Love and Mr. Lewisham

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  THE COMING OF THE ROSES.

  And the roses miscarried!

  When Lewisham returned from Vigours' it was already nearly seven. Heentered the house with a beating heart. He had expected to find Ethelexcited, the roses displayed. But her face was white and jaded. He wasso surprised by this that the greeting upon his lips died away. He wasbalked! He went into, the sitting-room and there were no roses to beseen. Ethel came past him and stood with her back to him looking outof the window. The suspense was suddenly painful....

  He was obliged to ask, though he was certain of the answer, "Hasnothing come?"

  Ethel looked at him. "What did you think had come?"

  "Oh! nothing."

  She looked out of the window again. "No," she said slowly, "nothinghas come."

  He tried to think of something to say that might bridge the distancebetween them, but he could think of nothing. He must wait until theroses came. He took out his books and a gaunt hour passed to suppertime. Supper was a chilly ceremonial set with necessary over-politeremarks. Disappointment and exasperation darkened Lewisham's soul. Hebegan to feel angry with everything--even with her--he perceived shestill judged him angry, and that made him angry with her. He wasresuming his books and she was helping Madam Gadow's servant to clearaway, when they heard a rapping at the street door. "They have come atlast," he said to himself brightening, and hesitated whether he shouldbolt or witness her reception of them. The servant was anuisance. Then he heard Chaffery's voices and whispered a soft "damn!"to himself.

  The only thing to do now if the roses came was to slip out into thepassage, intercept them, and carry them into the bedroom by the doorbetween that and the passage. It would be undesirable for Chaffery towitness that phase of sentiment. He might flash some dart of ridiculethat would stick in their memory for ever.

  Lewisham tried to show that he did not want a visitor. But Chafferywas in high spirits, and could have warmed a dozen cold welcomes. Hesat down without any express invitation in the chair that hepreferred.

  Before Mr. and Mrs. Chaffery the Lewishams veiled whatever troublemight be between them beneath an insincere cordiality, and Chafferywas soon talking freely, unsuspicious of their crisis. He produced twocigars. "I had a wild moment," he said. "'For once,' said I, 'thehonest shall smoke the admirable--or the admirable shall smoke thehonest,' whichever you like best. Try one? No? Those austereprinciples of yours! There will be more pleasure then. But really, Iwould as soon you smoked it as I. For to-night I radiate benevolence."

  He cut the cigar with care, he lit it with ceremony, waiting untilnothing but honest wood was burning on the match, and for fully aminute he was silent, evolving huge puffs of smoke. And then he spokeagain, punctuating his words by varied and beautiful spirals. "Sofar," he said, "I have only trifled with knavery."

  As Lewisham said nothing he resumed after a pause.

  "There are three sorts of men in the world, my boy, three and nomore--and of women only one. There are happy men and there are knavesand fools. Hybrids I don't count. And to my mind knaves and fools arevery much alike."

  He paused again.

  "I suppose they are," said Lewisham flatly, and frowned at thefireplace.

  Chaffery eyed him. "I am talking wisdom. To-night I am talking aparticular brand of wisdom. I am broaching some of my oldest andfinest, because--as you will find one day--this is a special occasion.And you are distrait!"

  Lewisham looked up. "Birthday?" he said.

  "You will see. But I was making golden observations about knaves andfools. I was early convinced of the absolute necessity ofrighteousness if a man is to be happy. I know it as surely as there isa sun in the heavens. Does that surprise you?"

  "Well, it hardly squares--"

  "No. I know. I will explain all that. But let me tell you the happylife. Let me give you that, as if I lay on my deathbed and this was aparting gift. In the first place, mental integrity. Prove all things,hold fast to that which is right. Let the world have no illusions foryou, no surprises. Nature is full of cruel catastrophes, man is aphysically degenerate ape, every appetite, every instinct, needs thecurb; salvation is not in the nature of things, but whatever salvationthere may be is in the nature of man; face all these painful things. Ihope you follow that?"

  "Go on," said Lewisham, with the debating-society taste for a thesisprevailing for a minute over that matter of the roses.

  "In youth, exercise and learning; in adolescence, ambition; and inearly manhood, love--no footlight passion." Chaffery was very solemnand insistent, with a lean extended finger, upon this point.

  "Then marriage, young and decent, and then children and stout honestwork for them, work too for the State in which they live; a life ofself-devotion, indeed, and for sunset a decent pride--that is thehappy life. Rest assured that is the happy life; the life NaturalSelection has been shaping for man since life began. So a man may gohappy from the cradle to the grave--at least--passably happy. And todo this needs just three things--a sound body, a sound intelligence,and a sound will ... A sound will."

  Chaffery paused on the repetition.

  "No other happiness endures. And when all men are wise, all men willseek that life. Fame! Wealth! Art!--the Red Indians worship lunatics,and we are still by way of respecting the milder sorts. But I say thatall men who do not lead that happy life are knaves and fools. Thephysical cripple, you know, poor devil, I count a sort of bodilyfool."

