December Love

at his young friend had done the almost unbelievable thing, had fallen in love with Adela Sellingworth. He was really perturbed about it. A t

He was responsible for the introduction of young Craven into Adela Sellingworth's life. It would be very unfortunate

uainted with its follies and sins. Life had taught him that practically nothing is impossible. He had known old men to run-or rather to walk-off with young girls; he had known old women to be infatuated with mere boys; he had known well-born women to marry grooms and chauffeurs; a Peer of his acquaintance had linked himself to a cabman's daughter and stuck to her; chorus girls of course perpetuall

Hall, had spoken quite warmly about Craven's abilities, industry and ambition. No doubt the young man would go far. But he ought to have a clever wife with some money to help him. A budding diplomatist needs a wife more than most men. He is destined to do much entertaining. Social matters are a part of his duty, of his career. A suitable wife was c

uyn came in

Avenue; the latter, who was a beauty, was usually somewhere in Europe-now on the Riviera, now in Rome, at Aix, in Madrid, in London. She sometimes visited Paris, but seldom stayed long anywhere. She professed to be fond of Beryl, but the truth was that Beryl was far too good looking to be desirabl

had, and about how much she would eventually have. Without being v

ieved her to be really quite all right. Modern Americans held views about personal liberty which were not at all his, but that did not mean that they were not entirely respectable. Beryl Van Tuyn was clev

adiant girl of twenty-four, did not deter Braybrooke from his enterprise. His long experience of the world had led him to know that human beings can, and perpetually do, interfere succ

tention was to

th would certainly wish to know how things were going in Paris. Although she now never went there, and in fact never went

ler said he was not sure whether her ladyship was seeing anyone and must

s friend was looking older, and even paler, than usual. As he took her hand he thoug

ent, but it would not go. It defied him and stuck firmly in his mind. In his opinion Adela Sellingworth was the most truly distinguis

rth acknowledged that she had not been f

been doing too m

look came in

id. "I lie quietly on my shelf. Tha

f," said Braybrooke; "your personality forbids that. Besid

conception of the pau

oot of a

e heard abou

es

atherer of news you

at the St. James's Club, and he tol

ho is beyond its borders. But I confess to Soho. Beryl persuaded me, and I really quite enjoyed it. The coffee

tmosphere in those p

, we blew it away by walking hom

enue? That was surel

erous

mp. Craven spoke of Toscanas. And those cheap res

enjoyed

was quite enthusiasti

e pause

e you liked him. I feel

u? But

ured to introdu

I assure you I l

ery casual, bu

ing, said it was like a bit of Italy. You

e told

reign Office. Eric Learington speaks very wel

clever young men get on. And he

e way, he seems tremendousl

llingworth's face. He saw no change of expression there. She still looked tired, but casual, neither spe

s the audacity which nearly always appeals to youth. Besides, unconventionality is really the salt of ou

ow out of i

rth, rather decisively. "If she did she

t when sh

inking of

age usually

he won't mind her unconventi

supposed to have done a great many unconventional thin

s prefer their wives

ellingworth, rather thoughtfully. "S

but not dr

d, with gentl

r choosing to live

Caroline Bri

nd her face changed, sudde

and Beryl are quite different in character. Caroline lives for self-respect, I thi

obably accept a h

aned forward towards the world's governess, smiled at

ou have in the ba

closed his eyes, then gently pulled up his perfectly cr

on't think-

e old friends

ing to be quite frank, and this

," she continued. "I know it.

