furnished rooms in Bulstrode Street , kept by an old servant of ours .  I 'vegot to think of Jimmie and his holidays , you see.’  ‘Where is the boy , by the by ?  ’  ‘Oh , poor Jimmie , I let him go — the day — the day after .  He was very good ; he said that nothing would induce him to leave me , and sat , poor boy , for at least an hour with his arms round my neck , crying .  Then another note came from Smith minor — the boy who keeps so many lop-eared rabbits , you remember — asking him to go and spend a week with them in the country.’  ‘And then ?  ’ said Alison quickly .  ‘Ah !  I can see Jimmie saying he should n't dream of going , and then wandering round the room , asking if you were not perhaps going out of town yourself .  And about seven o'clock an epistle was indited to say that he would be very pleased to go , and the next morning Jimmie went off in a four-wheel cab , looking quite cheerful.’  Mary smiled in spite of herself .  ‘Poor boy , ’ she said softly , in an extenuating voice , ‘he ca n't bear anything sad !  ’  ‘So much , ’ said Alison after a pause , ‘for brothers.’  ‘We 'vegot , ’ answered the other , ‘fortunately or unfortunately , to depend upon ourselves in all the crises of life .  I 'vegot lots to do ; lawyers to see , these proofs to correct , and to make arrangements for my own future.’  ‘Only that ?  She refuses herself nothing , ’ said Alison .  ‘I am modestly contented with arranging for Evelina 'sfuture .  Evelina is my last girl .  As for my own , I leave it to Providence.’  ‘You can afford to , ’ replied Mary , ‘but we have it on the authority of a proverb that Heaven is not above taking assistance from mortals in this respect.’  ‘My dear , you should never say cynical things ; you 'llfind you will so often be obliged to do them !  But I want to tell you about Evelina , ’ she went on nervously , afraid every minute that one or other of them might break down .  ‘Evelina is my new girl , ’ she continued , settling down on the fender-stool .  ‘Her name is actually Evelina — is n't it preposterous ?  I should like to call her Polly , only I do n't believe in changing poor people 'snames to suit your own fancy , as if they were cats or canaries .  Well , Evelina 'sbaby — ’  ‘Oh , there is a baby ?  ’  ‘Why , of course .  A poor waxen little thing that screams all day long .  I 'veput it out to nurse in a crêche that a friend of mine has started in Kentish Town .  And now I 'mtrying to cultivate a sense of humour in Evelina.’  ‘It will be difficult , wo n't it ?  ’ said Mary , trying hard to take an interest .  ‘Never mind .  It 'swhat women ought to cultivate above all other things , especially the poorer classes .  With a keen sense of the ridiculous , they would never fall in love at all ; and as to improvident marriages , they simply would n't exist .  If you could see the baby 'sfather !  — a pudding-faced boy , who helps in a tiny cheesemonger 'sshop down there .  She “ walked out ” with him for two years .  He is now nearly nineteen .  It is all very well to smile , but it is terrible — for the woman .  In the evening , when she has done her work , she lights the lamp in my little sitting-room ( everything thing is quite simple , you know ; only I 'vegot a few books , and the tiny Corot from my den at Ives Court , and the Rossetti drawings ) , and then I read aloud while she knits .  I read comic things — Dickens , Mark Twain , and so on ; and when the poor girl laughs , I feel that I have scored .  She is n't much more than a child , you know , and she has such a good heart .  I think she likes to talk to me : she tells me her little story.’  ‘A story , ’ repeated Mary ; ‘she has a story , then ?  ’  ‘Oh !  a common one enough down there , ’ answered Alison .  ‘She drifted into the East-end from Essex , about three years ago , and became a drudge-of-all-work in a family of ten , in the Mile End Road .  Her master was pleased to make love to her when his wife and the eight children had gone for the day to South-end ; Evelina ran out of the house , leaving her box behind , and never dared to go back .  Mary , these London idylls are not pretty .  She is , however , beginning to show a faint sense of the ridiculous .  I believe I shall make a sensible person of Evelina.’  Mary raised her head , for she had been listening mechanically , with her eyes fixed on the ink-spots on her father 'sdesk , the desk on which his hand had so often rested .  But it was impossible not to feel cheered by Alison 'swhimsical yet energetic personality .  She looked so bright , so alert , so capable , as she stood there , in her pretty black gown and her rakish hat , a little askew with the wind .  ‘By the by , did I tell you the adventure I had on my visit to the Blaythewaites ?  My dear , it was only by the intervention of Providence that I did n't have to dine the first night in my tailor-gown .  Of course , I went down third-class — ’  ‘That 'sbecause you are saving for Evelina 'sbaby , I suppose , ’ interrupted Mary .  ‘And so , ’ went on Alison , taking no notice of the interruption , ‘the footman never thought of looking for me there .  They all drove off without me , and my basket trunk , with my favourite white gown in it , got taken off with some other people to another place about five miles off .  However , it was got back in time , and when I told my little story at dinner to Sir Horace , he was immensely amused , though I 'msure Lady Blaythewaite thought I was graduating for a lunatic asylum .  People who do n't know me well always do.’  ‘Did you tell Sir Horace Blaythewaite about the workman 'sflat — and Evelina ?  ’ said Mary , laughing .  Alison was already at the door , tying on her hat firmly .  ‘You know I never talk about that , ’ she said , flushing up .  ‘Why it would look like a pose — as if I thought myself better than other people .  And I could n't bear any one to say that I had ‘taken up slumming.’ You know how I detest the whole attitude of the upper and middle classes towards the poor .  Lifting the lids of people 'ssaucepans and routing under their beds for fluff is simply impertinence .  Why , district visiting is nothing less than a gross breach of manners — a little worse than electioneering , if that 'spossible .  I 'mjust going up , ’ she said , giving a rakish twist to her velvet hat-strings , ‘to the crêche in Kentish Town to see Evelina 'sbaby .  I 'mgoing on the top of one of those charming trams .  I told Worth when I was in Paris that I always went on the tops of omnibuses , and he designed me this little frock on purpose .  It 'spretty , is n't it , but a little too ingénue for me ?  It smacks of the Comédie Française .  I think I see Reichemberg in it , ’ said Alison doubtfully , smoothing down the folds of her loose bodice .  ‘Now , you 'vegot to promise to come and dine with me and mother in Portman Square ; we shall have the house to ourselves .  Good-bye .  Eight o'clock.’  ‘Nonsense !  It 'svery sweet of you , but I ca n't possibly go , ’ cried Mary down the passage .  In another instant she was gone , and the house seemed blank and empty again .  But trying not to think of her sorrow , Mary went steadily on with the proofs .  CHAPTER V  MARY 'SLOVER  MR. VINCENT HEMMING was looked upon by the professor , by Jimmie , by the servants , and indeed by everyone except Mary herself , as her especial property .  He was , in fact , one of the few intimate visitors who came when he liked to the Harley Street house .  He had become part of her grown-up life , having first appeared about a year after that Sunday night parting , when the world had seemed very empty indeed .  His little air of deference was eminently attractive to a young girl , who fancied that she had done for ever with emotion .  As for Jimmie , he adored Vincent , though Jimmie generally adored new acquaintances — for the space of about six weeks .  Hemming 'sfather had been a politician of some note , who had twice held office , and Vincent had pre-eminently the manners of one burdened with state secrets .  His little reserves , a certain air of caution , of discretion , all belonged to those early experiences when his father was alive .  To be sure , he had charming , rather old-fashioned manners , affected the speech of the mid-century , and was carried away by few of the modern crazes or fads .  