"Yes, it is, isn't it?" said Denry.
Then there was a pause, and they both glanced vaguely about theinhospitable and very wooden room. Now was the moment for Denry tocarry out his pre-arranged plan in all its savage simplicity. He didso.
"I 've called about the rent, Miss Earp," he said; and by an effortlooked her in the eyes.
"The rent?" exclaimed Ruth, as though she had never in all her lifeheard of such a thing as rent; as though June 24th (recently past) wasan ordinary day like any other day.
"Yes," said Denry.
"What rent?" asked Ruth, as though for aught she guessed it might havebeen the rent of Buckingham Palace that he had called about.
"Yours," said Denry.
"Mine!" she murmured. "But what has my rent got to do with you?" shedemanded. And it was just as if she had said: "But what has my rent gotto do with you, little boy?"
"Well," he said, "I suppose you know I 'm a rent-collector?"
"No, I did n't," she said.
He thought she was fibbing out of sheer naughtiness. But she was not.She did not know that he collected rents. She knew that he was a card,a figure, a celebrity; and that was all. It is strange how theknowledge of even the cleverest woman will confine itself to certainfields.
"Yes," he said, always in a cold, commercial tone, "I collect rents."
"I should have thought you 'd have preferred postage stamps," she said,gazing out of the window at a kiln that was blackening all the sky.
If he could have invented something clever and cutting in response tothis sally he might have made the mistake of quitting his role of hard,unsentimental man of business. But he could think of nothing. So heproceeded sternly:
"Mr. Herbert Calvert has put all his property into my hands, and he hasgiven me strict instructions that no rent is to be allowed to remain inarrear."
No answer from Ruth. Mr. Calvert was a little fellow of fifty who hadmade money in the mysterious calling of a "commission agent." Byreputation he was, really, very much harder than Denry could evenpretend to be; and indeed Denry had been considerably startled by theadvent of such a client. Surely if any man in Bursley were capable ofunmercifully collecting rents on his own account, Herbert Calvert mustbe that man!
"Let me see," said Denry further, pulling a book from his pocket andpeering into it, "you owe five quarters' rent, L30."
He knew without the book precisely what Ruth owed, but the book kept himin countenance, supplied him with needed moral support.
Ruth Earp, without the least warning, exploded into a long peal of gaylaughter. Her laugh was far prettier than her face. She laughed well.She might, with advantage to Bursley, have given lessons in laughing aswell as in dancing; for Bursley laughs without grace. Her laughter was aproof that she had not a care in the world, and that the world for herwas naught but a source of light amusement.
Denry smiled guardedly.
"Of course with me it's purely a matter of business," said he.
"So that's what Mr. Herbert Calvert has done!" she exclaimed, amid theembers of her mirth. "I wondered what he would do! I presume you knowall about Mr. Herbert Calvert," she added.
"No," said Denry. "I don't know anything about him, except that he ownssome property and I 'm in charge of it. Stay," he corrected himself, "Ithink I do remember crossing his name off your programme once."
And he said to himself: "That's one for her. If she likes to be sodesperately funny about postage stamps, I don't see why I should n'thave my turn." The recollection that it was precisely Herbert Calvertwhom he had supplanted in the supper-dance at the Countess of Chell'shistoric ball, somehow increased his confidence in his ability to managethe interview with brilliance.
Ruth's voice grew severe and chilly. It seemed incredible that she hadjust been laughing.
"I will tell you about Mr. Herbert Calvert." She enunciated her wordswith slow, stern clearness. "Mr. Herbert Calvert took advantage of hisvisits here for his rent, to pay his attentions to me. At one time hewas so far--well--gone, that he would scarcely take his rent."
"Really!" murmured Denry, genuinely staggered by this symptom of thedistance to which Mr. Herbert Calvert was once "gone."
"Yes," said Ruth, still sternly and inimically. "Naturally a woman can'tmake up her mind about these things all of a sudden," she continued."Naturally!" she repeated.
"Of course," Denry agreed, perceiving that his experience of life anddeep knowledge of human nature were being appealed to.
"And when I did decide definitely, Mr. Herbert Calvert did not behavelike a gentleman. He forgot what was due to himself and to me. I won'tdescribe to you the scene he made. I 'm simply telling you this so thatyou may know. To cut a long story short, he behaved in a very vulgarway. And a woman does n't forget these things, Mr. Machin." Her eyesthreatened him. "I decided to punish Mr. Herbert Calvert. I thought ifhe would n't take his rent before--well, let him wait for it now! Imight have given him notice to leave. But I did n't. I did n't see whyI should let myself be upset because Mr. Herbert Calvert had forgottenthat he was a gentleman. I said, Let him wait for his rent, and Ipromised myself I would just see what he would dare to do."
"I don't quite follow your argument," Denry put in.
"Perhaps you don't," she silenced him. "I did n't expect you would.You and Mr. Herbert Calvert! ... So he didn't dare to do anythinghimself, and he is paying you to do his dirty work for him! Very well!Very well!..." She lifted her head defiantly. "What will happen if Idon't pay the rent?"