assur

you think would suit Beryl

her cleverness, and her money-for one has to think of money, unfortunately in th

t. And w

cely knew what to do. But he was sufficiently sharp to realize that Lady Sellingworth

out her beauty and cleverness, that he might suit her very well. He must

plomatists have been bachelo

oned two

ut it is really a great handicap. If anyone

en is destined to b

time, of course. Perhaps you don't kno

ly very litt

llent. Learington has a

hink Beryl wo

uldn't say more than that. I

y be right. She seemed to like him. You

ess, and looking even slightly embarrassed. "I only wished

, or rather got, up too, rather quickl

will do things for me that it won't do

by the hearth, looki

r. Craven seems a very pleasant boy. They might do admirably together. Or they might both be

d in everything that was interesting except in love affairs, that she did not seem to care about love affairs. And he had a

otman came in answer to it, and she told him that if anyone else called he was to say, "n

a mo

my l

o hesitate;

will see him. He was here two nig

say I do,

the hall when he ca

my

bout thirty years old. Murgat

my

I have described just ask him his name. A

my l

past five. Lady Sellingworth made up the fire again, though it did not really need mending; then she stood be

e once more to be the victim of a temperament which she had sometimes hoped was

on. All that she had clung to she had abandoned in that dreadful moment, had abandoned as by night a terrified being leaves a dwelling that is in flames. Feeling naked, she had gone out from it into the blackness. And for ten years she had stuck to her resolution, had been supported by the strength of her will fortified by a hideous memory. She had grasped her nettle, had pressed it to her bosom. She had taken to her all the semblance of old age, loneliness, dullness, had thrust away from her almost everything which she had f

s, brings to the human being. Her temperament, which had long been her enemy, seemed at last to lie down and sleep. There were times when she h

Sellingworth, had been one of those women. And often she had been very unhappy. That misery at least was gone from her. Her nerves had quieted down. She who had been horribly restless had learnt to be still. Sometimes she was almost at peace. Often and often she had said to herself that Caroline was right, that the price paid by those who flung away their dignity of soul, as she had done in the past, was terrible, too terrible almost for endurance. At last she could respect herself as she was now; at last she could tacitly claim and hope to receive the respect of others. She no longer decked out her bones in jewels. Caroline did not know the reason of the great and startling change in her and in her way of life, and probably supposed both to be due to that momentous conversation. Anyhow, since then, whenever she and Lady Sellingworth had met, she had been extraordinarily kind, indeed, almost

or sometimes, though very seldom, the old wildness seemed to stir within her like a serpent uncoiling itself after its winter's sleep. Then she was frightened and made a great effort, an effort of fear. She set her heel on the serpent, and after a time it lay still. Sometimes, too, the loneliness of her life in her spacious and beautiful house became almost intolerable to her. This was especially the case

, eating to the sound of guitars, she had really been inwardly excited. And when she had looked up and seen Craven gazing towards her she had felt an odd thrill at the heart. For she had k

she once more going to be attacked? Something wit

he was a sincere man, except, of course, sometimes socially, but now and then he found it necessary to tell little lies. Had he told her a little lie that day about young Craven and Beryl Van Tuyn? Had he been weaving

n he had not implied that he and Craven were specially intimate, or that he was deeply interested in Craven's concerns or prospects. He had merely told her that Craven was a clever and promising "boy," with an interesting mind and a nice nature, who had a great desire to meet her. And she had good-naturedly said that Craven might call. It h

hether Craven married Beryl

nd of the appreciation of Eric Learington-a man not given to undue praises-she had been secretly irritated when he had come to the qu

ke was probably intent on trying to bring it about, or at any rate was consider

s she stood by the fire. "Why won't he let

ting a stroke against her, and had practically

ad felt it she was startled, and the strong sen

had made the most of; compensations she had been thankful for. She had been very patient, and considering what she had been, very humble. But she had defi

on it as if-The change in her, the abrupt and dangerous change, had surely come about two nights ago. And

f the unconventional! Although they were so different, of different nations and different breeds, there was something which made them akin. And she had recognized it. And, recognizing it, she had sometimes felt a secret pity and even fear for the girl, thinking of the inevitable fading of that beauty, of the inevitable exasperation of that vanity with the passing of the years. The vanity would grow

osed behind the young couple, leaving the old couple to themselves. He would come again some day, no doubt. And while she and Sir Seymour had remained by the fire talking quietly together, in imagination she had seen those two, linked by their youth-that wonderful bond-walking through the London twilight, chattering gaily, laughing at trifling jokes, realizing their freemasonry. And she had asked herself why it was that she could not feel that other freemasonry-of age. Seymour Portman had loved her for many years, loved her now, had never married because of her, would give up anything in London just to be quietly with her, would marry her now, ravaged though she was, worn, twice a widow, with a past behind her which he must know