A well-shaped forehead — of the showily intellectual type — wavy hair , already threaded with grey , a short , pointed beard , and eyes of an innocent , penetrating brown , made up a personality which appealed at once to dowagers and young girls .  At table he looked very well , although his shoulders were inclined to slope slightly , but when he stood up you saw that he had not the eminently British habit of planting himself firmly , squarely , and self-assertively on his feet .  For the rest , he had a small property which brought him in about three hundred a year , and though already grey , was still spoken of by his elders as a ‘promising young man.’  Though a Conservative , he believed in the higher education , even the enfranchisement of women .  It was a subject on which he was persuasively eloquent .  It was quite pretty , ladies always thought , to hear him talk of his dreams , his sacrifices , and an occasional article which he succeeded in getting inserted on his favourite subject in the Fortnightly or the Contemporary was laboriously written in studied English , and with a persuasive pen .  He had a great deal to say on the future of the race , and on the necessity of maintaining a high ethical standard , and he always waxed exceedingly wroth over the literary excesses of MM .  Zola and de Goncourt , and thanked heaven , so to speak , that those eminent pioneers of Realism did not belong to the Anglo-Saxon family .  ‘We are passing , ’ he announced one day , when he was calling on Lady Jane Ives , ‘through one of the reconstructive periods of the world 'shistory .  Art , under such conditions , is necessarily tentative , rarely complete.’  ‘Yes , ’ said Alison , dryly , ‘and building , you see , always makes a mess .  The smoking lime , the dirty puddles , the unpleasant odour of baking bricks are inevitable.’ But Lady Jane , who had knocked about the most depraved society in Europe for half a century , and who clung with amiable tenacity to her illusions , always agreed with Mr. Hemming .  Lady Jane , who was a judge of such things , said that he was one of the few modern young men whom she could endure in her drawing-room for more than twenty minutes .  A day or two after Alison 'svisit , Mr. Vincent Hemming appeared , looking charmingly correct and sympathetic , in a black-and-white spotted tie and a band round his hat .  He had gauged to a nicety his degree of intimacy with the great man who was gone .  It was a day when outlines were clearly cut , and colours glaring ; everything looked crisp , hard , decided , inevitable .  The rooms wore the unsettled , desolate look of a house that is soon to be empty .  One or two favourite pictures had already been lifted down from off the wall , leaving a patch of clean paper visible ; one bookcase was already a dark void , the volumes were piled on the floor ready to be packed .  Most of the library was to be sold , and Mary now stood on a ladder , running a regretful eye along the next case of beloved volumes , when Vincent Hemming came in .  ‘My poor child , ’ he said , in his sympathetic voice , ‘why would n't you let me see you before ?  ’  ‘I 'vebeen very busy , ’ said Mary , getting down from the ladder , and putting out a dusty hand .  ‘There was so much to do .  Father 'slawyer has been here constantly , and everybody has been very kind .  I had to think of everything , you see — of Jimmie , and all that.’  ‘What are you going to do ?  ’ he asked , after a little pause , during which his eye had travelled round the dismantled walls , and the cavernous shelves of the once cosy drawing-room .  ‘Of course , we ca n't stay in this big house , ’ she explained ; ‘I 'vetaken some lodgings in Bulstrode Street , near the Central London School of Art.’  ‘By yourself , my dear child ?  ’  ‘I suppose so , for the present , ’ she answered , knocking two volumes together in a determined manner to get the dust from the edges .  Her mouth had got those little obstinate tucks at the corners now , which he knew so well .  ‘Aunt Julia — mother 'ssister , you know — has written offering me a home .  She is very High Church , and lives at Bournemouth in one of those dreadful little gabled villas.’  ‘And , of course , you prefer an artistic life in London , ’ he was relieved , distinctly relieved , when Mary announced her intention of adopting art as a profession .  Painting , especially in watercolours , he considered an eminently lady-like occupation ; it was , indeed , associated in his imagination with certain drawings of Welsh mountains and torrents , executed by his mother with the prim technique of the forties , which now adorned his chambers in the Temple .  ‘That 'sso brave — and so like you , ’ said Vincent , as his eye wandered round the room again .  The tone of his voice was vague : he was evidently considering something which took up all his attention .  ‘It is n't brave at all , ’ she said , simply .  ‘It 'san absolute physical necessity .  I should go mad if I sat down to think .  It all seems so cruel , so terrible , so unjust .  He was only fifty-three , and there was so much work for him still to do .  He used to say that an ordinary long life could not suffice — ’  ‘The death of Professor Erle is a national disaster , ’ replied Vincent , ‘and is not to be gauged all at once.’  There was a long silence , during which all that this loss meant to each of these two passed through their minds .  They had moved to the window now , through which a light breeze fluttered in .  The tall , brownish-grey houses were spruced up for the season with clean blinds and boxes of daisies and spiraea .  A couple of blonde girls in pink cotton made a gay splash of colour against the grey-toned street as they walked buoyantly along .  A hansom was drawing up at the pale-green door yonder , and out of it sprang a young man in a glossy hat , a gardenia , and patent-leather boots .  Just opposite some workmen were stretching a red-and-white awning for an evening party .  The outward aspect of affairs was unchanged .  ‘I feel , ’ said Mary , gazing at the striped awning , which the men had now succeeded in propping , ‘as if I had done with that world for always .  And now I want to do something , to live .  Oh , Mr. Hemming , ’ she added , with one of her comic little frowns , ‘I do n't want to be a “ young lady ” !  Do you really think that , because I am a woman , I must sit by , and fold my hands , and wait ?  ’  ‘You are very modern in one thing , dear child ; you have the modern craze for work.’  ‘It probably saves some of us from the mad-house.’  ‘Ah , but you will marry one of these days , and then where will your work be ?  ’ replied Vincent , smiling a little fatuously .  Mary turned from the window abruptly .  ‘Let us go carefully over the books , ’ she said , with a brusqueness which she sometimes affected .  ‘Help me to choose , ’ she continued , mounting the steps , and beginning to hand down the volumes .  ‘I want that Lamb and the Heine , the Goethe and the Jean Paul Richter .  Here , catch the Phædo , and put it with the Marcus Aurelius and that little Epictetus over there on the cabinet.’  ‘My poor child , you will no doubt require such consolation as the philosophers can afford , ’ said Vincent Hemming , in his old-fashioned way .  ‘Here 'sPippa Passes , and Musset 'sProverbes , and my special Shelley , and the Anatomy of Melancholy .  Yes , yes , all those.’  Some colour had come into the girl 'scheeks as she sat on the top of the ladder and dropped the books into his arms , covering him , as she did so , with a light cloud of dust ; but she looked pathetically delicate in her close-fitting , sombre gown , which threw up the pallor of her throat , the mauvish tinge of her lips , the dark rings round her eyes .  Vincent Hemming , whatever he had meant to do when he entered the dismantled drawing-room , was fairly carried away by the spectacle of Mary 'schildish face and busy , nervous little hands re-arranging her destiny in her own decided fashion .  It touched him , and , at the same time , irritated him , producing the feeling that , as a man , he was bound to interfere .  One step nearer now , and the course of a lifetime would be changed .  ‘Mary , dear child , ’ he said suddenly , in an imploring tone , while they were both startled by the emotion in his voice , ‘do you think you could — care for me a little ?  ’  The girl turned to look at him .  His penetrating brown eyes were actually suffused with tears ; a nerve was ticking visibly in his forehead .  It all seemed far-off , improbable , impossible .  Vincent Hemming , her old friend , had turned into this imploring , visibly-suffering man .  Mary burst into an hysterical little laugh .  ‘But you — you do n't care for me , do you ?  You 'reonly saying that because you think I 'mlonely — that I want some one to take care of me — are n't you ?  ’ she asked hurriedly .  ‘Why , we 'veknown each other so long , ’ she added , seeing that he was still silent .  He had flipped the dust from his face and coat with easy tact , and stood , smiling up at her , close by her side .  ‘I do n't know , ’ continued the girl , doubtfully , slowly twisting one of the buttons of his frock coat .  She had come down several steps of the ladder , so that her eyes were on a level with his .  The nerve no longer ticked in his forehead ; the muscles of his mouth relaxed ; there was already something of triumph in his look .  ‘Do n't smile , dear , ’ she said , very gravely .  ‘I ca n't bear you to look at me like that .  Do you — really — want me ?  ’  ‘Dear heart , I have always wanted you , ’ said a changed , thick voice in her ear , and in the next instant two arms encircled her , and two lips were crushed against hers .  For the first minute a consciousness of sorrow overwhelmed her .  For good , for evil , the girl knew that she was giving herself up to this man , whom a minute ago she had looked upon with the cool eye and discriminating judgment of mere friendship .  All the tragic potentialities of a woman 'slife , the uncertainties and sorrows of her who gives her happiness into another 'skeeping , flashed before her ... .  Why , why must it be ?  Only a minute ago , and she had been ready to face the world alone , to be herself , to express herself , to work out her own destiny .  And now it was all changed .  Something held her against her will .  This man — a minute ago her friend , and now , in this infinitesimal atom of time , her lover , who stood before her with red , flushed face , and looked with longing eyes into hers : this man had already communicated his trouble to her .  His hands , which held her two wrists as they stood there gazing at each other , felt like links of iron .  In that one supreme moment , Mary Erle tasted for the first time , in all its intensity , the helplessness of woman , the inborn feeling of subjection to a stronger will , inherited through generations of submissive feminine intelligences .  ‘I ca n't , oh , I ca n't , ’ she said .  ‘Do n't ask me now .  You do n't — you ca n't understand how I feel .  And I do n't know you like that .  I 'vealways thought of you as a friend , ’ she protested , drawing herself away , with her fine smile .  ‘Besides , it 'sdreadful to be — love-making — when father — ’  ‘I do n't ask you to think of it just now , my darling , ’ said Vincent .  ‘I — I — the fact is , I have much to do , and many plans ahead myself .  I — I have n't the right to tie you definitely , Mary .  I am thinking seriously of taking that trip to India and Australia , of which I told you.’  ‘You 're— going — away ?  ’ she asked , blankly .  Already the inexorable chain which nature forges bound her to this man .  ‘Yes , to collect materials for my book on the Woman Question .  I might come home by way of Canada , and if so , the thing would take me the best part of a year .  Then , when I come home , I shall have my book to do ; and I hope , if the present Government keeps in , to get a legal appointment .  So you see , little one , you will have ample time to think about it , as well as to perfect your artistic studies , ’ he added , with a touch of his old-fashioned manner .  He was sitting down on the sofa now , and looked already his quiet , well-bred , rather deferential self again .  An hour later Vincent got up , reluctantly , to go .  ‘I have to dine with a member of the Government at a quarter to eight , ’ he explained , ‘My new article must be finished before I start , and I 'mthinking of starting quite soon.’  ‘Are you ?  ’ said Mary , sorrowfully , turning to the window and gazing down the street .  It was all so different now .  She belonged to this man who was going away .  Why had he spoken ?  Could it not be as it was ?  ... A few yards off a piano-organ was rattling out a cheap German valse .  The sun was off the houses now , and the street wore its familiar , dingy look .  Vincent searched among the disarranged furniture and the piles of books for his hat .  Mary followed him to the door .  She wanted to say something nice , but she could think of nothing .  Just at parting , he took her in his arms again , and brushed her downcast lids with his lips .  During that embrace , she thought of nothing , except that she was sure that she had always cared for him .  ‘Dear , ’ he muttered , ‘I 'mafraid that if I go away I shall leave the best part of myself with you.’  When he had gone , she stooped about again among the rows of books , sorting them mechanically , without thinking much what she was doing .  Little clouds of dust rose in the twilight room .  The tall , grim houses shut out all that remained of a daffodil-tinted sky .  Tired and unstrung , the girl threw herself on to the sofa where she and Vincent Hemming had sat , and presently , to her surprise , she was conscious that two large , salt tears were coursing their way down her dusty cheeks .  CHAPTER VI  THE CENTRAL LONDON SCHOOL OF ART  THE Central London School of Art , though backed by all the majesty of State support , was , at the first blush , a somewhat disillusionising place to the youthful aspirant for fame .  To the over-nice , to be sure , it lacked an art ‘atmosphere , ’ except such a material one as is generated by ancient paint-tubes , oily rags , furtively-munched sandwiches , and the presence of a preponderance of people to whom the daily tub is possibly not of vital importance .  Outwardly , the Art School was only No. 55 , in a dreary by-street near Portland Road ; a small thoroughfare of sinister aspect , in which the houses seemed to be frowning at each other 'sdubious appearance .  The white blinds — now grey with age and dirt — seemed always drawn ; no one ever seemed to emerge from those faded , bespattered front doors .  It was a dreary , mysterious street , of which , when Mary thought of it , she invariably saw the two ends swallowed up in a blurred , yellowish fog .  Inside , this temple of the fine arts consisted of one long room with a glass roof , divided , towards one end , by a serge curtain of bronze green .  The walls were tinted a dingy-olive colour , throwing up the plaster Laocoon , the torso of the Theseus , the Apollo Belvedere , with its slightly supercilious air , the frowning Moses of Michael Angelo , and the simpering Clytie , with startling distinctness .  A small écorché stood on a shelf , and all around , looking like the frozen remains of some monster operating-theatre , were eerie-looking arms , legs , feet , and hands cut off above the wrist .  Here , too , were the candidates for the Royal Academy , all laboriously stippling their drawings of the Laocoon with twists of bread and stumps ; a process in which they had been engaged for some six months past ; while in the other division of the room was posed a child dressed like an Italian contadina , surrounded by easels on every side .  It was the afternoon on which the model sat .  Painting from the life was carried on at the Central London School of Art on but two afternoons a week , being looked upon as a kind of frivolous extra which should not be allowed to occupy the mind of the serious student to the detriment of the stippled Laocoon .  It was a raw December day , but inside the fumes of a charcoal stove made the students 'heads feel queer .  They were an odd-looking collection of people , who were gathered there that winter afternoon in the falling light .  The young women were of the lower middle class ; daughters of retail shopkeepers , who dressed in gowns of orange or green serge , cut rather low about the throat , and beautified by strings of amber or Venetian glass beads , while some , on gala days , had been known to appear adorned with iridescent beetles 'wings , a trimming understood to be dear to the female artist the wide world over .  