  "Yes," weighed Lewisham, "I suppose he is."

  "Now a fool fails of happiness because of his insufficient mind, hemiscalculates, he stumbles and hobbles, some cant or claptrap whirlshim away; he gets passion out of a book and a wife out of the stews,or he quarrels on a petty score; threats frighten him, vanity beguileshim, he fails by blindness. But the knave who is not a fool failsagainst the light. Many knaves are fools also--_most_ are--but someare not. I know--I am a knave but no fool. The essence of your knaveis that he lacks the will, the motive capacity to seek his own greatergood. The knave abhors persistence. Strait is the way and narrow thegate; the knave cannot keep to it and the fool cannot find it."

  Lewisham lost something of what Chaffery was saying by reason of a rapoutside. He rose, but Ethel was before him. He concealed his anxietyas well as he could; and was relieved when he heard the front doorclose again and her footsteps pass into the bedroom by the passagedoor. He reverted to Chaffery.

  "Has it ever occurred to you," asked Chaffery, apparently apropos ofnothing, "that intellectual conviction is no motive at all? Any morethan a railway map will run a train a mile."

  "Eh?" said Lewisham. "Map--run a train a mile--of course, yes. No, itwon't."

  "That is precisely my case," said Chaffery. "That is the case ofyour pure knave everywhere. We are not fools--because we know. Butyonder runs the highway, windy, hard, and austere, a sort of dryhappiness that will endure; and here is the pleasant by-way--lush,my boy, lush, as the poets have it, and with its certain man-trapamong the flowers ..."

  Ethel returned through the folding doors. She glanced at Lewisham,remained standing for awhile, sat down in the basket chair as if toresume some domestic needlework that lay upon the table, then rose andwent back into the bedroom.

  Chaffery proceeded to expatiate on the transitory nature of passionand all glorious and acute experiences. Whole passages of thatdiscourse Lewisham did not hear, so intent was he upon thoseroses. Why had Ethel gone back into the bedroom? Was it possible--?Presently she returned, but she sat down so that he could not see herface.

  "If there is one thing to set against the wholesome life it isadventure," Chaffery was saying. "But let every adventurer pray for anearly death, for with adventure come wounds, and with wounds comesickness, and--except in romances--sickness affects the nervoussystem. Your nerve goes. Where are you then, my boy?"

  "Ssh! what's that?" said Lewisham.

  It was a rap at the house door. Heedless of the flow of golden wisdom,he went out at once and admitted a gentleman friend of Madam
Gadow,who passed along the passage and vanished down the staircase. When hereturned Chaffery was standing to go.

  "I could have talked with you longer," he said, "but you havesomething on your mind, I see. I will not worry you by guessingwhat. Some day you will remember ..." He said no more, but laid hishand on Lewisham's shoulder.

  One might almost fancy he was offended at something.

  At any other time Lewisham might have been propitiatory, but now heoffered no apology. Chaffery turned to Ethel and looked at hercuriously for a moment. "Good-bye," he said, holding out his hand toher.

  On the doorstep Chaffery regarded Lewisham with the same curious look,and seemed to weigh some remark. "Good-bye," he said at last withsomething in his manner that kept Lewisham at the door for a momentlooking after his stepfather's receding figure. But immediately theroses were uppermost again.

  When he re-entered the living room he found Ethel sitting idly at hertypewriter, playing with the keys. She got up at his return and satdown in the armchair with a novelette that hid her face. He stared ather, full of questions. After all, then, they had not come. He wasintensely disappointed now, he was intensely angry with the ineffableyoung shop-woman in black. He looked at his watch and then again, hetook a book and pretended to read and found himself composing ascathing speech of remonstrance to be delivered on the morrow at theflower-shop. He put his book down, went to his black bag, opened andclosed it aimlessly. He glanced covertly at Ethel, and found herlooking covertly at him. He could not quite understand her expression.

  He fidgeted into the bedroom and stopped as dead as a pointer.

  He felt an extraordinary persuasion of the scent of roses. So strongdid it seem that he glanced outside the room door, expecting to find abox there, mysteriously arrived. But there was no scent of roses inthe passage.

  Then he saw close by his foot an enigmatical pale object, andstooping, picked up the creamy petal of a rose. He stood with it inhis hand, perplexed beyond measure. He perceived a slight disorder ofthe valence of the dressing-table and linked it with this petal by aswift intuition.

  He made two steps, lifted the valence, and behold! there lay hisroses crushed together!

  He gasped like a man who plunges suddenly into cold water. He remainedstooping with the valence raised.

  Ethel appeared in the half doorway and her, expression was unfamiliar.He stared at her white face.

  "Why on earth did you put my roses here?" he asked.

  She stared back at him. Her face reflected his astonishment.

  "Why did you put my roses here?" he asked again.

  "Your roses!" she cried, "What! Did _you_ send those roses?"