presently she had dismissed those useless, those damnable q

from her personality, from some influence, perhaps from some charm, which she had not deliberately used. (At least she thought she was being sincere with herself in telling herself that.) Craven had been the cause of the conflict, and certainly he had been fully aware of Beryl Van Tuyn's part in it. And he had shown quiet determination, willfulness even. That willfulness of his had plea

oman enough to rejoice in that fact. It was even rather wonderful to her. And i

thing-to finish the evening with her. And he had practically denied her right to command, and refused her reque

dian had not encouraged him. Indeed in a way he

elt thankful to him-just that. And just before his almost boyish remark, made with genuine vexation in his voice

e heart to leave h

ould be safer now to ring the bell, summon the footman, and say that she was not at home to anyone tha

t is

ady. I told him you were not at home.

ed. After a moment's paus

at

tman we

er instinct had played her false. She had turned sharply feeling certain that Craven had called. The reaction she felt when she heard th

a brut

ngry because of her feeling about Seymour Portman. It was horrible to have such a tepid heart as hers was when such a long and deep devotion was given to it. The accustomed th

n loving such a woman

netian mirror above the high marble frame of the fireplace. She

d to herself, as she saw her lined face which

ful to have such a fri

would have been to get rid of him, at all costs, to get him and his devotion out of the house, lest Craven shou

Crave

ween her and the dangers and miseries attendant upon such a temperament as hers, were beg

have happened, this crumbling of will. He had done a cruel thing without being aware of his cruelty. He had been carried away by something that was not primarily physical. And in yielding to

his fearfully definite way. It was too horrible to look like this and to be waiting eagerly, with an almost deceiving eagerness, for the opening of a door, a footfall, the sound

as being

nded against herself. She felt that she was near to the edge of a precipice, but that perh

ut, nothing to look for, nothing to draw back from or refuse. Th

s not deceived, was not deceiving herself. She did know-or felt that she absolutely knew-that the curious spell she had evidently been able, how she scarcely knew, to exert upon Craven during his visit to her that night could not po

ked in a glare of light. Those facts had not changed. But she had changed. She was ten years older. The horror of passing into the fifties had died out in the

th twice. When he had said good-bye to her after their long talk by the fire on the night of the dinner in Soho she had said nothing about his coming again. And he had not mentioned it. But she had felt then that to speak of such a thing was quite unnecessary, that it was taci

xty and the other some thirty years younger. Surely something peculiar in Craven

m for the sun, the sea, life let loose from convention, nature and beautiful things. The Foreign Office young man-quiet, reserved, and rather older than his years-had been pushed aside by a youth who had some Pagan blood in him, who had some agreeable wildness under the smooth surface which often covers only other layers of smoothness. He had told her of his envy of the sea people and she had understood it; and, in return, she had told him of an American boy whom she had known long ago, and who, fired by a book about life on the bay of Naples which he had read in San Francisco, had got hold of a little money, taken ship to Naples, gone straight to t

not fearing any criticism or ridicule from her. And they had wondered whether underneath the smooth surface of Browning, the persistent diner out, there had not been far down somewhere a brown and half-savage being who, in some other existence, had known life under lateen sails on seas that l

his eyes. And watching him without seeming to watch him the self-mockery had died out of her eyes. She had forgotten to mock at herself and had let herself go down the stream: floating from subject to subject,