And though perhaps their hair left , like their speech , something to be desired , on the whole the girls were less objectionable than the boy-students , whose linen was not irreproachable , and who used to disappear in groups of five or six during the sitting , to return to their places presently , bringing with them a suspicious odour of bitter beer and inexpensive tobacco .  An English art school has none of the boisterous , contagious hilarity of a French atelier .  Decent silence reigned , broken only by the hoarse , repressed chuckles of a couple of boys as they exchanged a whispered witticism , or the rare , high-pitched , but almost inaudible titter of a student with ringlets as she bent over her easel .  Mary Erle , with her neat hair and her well made black dress , looked like a little princess as she sat , with a slight frown and tight-shut lips , among the outer ring of easels .  She wore the same expression as of old , in the summerhouse in St. John 'sWood , when she sat alone notching and slicing at her wooden fleet .  And indeed , the girl was as much alone now , in this studio full of human beings , as in the silence of the leafy garden .  Vincent had gone on his travels — had been gone , indeed , for nearly six months , and all that she had to remind her of that unexpected demonstration of affection in the Harley Street drawing-room was a crumpled letter with an Indian post-mark which she carried about in her pocket .  Yes , she was alone , for had she spoken to the boys , she was sure they would have tried to be jocose ; and she dreaded the confidences of the young ladies , some of whom had prosperous flirtations , carried on in neighbouring pastry-cooks 'shops , or in the rooms of Burlington House with the ‘advanced’ male students .  Indeed , the only person she ever spoke to was an old student who had been through the Academy schools , and who came to the Central London to work from the draped model , his studio on Haverstock Hill being just now in the hands of workmen .  Mr. Perry Jackson was an under-sized , drab-faced young man of about thirty , who gave the casual spectator the impression that he was a grown-up London gutter-boy .  But in truth he had had no such dramatic beginnings .  His parents , the well-to-do proprietors of a small upholsterer 'sshop in the Hampstead Road , had given him a fair education , and were now proud of having turned their only child into an ‘artist and a gentleman.’ To Mary , Mr. Jackson was so frankly , so completely himself , representing such an unknown , unguessed-at type , that he ended by amusing her .  Perry Jackson , to be sure , was already a rising man ; he had an extraordinary facility for drawing pretty faces .  His black and white work in Illustrations was much admired at the railway stations , while already he had had one or two flashy pictures on the line at the Royal Academy .  How well Mary remembered the day she had begun her Laocoon , for the next competition .  It would take , with its infinitely minute stippling , six months to complete .  ‘I 'dadvise you to look sharp and begin , Miss Erle , ’ Mr. Jackson had said , who , though rather abashed by his neighbour 'smanners , was inclined to be friendly .  ‘That serpent 'lltake you every day of six weeks , let alone the figure .  They 'reawfully down on a fellow , I can tell you , at the Academy , if the shading ai n't quite up to the mark .  Anybody can correct the drawing for you , do n't you see , but you 'vegot to do that blessed stippling yerself.’  ‘Thanks .  I think I will begin at once.’  ‘Right you are .  Take this place , Miss Erle , there 'sa better light , ’ suggested Mr. Jackson , who was good-nature itself .  ‘Let me fix your easel .  There .  You may use the plumb-line as much as you like , ’ continued the young man , his small , pale eyes twinkling with vivacity ; ‘and I 'llcorrect your outline for you .  I ought to know something about it , ’ he added with sudden candour .  ‘Why , I went up for the R.A. Schools three times myself.’  There were two or three girls , besides herself , who were competing for the Academy , and several men , one of whom was verging on fifty years of age , and whose hair and unkempt beard were already turned grey .  A legend current in the school related that this person had been competing for the Royal Academy Schools ever since he was eighteen years old .  There was Miss Simpkins , a strapping young woman with a large , vague face , which somehow suggested a muffin , and who carried a small edition of Modern Painters about in a leather hand-bag , together with a pocket-comb , a hand-mirror , some ham sandwiches , and a selection of different kinds of chalk , and who had many confidences to impart to a pale girl with red ringlets , whom Mary remembered as the daughter of a confectioner in St. John 'sWood , a girl who affected peacock-blue velveteen , and was understood to be intermittently in love with Mr. Jackson .  On the December day in question the glass door opened , and a small , pale man , wearing a frock coat and a narrow black necktie , and having the appearance and manner of an attorney 'shead clerk , stood bending over the first easel .  Mr. Sanderson , the headmaster , was a person who rarely committed himself to a definite opinion , and especially to an adverse one .  He wished , above all things , to be well with the students , so that his usual criticism took the form of : —  ‘Going on ve-r-y nicely , Miss Simpkins .  Perhaps , on the whole , you might look to the movement of that head .  Yes , just so .  The arms , now , should you say they were just a little out of drawing ?  And the right leg , eh ?  perhaps , too , it might be as well to reconsider the position of the torso .  Coming on nicely , Miss Simpkins.’  And Miss Simpkins , a lady whose devotion to the doctrines of Mr. Ruskin was perhaps more remarkable than her artistic skill , settled her amber necklace and continued to paint .  At the next easel was heard , ‘Ah , a very ambitious view of the model , Miss Erle .  It might be perhaps as well to reconsider the position of the figure .  Just as well , on the whole , for the artist not to hamper himself with unnecessary difficulties .  Very good , very good .  In quite a promising condition , Miss Erle.’ At the Central London , it will be seen , everything worked smoothly .  The advent of the headmaster was the signal for general amenities .  Every daub , every ill-drawn head , and every smeared , smooth drapery received its meed of praise .  There were no tears , such as water the upward path of the student in a Parisian atelier ; there were no ambitions , no heart-burnings , no rivalries .  No one at the Central London had ever been known to have a theory to express , or if he had , it remained locked in his own breast .  It had already begun to dawn upon Mary that the whole thing was a foolish pretence at work .  Slipping from her seat , she dropped back to the easel on which still stood her drawing of the Laocoon , a drawing which was beginning to assume , as it was destined to do , the appearance of a dotted engraving .  She was standing , somewhat desponding and disheartened , before this thing which had cost her so much toil , and on the success of which so much depended , when the door burst open , and there appeared a radiant vision of velvet and sables , and of an audacious hat which only Alison Ives in one of her ‘worldly’ fits could have invented .  ‘ Nom d'un chien ! ’ cried that young lady , descending on Mary , and forcibly removing her drawing-board ; ‘am I to stand by and see you become a British female artist ?  You 'vegot to come to a tea — a tea at home in Portman Square .  We 'redriving straight back .  Mother 'sout there in the carriage .  Come on.’  ‘I ca n't , ’ said Mary : ‘I told you I could n't .  I 'mnot going out ; and I ought to work for another hour .  The thing goes in in a day or two.’  ‘Pooh !  ’ said Alison , as she found the girl 'shat and cloak , and bundled her unceremoniously into the carriage ; ‘the whole thing is a farce.’  ‘But I believe these schools are excellent things for — for the kind of persons whom dear Mary describes so amusingly , ’ put in Lady Jane .  ‘Nonsense , mother , ’ said Alison .  ‘You 'venever been inside one .  The whole thing is impossible .  Schools of cooking , and not schools of art , are what we want , ’ shouted Alison as they rattled over the stones .  ‘You may leave your painter genius to find his way to the front , whereas boiled potatoes are a daily necessity .  Go and talk , ’ continued the girl , with a smile , ‘about your stippled gladiators and Laocoons in a serious French studio , where they work .  Why , they would laugh in your face.’  ‘How nice it must be in Paris , ’ said Mary with a sigh .  A place where they disapproved of the Laocoon as an exercise in art seemed to her to open out a vista of delightful possibilities .  CHAPTER VII  A KETTLEDRUM AT LADY JANE 'S LADY JANE IVES was always to be found in Portman Square at five , but to-day she had sent out cards , so that an hour later the lofty , gaunt rooms , with their faded crimson carpets , their flowery chintzes and their many mirrors , were dotted with little groups .  Lady Jane disliked new fashions in her house , and the general effect , in an over-luxurious age , was somewhat cheerless .  The stiff , hard Guardis on the walls , in which tin gondoliers were propelling iron gondolas on a leaden lagoon , with a background of grey zinc palaces , were but faintly visible by the tentative light of the circle of candles in the quivering lustre chandelier .  Between the starched lace curtains stood monster Chinese vases , swollen like vases seen in an uneasy dream .  The buhl cabinets had chilly marble tops ; the rosewood tables held vast photograph albums .  Lady Jane had arranged the rooms on her marriage some forty years ago , and it had not occurred to her to change them .  Parliament had just opened ; so that people were back in town .  Here and there a man 'sblack coat was visible .  There was a subdued murmur of talk .  People were slipping out quietly under cover of someone else 'sarrival , dropping the perfunctory smile which they had exhibited for ten minutes under the lustre chandelier , as they made their way quickly out into the portico , where a small army of grooms , with faces as drab and unemotional as their overcoats , hung about the steps .  ‘I 'vejust come from the Ambassador of all the Russias , ’ drawled a pretty woman to Lady Jane , as she stood , in the swaggering attitude which she affected on entering a drawing-room , just at the door .  ‘My dear , you should n't encourage those barbarians , ’ declared her hostess ; ‘it 'sso shockingly radical to approve of foreign tyrannies.’  Alison , assisted by Mary , was pouring out tea in the gaunt back drawing-room .  It was noticeable that most of the men had collected round the table .  ‘I wo n't have my friends fed at a sort of sublimated coffee-stall in the dining-room , ’ announced Lady Jane .  ‘It 'sa young woman 'smission to make tea for her friends .  Alison , remember Lady Blaythewaite does n't like sugar.’ ‘Vous versez le thé avec une grâce parfaite , ’ sighed a sentimental attaché of vague Slav nationality , who was famous for turning compliments out of the most unlikely materials .  And Mary Erle , in her black clothes , sat on one side and looked at the little comedy with impartial eyes .  It seemed so long since she had been in society ; she supposed she was out of touch with the world .  Vanity Fair , since she had left it for so many months , seemed curiously foolish .  Close to her , the pretty woman , who stood sipping her tea amid an admiring circle of black coats , had already got on one of her favourite topics .  ‘I do n't mean to be done out of Monte Carlo , this year , ’ she announced in a penetrating voice , and with the air of one who is accustomed to have her least brilliant observations received with attention ; ‘so I 'vetold Sir Horace he can have as many shooting parties as he likes , but I 'moff on the 31st.’  The eyes of the complimentary Slav waxed brilliant as he gazed admiringly at Lady Blaythewaite .  ‘All very well , ’ objected a perfectly-dressed and perfectly self-satisfied young man , who gave the casual spectator the impression , from the parting of his beautifully cared-for hair to the pointed toes of his shiny boots , he was elabor- ately , exquisitely new and clean : ‘all very well for ladies , ’ he said deliberately , ‘but how on earth is a feller to go away in December if he wants to get any huntin '— what ?  Why , the Duchess said the other night when I told her I was n't goin ' — — ’  But to make room for two new arrivals , the exquisitely clean young man was obliged to step into the background , and the rest of his story was lost to every one but the pretty woman .  After these two had thrashed out the engrossing subject of Monte Carlo , the word ‘Plumpton’ was bandied about , and afterwards the name of the latest three-act farce .  The exquisitely clean young man , it appeared , was a great theatre-goer ; in fact , he admitted that he went so often that it was impossible to recollect the names of the house , the play , or the actors .  ‘I do n't remember the name of the piece , do n't you know , ’ he confided , ‘but we saw it the night before last at the Criterion — I think it must have been the Criterion , because we dined in the restaurant first — and the feller I liked awfully , do n't you know , was the one who played the feller who kicks out the Johnnie in the third act .  Awfully good , what ?  ’  ‘Oh , yes .  Awfully good — was n't he ?  We all thought him a dear , ’ said the pretty woman in a bored tone .  She had had enough of what she called ‘intellectual conversation.’  ‘What have you done with that charming Mr. Hemming , my dear ?  ’ demanded Lady Jane in a stage whisper , descending on Mary and leading her out of her corner by the arm .  And , not waiting for an answer , she went on , ‘You 'vesent him off to India , you naughty child , and he may die of the cholera or heat-apoplexy , and then you 'llbe sorry .  Poor fellow , he looked so terribly cut-up .  He came to see me just before he went .  His father was an old flame of mine .  But the men were more enterprising when I was young .  They did n't take “ no ” for an answer.’  ‘But , dear Lady Jane , ’ whispered Mary , ‘I did n't give “ no ” for an answer.’ All this was said while a lady with sloping shoulders and dyed black hair was performing a rather deliberate solo on the harp .  But her hostess , whose eyes were turned towards the door , did not apparently grasp the import of Mary 'swords .  Lady Jane was very fond of Professor Erle 'sdaughter — the professor had always been one of the familiar faces at her Sunday dinners — but she was a somewhat indifferent listener , and just now she had not only to thank the fair harpist — but a new arrival was claiming her attention .  ‘Ah !  there is my dear doctor , ’ exclaimed Lady Jane with much vivacity .  ‘How good of you , ’ she said , with more enthusiasm than she had yet exhibited , ‘to find time to come and see an old woman.’  The man addressed was a striking figure enough ; he had , moreover , that imposing air which endears itself to the feminine imagination .  Dr. Dunlop Strange was a favourite with women in society .  His speciality was nervous disease .  He had done a great deal of useful work , had made one important discovery which had brought him prominently before the public , and was understood to be about to receive a baronetcy .  Mary remembered his face .  She had met him out often in the old days : at soirées at learned societies , at the dinner-tables of the celebrated or the merely smart .  He was a man of forty-five , a little under the medium size , with a perpetual upright pucker just between his eyes .  Those eyes , the girl noticed , spoilt his face ; they were small and somewhat shifty ; but as he usually wore a pince-nez this peculiarity was not noticeable .  He looked tired , but not at all bored .  The doctor was understood to be devoted to Alison , and , for once , Alison seemed pleased .  Though she was good-looking and moved in a somewhat go-ahead set , she had never been known to have an ordinary flirtation .  