, even much more akin to her, than they were. He had prefaced his remarks with the words, "I had forgotten all about them!" and she had felt it was true. Beryl Van Tuyn's name had not been mentioned between them. But she was not a Georgian. Perhaps that fact accounted for the omission, or perhaps there were other reasons for their not speaking of her just then. She had done her best to prevent the evening intimacy which had been theirs. And they both knew it. Perhaps that was why they did not speak of her. Poor Beryl! Just then Lady Sellingworth had known a woman's triumph which was the sweeter because of her disadvantages. Thirty-six years older t

half-past one. But he had not apologized again. In going he

ingworth now looked at the cloc

dinner, a lonely

e came to see her, of course. But what is the use of visitors, of people who drop in, and drop out just when you most need someone to help you in facing life, in the evenings and when deep night closes in? At that moment she felt, in her anger and rebellion, that she had never had anything in her life, that all the women she knew-except perhaps Caroline Briggs-had had more than herself, had had a far better time than she had had. During the last ten years her brilliant past had faded until now she could scarcely believe in it. It had become like

I must do something unusual to take me out of myself. Mere stagnation h

r house in the night, like an unknown young man, and run wild in the stre

violent activity all about her. Even the shop girls had something to look forward to. Soon they would be going out with their lovers. She knew something of the freedom of the modern girl. Women were beginni

struck the

ore she had had time to move. He looked faintly surprised

n has call

d you to let him in. H

id it was so late. He asked me first to tell your ladyship he had called, and whet

lease ask him

l, casual, indifferent, but kind, not at all like a woman who would ever pity herself. In a moment the foo

visit," he said. "But I thought

u have a message for

ked su

yn? I haven'

es

not doing anything to-night, I could persuade

what

with me at the

of the shop girls again,

efore eight. It's a fine night. It's

nt me t

htly re

ess and go in a

I haven't sai

face

And we will walk. But what

en him? Has

ha

onversation

about Shaftesbury Avenue. But never mind. I cannot live

y Sellingworth again

!" she said to herse

away from the glass. No doubt Craven was "on the telephone." She might communicate with him, tell him not to come, that she had changed her mind, did not feel very well. He would not believe her excuse whatever it was, but that could not be helped. Anything was better than to make a spectacle of herself in a restaurant. She had not put Craven's address and telephone number in her address book, but she might perhaps have kept the note he had written to her before their first meetin

e to walk back to his flat from her house, even if he were going straight home. She must wa

trong light on the writing-table, on pens, stationery, an address book, a telephone book, a big blue-and-gold inkstand, some photo

r and waited. Now and then she heard a faint footfall, the hoot of a motor horn, the slight noise of a p

h the telephone to come and dine in Berkeley Square. No one w

s. Better one thing or the other. Either she would go with him

what would she say? That would depend upon how she was told. If she were told all the truth, not mere incidents, but also the feelings

line was

what she was going to do. Impulse drove her on, but something else, reason perhaps, or fear, or secret, deep down, painfully acquired knowledge, was trying to hold her back. She remembered her last stay in Par

gain, had never mentioned him to anybody. He had gone, as mysteriously as he had come, carrying his booty with him, all those lovely things which had been hers, which she had worn on her neck and arms and bosom, in her hair and on her hands. Sometimes she had wondered about him, about the mentality and the life of such a man as he was, a creat

man had a power to trick women's instincts, but was less successful with men. Perha

ith him merely because of that. She hoped not. She tried hard to think not. A woman of her age must sure

d utterly abominable personality by mere looks. Certainly her n

horribly apposite in

t broad figure. Certainly it would have made a difference. But how much difference? Perhaps a good deal. But he had enjoyed the conversation as much as she had, and there was nothing in her appearance now to arouse the lust of the eye. Suddenly it occurred

her just then, "It is better to a

nt to the telephone. The chances were in f

d happened there, of the stern resolution she had come to that day, of the tears of blood that had sealed it, of the will that had e

!" she said

ok the rec

's voice at the other end, the voice which had recited t

Who

ngworth," s

e changed at once, be

I have only just come

ow can

d we are to go in a cab and be very respec

ated. The

t isn'

ll me

m afraid I

er for us. And we are going to have gnocchi done in a special way w

l the last two days, and I'm

's absolutely dry unde

hen his vo

an invitation to dine out to-nig

es

Van Tuyn, to dine with

d Lady Sellingwo

ut up the