She used to say that she supposed she should have to marry some day — the later the better — because it was absurd to suppose that old maids had any influence on people 'slives ; and Power , to put it plainly , was what the modern woman craved .  She supposed , in that respect , that she was n't any better than the rest of her sex .  Lady Jane was delighted ; asked the doctor constantly to dinner , and insisted on his assisting at one of her Happy Afternoons for Pauper Lunatics .  And Dr. Strange went ; as indeed he would have gone anywhere just now to meet Alison .  ‘By the by , ’ she said , giving him a cup of tea , and pretending not to notice that his eyes were devouring every detail of her handsome personality , ‘I want you particularly to know Mary Erle — Professor Erle 'sdaughter .  Of course you 'vemet her , but I want you to know her .  She 'sone of my few friends.’  Alison seemed in high spirits since Dr. Dunlop Strange 'sarrival .  ‘Here 'sMr. Bosanquet-Barry , ’ she whispered , as a beautiful young man with Parma violets in his coat appeared in the doorway ; ‘one of mother 'syoung friends .  He 'sthe new editor of the Comet .’  ‘The editor , ’ repeated Mary incredulously , emerging from a conversation with Dr. Strange , which she had carried on with difficulty , seeing that his eyes were fixed on Alison all the time .  ‘The editor of the Comet ?  Why , he looks a mere boy.’  ?  ’My dear , he 'sseven-and-twenty .  Besides , that 'sthe new idea in journalism .  You pluck your editor nice and hot from Oxford — someone who has none of the old hackneyed Fleet Street ideas.’  ‘This one , ’ observed Mary thoughtfully , ‘does n't look as if he had any ideas at all.’  ‘Oh I but then he 'sdevoted to the Primrose League — and mother .  He goes to her Happy Afternoons .  I hear that all the smart set are in love with him — if that 'sany recommendation .  Mary , you must be introduced .  You 'llhave to know these people if you 'regoing to be an artist.’  On closer inspection Mr. Bosanquet-Barry turned out to have a somewhat spurious air of youth .  The effect of extreme juvenility was produced by his fair skin , his dazzlingly white teeth , and his piercingly blue eyes .  He entertained Mary , as he got her a cup of tea , with a spirited account of a visit to a minor music-hall , which he and a pale-faced boy with tired eyelids and an exaggerated button-hole had arranged the night before for Lady Blaythewaite .  ‘It all went all right , ’ said Mr. Bosanquet-Barry confidentially , ‘until the last .  Lady Blaythewaite swore she 'dnever enjoyed anything so much in her life .  Ca n't say I did , as I had to talk to the girl she brought with her , who was ugly as sin .  However , I had to leave ' em a minute at the door , to see after the carriage , and then some beastly cad spoke to her.’  ‘How very unpleasant , ’ said Mary , who felt she was expected to sympathise with this lady 'sadventures in a London music-hall .  ‘Oh , ’ chuckled Mr. Bosanquet-Barry , with a laugh which was not quite pretty .  ‘I do n't believe she minded — I should n't wonder if she rather liked it .  At any rate , she should n't wear such outrageous clothes .  I wonder Sir Horace — — ’  ‘Oh , Sir Horace does n't care , ’ interrupted the pale-faced boy , whose name , it appeared , was Beaufort Flower , though he was usually briefly addressed as ‘Beaufy’ ; ‘Sir Horace does n't care , he do n't pay for them , you know.’  And with a display of all his white teeth at once , the editor of the Comet , who with all his boyishness had picked up the editor 'sair of not meaning to allow anyone to detain him , bowed abruptly and was now seen pressing the hands of several ladies of quality as he steered his way towards the door .  ‘He is an odious youth , ’ said Alison calmly .  ‘I 'mnot responsible , you know , for all mother 's“ boys .  ” Sometimes he comes and stops for hours .  They talk scandal all the time , and , Heaven preserve us !  the scandal of the fifties — about women who are grandmothers , or in their graves .  Do n't you think it a depraved taste , Dr. Strange ?  ’ continued the girl .  ‘Perhaps , ’ he answered with a smile , ‘he 'sgoing to write a book of reminiscences .  You begin collecting at about twenty , and you keep your scandal , well-corked and in a dry place , till you are about eighty .  Then you publish with additions.’  ‘I dare say , ’ laughed Alison , ‘that scandal does n't “ keep ” any better than other things .  A little venom has to be added.’  ‘Scandal , ’ put in the pretty woman , emerging suddenly from a flirtation with the sentimental Slav , ‘is only interesting about one 'scontemporaries.’  ‘Dear me , what an interesting woman Lady Blaythewaite must be , ’ whispered Mr. Beaufort Flower into the ear of a solemn man with a heavy jaw , who was well-connected , and who was understood to write essays in Addisonian English .  ‘Ah !  ’ ejaculated the solemn man , with a thoughtful glance at the pretty woman .  ‘My only objection to immoral people , ’ chat- tered the other , gazing at her with weary , half-closed eyes , ‘is that they 'regenerally so shockingly censorious .  ‘No one else 'sconduct , I suppose , ’ rejoined the solemn man deliberately , ‘comes up to their high ethical standard.’  ‘My heavens !  ’ exclaimed the pretty woman , who had heard part of the answer , ‘they 'vebegun to talk of ethical standards !  I must n't keep the roans any longer .  Good-bye , all you people , good-bye.’  And sweeping away among her rustling silk petticoats the complimentary Slav , Lady Blaythewaite 'stiny head and wide shoulders were seen descending the staircase .  There was a pause .  Most of the people were leaving .  From the open hall door came the click of closing carriage-doors , the word ‘Home’ pronounced in the official voice of the unemotional grooms , and the sound of departing wheels .  Dr. Dunlop Strange was bending towards Alison , talking earnestly .  ‘Charmin 'rooms , ’ said Mr. Beaufy Flower vaguely , terrified at finding himself alone with Mary , whom he took for his especial aversion , a débutante .  His eye ran round the rather bare walls , the fluted steel fenders , the marble mantelpieces topped by their huge mirrors .  ‘So nice and old-fashioned , are n't they ?  Should you say early Victorian now , or late William the Fourth ?  ’  But the favourite modern amusement of whispering malicious things of one 'shost or hostess behind their backs had never appealed to her , and much to his surprise the fair girl in mourning evinced no further desire for his society , but with one of those little manoeuvres which only women of the world know how to execute without offence , she had joined Alison and the doctor .  ‘Good gracious !  ’ he said to himself as he tripped downstairs to his brougham .  ‘How pert !  I do n't believe she 'sa débutante after all.’  CHAPTER VIII  MARY TRIES TO LIVE HER LIFE  ONE night , about a fortnight later , Mary walked home to her lodgings in Bulstrode Street more than usually weary and anxious .  Somehow she felt hipped ; she would have liked to creep back , just for once , to the book-lined drawing-room in Harley Street , with its indefinable air of perfect taste and perfect comfort ; to the little tea-table near the fire , with its silver kettle , its dainty china , and the hot cakes which cook used to make so well .  In those days , Mary remembered with a pang , a well-known step would be heard ascending the stair , and the professor would come in , with his keen eyes , and his dear , thin face , and stand with his back to the fire while he sipped his tea and teased his ‘little girl.’  But instead , she entered the narrow passage of a house in Bulstrode Street , of which the varnished marble paper , as well as the grained staircase and stiff patterned oil-cloth were worn and stained with age , and ascended to her own domain , which consisted of two rooms .  In the little bed-room , giving on a grimy back-yard , there was a small iron bed with starved-looking pillows , a washing apparatus of which every article , by a strange chance , was of a different pattern , two chairs , and a chest of drawers in imitation grained wood , with white china handles .  On the walls , covered with a paper on which apples of a dingy yellow sprawled , in endless repetition , on a dull green ground , were several framed texts .  A yacht in full sail , on the bluest of lithograph seas , was accompanied by the words , ‘Search the Scriptures ; ’ while opposite , encased in an Oxford oak frame , a stout , highly-coloured kingfisher emerging from a colony of bulrushes , faced another familiar phrase .  These pictorial aids to piety were the only ornaments of the bedroom , and Mary often smiled when she thought of the delicate silver point drawings that hung on the pink walls at home .  She thought , too , of the things that used to strike her as she read , and which she would write out and pin up in her pretty luxurious bed-room ; the scraps of poetry in various tongues which she would scribble hastily on the back of some young man 'svisiting card , and then pin up , with a slender gilt tack , on to her door ; especially those lines of James Thomson 's, which , about a year after her first heart-ache , when all had ended in disappointment , it had given her such ironical pleasure to nail up in her bed-room , to the bewilderment of the new housemaid : ‘The old three hundred sixty-five Dull days to every year alive Old toil , old care , old worthless treasures , Old gnawing sorrows , swindling pleasures , The cards were shuffled to and fro , The hands may vary somewhat so , The dirty pack 'sthe same we know Played with long thousand years ago ; Played with and lost with still by Man — Fate marked them ' ere the game began.’ Ah , she could afford to be pessimistic in those days !  ‘The old three hundred sixty-five  Dull days to every year alive  Old toil , old care , old worthless treasures ,  Old gnawing sorrows , swindling pleasures ,  The cards were shuffled to and fro ,  The hands may vary somewhat so ,  The dirty pack 'sthe same we know  Played with long thousand years ago ;  Played with and lost with still by Man —  Fate marked them ' ere the game began.’  As Mary took off her hat and threw her cloak on the narrow bed , hastening her toilet for the evening because of the bitter cold of the room , she repeated these lines softly to herself ; oddly enough , they evoked an image of that pretty bygone bedroom , of a tent-bed with gay draperies , a fire blazing against a background of Dutch tiles , on which blue ships in full sail were scudding over stiff curly waves , of soft mats of white fur on which it was a joy to tread with bare feet .  ‘No , I ca n't afford to be pessimistic , now , ’ thought the girl , as she went into the other room .  The fire was nearly out , but two gas-burners , which had been lighted by the maid-of-all-work , and left on at full tap , had already loaded the air with the fumes of gas .  It was now a quarter past six ; she could not ask for tea , although her throat burned and her head ached .  No , she must wait for dinner , her modest little dinner , which was served , with variations as to punctuality , about seven o'clock .  Mary threw herself on to the hard sofa , and her eyes travelled round the room .  The furniture was old , shabby , and pretentious .  She had an idea that there were cheap Landseer engravings on the wall , but Mary had made up her mind never to look at the pictures ; otherwise , she said , she would have had to change her lodgings at once , and that she did not wish to do , as the landlady was an old servant of theirs , and would look after her better than a stranger .  After all , the place would do well enough as a makeshift .  It was best , she thought , not to accept invitations from friends , but to begin to live her own life .  On days like to-day , when she was weary and disheartened , Mary found it necessary to repeat this phrase in her mind : ‘To live her own life.’ For it was all dispiriting enough .  Art and artists , as exemplified in the Central London , were but doubtfully alluring ; Mary wondered if anywhere else she might find the ‘art’ atmosphere of which she had read so much .  But anyhow her Academy drawing was done ; it had gone in with a dozen others , and to-morrow she would know if she had succeeded .  She lay like a log on the hard sofa , while the gilt clock with the hovering cupid slowly ticked out three-quarters of an hour .  On the mantel-piece a long photograph of Alison , in an evening gown , exhibiting a good deal of a fine arm and shoulder , was supported by a large one of Vincent Hemming , with his grave expression , and wearing an orchid in his button-hole .  At last came dinner , heralded by an odour of boiled potatoes and frizzling meat .  But the girl was too tired to eat the badly-cooked food ; she pushed away the steak , which was tough and hard , and tried to drink some of the small bottle of stout , which was flat , with a strange flavour .  Mary rebuked herself for these fantasies of the appetite ; it behoved a young woman who wished to make her way in the world and compete with men to indulge in no such over-niceties .  But a very feminine backache overcame her , and presently the maid-of-all-work , in creaking boots , removed with much clattering the dishes , and Mary was left alone with the firelight for a companion .  The photographs of her two friends looked down on her from the mantelpiece ; Alison , with her capable expression and her distinguished air ; Vincent Hemming , with his showily intellectual forehead , his weak mouth , and the slight frown which he sometimes affected .  What a long time it seemed since they had said good-bye , first on that long summer day which they had spent at Haslemere , and finally at Tilbury , when the great P. and 0. steamer had been swallowed up in the greyness of the wide river and tearful sky .  Yes , a long time ; but he had grown more to her in his absence than he had ever been , even at the last , for Mary was of the order of women who idealise the absent .  Oddly enough , Vincent , pacing the deck of the Sutlej in his flapping ulster and his soft felt hat ( he was not one of those people who look their best in travelling costume ) , had seemed more of a stranger than the man whose letters , arriving by the Indian mail , lay beside her plate every Monday morning .  She remembered with a smile how fussy he had been about his luggage , and how humiliated she had felt when , man-like , Vincent Hemming had insisted on a last embrace , and , drawing her into his cabin , had shut the door in the face of the steward .  She had dwelt a great deal on those last moments .  He had seemed so passionately attached to her ; the whole affair , though it had been obliged to remain vague , had become a solemn fact in her existence .  A letter from Vincent had arrived that morning ; Mary felt in her pocket for the thin , crackling envelope bearing the post-mark ‘Calcutta.’ It was a peculiarity of Hemming 'sthat one , and sometimes two , pages of his letters were indited in a flowing hand , while the rest of the paper was covered with uncertain upright hieroglyphics , which took all the reader 'spatience and good-will to decipher .  ‘My dear Mary’ ( it began ) — ‘My delightful roamings have been brought to a standstill in this ancient and historic spot , one so eminently suited to the special studies which I desire , in furtherance of my scheme , to make .  You will , I am sure , be delighted to hear that on all hands I have had every civility and courtesy extended to me from officials of every class , and that my father 'sname alone has been a sufficient introduction for me , in those circles in which it is most desirable for the purpose I have in hand to move .  You will also , my dear Mary , be rejoiced to hear that my health has vastly improved since my departure from England ; the fact alone that I anticipate with pleasure the advent of breakfast will give you a fair idea of my improved state of health , and I think I may say that , considering the somewhat trying nature of the climatic conditions , my appearance has wonderfully improved .  But enough of my- self .  I need not say that I am delighted to hear that you are bravely and earnestly attacking those art studies which , with due application , will ensure you fame , and possibly wealth , and which will , my dearest girl , be no mean factor in our ( possible ) future happiness.’  Mary sighed as she let the letter drop , and gazed thoughtfully into the fire .  It was here that the flowing persuasive handwriting terminated abruptly , and that the upright uncertain characters began .  ‘Had I’ ( it went on ) ‘no dreams , no aspirations for the amelioration of the English race — were I , in short , a man to whom personal happiness is paramount — I might have spoken more decisively in relation to a possible future together before I left England .  But I am paying you no mean compliment , my dear Mary , when I tell you that I have every confidence that in you , as in myself , questions of vast importance rise superior to mere selfish considerations , and that in you , above all women , I have a sympathetic sharer alike of my ambitions , dreams , and hopes .  It is above all in studying the marvellous system of government of a vast aggregation of human beings of divers nationalities , of such widely-differing ethical standards as this great Indian Empire — ’ and here the handwriting changed again to the slanting style and mean- dered on over three crisp pages which the girl let fall on her lap .  Somehow she would not reconcile this lover , with his old-fashioned phrases and copybook platitudes , with the Vincent Hemming who had held her in his arms in the cabin of the Sutlej , crushing the breath out of her body in the supreme moment of farewell .  .  .  .  Of the fine irony which results from the clash of human passion and human ambition she had not , as yet , a conception .  It is to be feared that Mary , with all her somewhat worldly training , was , as far as her affections were concerned , astonishingly naïve .  She was only a girl after all .  And so , in the dim light of the dreary apartments , Mary sat and dreamed her little dream .  Lonely , tired , discouraged , she clung to the thought of their marriage with curious tenacity .  She was haunted incessantly by a vision of tender brown eyes , of a caressing hand , of a sympathetic voice ; of a pretty interior with books , and pictures , and soft lamp-light ; of a man 'shead uplifted from a desk , while she held her latest picture up for her husband to see .  He was not a judge of pictures , she remembered with a smile ; he would probably think her modest attempts masterpieces .  Why , he had even liked the sketch she had made at Haslemere , on that last day they had spent in the country together .  After all , Vincent and she together would have enough to live quietly on ; if she succeeded in her art , he might even yet realise his ambition and enter on a political career .  What , indeed , might not the years bring forth ?  However dismal things seemed now , there was Hope — that Will-o'-the-wisp of the young — beckoning her from the dim valleys of the future .  To-morrow , to-morrow she would know .  Mary took up the letter again , and bending down to the fire , re-read one or two affectionate phrases at the last .  Then she put it carefully into a locked case which contained some twenty epistles in thin envelopes , turned out the gas , and went into her chilly bedroom , where , in the process of brushing out her fluffy blond hair for the night , she told herself valiantly that she was a lucky little person .  CHAPTER IX  PERRY CONSOLES  THE next day — the day which was to decide her fate with the Academy schools — revealed itself shrouded with fog .  By the light of one gas-burner Mary tried to eat some breakfast , but the doubtful allurements of the boiled egg which usually awaited her appealed to her to-day in vain .  She had slept badly and risen late ; it was now half-past ten .  Already , at the art school , in the grimy little office , the names of the successful candidates would be nailed up .  No , she could not eat ; she must know .  It meant so much to her , so much more , she thought , than to any of the others .  It meant independence , a profession , a happy union .  How many hoped-for marriages she had seen fail among professional people just for the want of a mere hundred or so a year .  If she were good enough for the Academy schools , she felt that there was a future before her .  She saw herself , in imagination , working , earning , helping .  Putting on her coat and hat she was soon outside in the fog , and threading her away along the streets to the School of Art .  Underfoot was a layer of greasy mud .  In the little shops a bleared gas-light made an orange patch in the all-pervading greyness .  At the fruiterers 'the mounds of golden oranges , crimson apples , and scarlet tomatoes flamed with startling assurance against the blurred , brownish-grey of the houses , the pavement , the very atmosphere .  She was curiously alive , now , to effects of colour , to ‘values’ ; everywhere the girl saw a possible picture .  If she had passed , Mary made up her mind she would telegraph to Vincent .  It would be an extravagance , but it would make him so happy .  Mary pictured her lover reading that charming message from over the seas , as he sat in an Indian verandah in a white flannel suit , with a hazy background of punkahs and date palms .  Afterwards , when she thought of that day , she remembered that the hall of the art school was full of students , all talking at once .  At the sight of the girl 'sexpectant face someone called out goodnaturedly , ‘I say , you 'rein , Miss Erle .  I 'msure I saw your name on the list .  It 'sin the office , pinned up over the mantel-piece.’  Mary slid into the little room without a word .  Yes , there was the list of successful probationers , written in Mr. Sanderson 'scareful hand on a slip of notepaper , and pinned up with a brass drawing pin over the mantelpiece .  Her eye ran hastily along the list — ‘Simpkins , Dorothy Muriel ; Smith , Mary Gwendo ] en ; Walsh , Joseph Frederick ; Billington , George Francis ; Thomson , Pamela Evelyn ; Beadle , Reginald Forsyth.’ That was all .  She read it again to make sure , repeating to herself , mechanically , the Dorothys , Pamelas , and Gwendolens of the back-shop .  No , there was no possible mistake .  The name of Mary Erle was not there .  And so it was all over ... Never , she felt , should she have the courage to spend another six months labouring and stippling over another Laocoon .  The girl slipped into a chair in a corner .  Her disappointment had affected her physically , her feet were icy cold ; she felt , without being hungry , as if she had nothing inside her , while the voices of people talking round sounded strange and far away .  But presently she roused herself and went through the big room to collect some things she had left .  Only Mr. Perry Jackson met her behind the olive-green curtain : — Mr .  Jackson , who , although the workmen were now out of his studio , was curiously often to be seen at the school .  He glanced at Mary and instantly read the disappointment in her face .  Though young , he was , after all , a Londoner , and had the Cockney 'sintuitive knowledge of the world .  He even went so far as to congratulate Miss Erle in having failed to attain the desired standard of academical excellence .  He had , as he admitted with pleasing candour , only got his own drawing admitted , in the years gone by , ‘by the skin of its teeth.’ As for himself , he had mainly attended the classes ( and this was said with something very like a wink ) to make friends with the Royal Academicians .  ‘They 'reall right when you know ' em , but you 'vegot to know ' em first , ’ quoted the rising artist .  ‘There 'sold Jack Madder , who always does Wardour Street pictures ; he 'snot half a bad old chap , and thinks no end of me .  He 'son the Hanging Committee next year .  I go and ask his advice .  I 'mgoing to do a big thing for next year 'sAcademy , and I 'lleat my hat if it is n't on the line !  ’  ‘I hope so , I 'msure , ’ replied Mary , smiling .  ‘When are you going to begin ?  ’  ‘Oh , at once .  I 'vegot an idea that 'sbound to fetch the public.’ ‘Indeed ?  ’ replied Mary , amused at his naïve optimism .  ‘I shall call it “ The Time of Roses .  ” What do you think of that ?  Neat , eh ?  Nothing but girls , and nothing but roses .  Lord , you ca n't give the public enough of either of them .  It likes ' em , because they both “ go off ” so soon , ’ added Mr. Jackson , charmed with his own perspicacity .  ‘It 'llbe an eight-footer , if it 'san inch , and if it is n't on the line next May — — ’  ‘I dare say it will be an immense success , ’ said Mary quietly , as she thought of bygone Private Views , and of the canvases which had become ‘the picture of the year.’