"I shall have to let things take their course," said Denry with a genialsmile.
"All right, then," Ruth Earp responded. "If you choose to mix yourselfup with people like Mr. Herbert Calvert, you must take the consequences!It's all the same to me, after all."
"Then it is n't convenient for you to pay anything on account?" saidDenry, more and more affable.
"Convenient!" she cried. "It's perfectly convenient, only I don't careto. I won't pay a penny until I am forced. Let Mr. Herbert Calvert dohis worst, and then I 'll pay. And not before! And the whole townshall hear all about Mr. Herbert Calvert!"
"I see!" he laughed easily.
"Convenient!" she reiterated, contemptuously. "I think everybody inBursley knows how my clientele gets larger and larger every year! ...Convenient!"
"So that's final, Miss Earp?"
"Perfectly," said Miss Earp.
He rose. "Then the simplest thing will be for me to send round abailiff to-morrow morning, early." He might have been saying: "Thesimplest thing will be for me to send round a bunch of orchids."
Another man would have felt emotion, and probably expressed it. But notDenry, the rent-collector and manager of estates large and small. Therewere several different men in Denry, but he had the great gift of notmixing up two different Denrys when he found himself in a complicatedsituation.
Ruth Earp rose also. She dropped her eyelids and looked at him fromunder them. And then she gradually smiled.
"I thought I 'd just see what you 'd do," she said in a low confidentialvoice from which all trace of hostility had suddenly departed. "You 'rea strange creature," she went on, curiously, as though fascinated by theproblems presented by his individuality. "Of course I shan't let it goas far as that. I only thought I 'd see what you 'd say. I 'll writeyou to-night."
"With a cheque?" Denry demanded, with suave, jolly courtesy. "I don'tcollect postage stamps."
(And to himself: "She's got her postage stamps back.")
She hesitated. "Stay!" she said. "I 'll tell you what will be better.Can you call to-morrow afternoon? The bank will be closed now."
"Yes," he said, "I can call. What time?"
"Oh," she answered, "any time. If you come in about four, I 'll giveyou a cup of tea into the bargain. Though you don't deserve it!" Afteran instant, she added reassuringly: "Of course I know business isbusiness with you. But I 'm glad I 've told you the real truth aboutyour precious Mr. Herbert Calvert, all the same."
&n
bsp; And as he walked slowly home Denry pondered upon the singular, erratic,incalculable strangeness of woman, and of the possibly magic effect ofhis own personality on women.
II
It was the next afternoon in July. Denry wore his new summer suit, butwith a necktie of higher rank than the previous days. As for Ruth, thatplain but piquant girl was in one of her more elaborate and foamiercostumes. The wonder was that such a costume could survive even for anhour the smuts that lend continual interest and excitement to theatmosphere of Bursley. It was a white muslin, spotted with spots ofopaque white, and founded on something pink. Denry imagined that he hadseen parts of it before--at the ball; and he had; but it was now atea-gown, with long languishing sleeves; the waves of it broke at hershoulders sending lacy surf high up the precipices of Ruth's neck.Denry did not know it was a tea-gown. But he knew that it had a mostpeculiar and agreeable effect on himself and that she had promised himtea. He was glad that he had paid her the homage of his best necktie.
Although the month was July, Ruth wore a kind of shawl over thetea-gown. It was not a shawl, Denry noted, it was merely about twoyards of very thin muslin. He puzzled himself as to its purpose. Itcould not be for warmth, for it would not have helped to melt an icicle.Could it be meant to fulfil the same function as muslin in aconfectioner's shop? She was pale. Her voice was weak, had an imploringquality.
She led him, not into the inhospitable wooden academy, but into a verysmall room which like herself was dressed in muslin and bows of ribbon.Photographs of amiable men and women decorated the pinkish-green walls.The mantelpiece was concealed in drapery as though it had been a sin. Awriting-desk as green as a leaf stood carelessly in one corner; on thedesk a vase containing some Cape gooseberries. In the middle of theroom a small table; on the table a spirit-lamp in full blast, and on thelamp a kettle practising scales; a tray occupied the remainder of thetable. There were two easy chairs; Ruth sank delicately into one, andDenry took the other with precautions.
He was nervous. Nothing equals muslin for imparting nervousness in thenaive. But he felt pleased.
"Not much of the Widow Hullins touch about this!" he reflectedprivately.
And he wished that all rent-collecting might be done with such ease, andamid such surroundings, as this particular piece of rent-collecting. Hesaw what a fine thing it was to be a free man, under orders from nobody;not many men in Bursley were in a position to accept invitations to fouro'clock tea at a day's notice. Further, five per cent. on thirty poundswas thirty shillings; so that if he stayed an hour--and he meant to stayan hour--he would, while enjoying himself, be earning money steadily atthe rate of sixpence a minute.
It was the ideal of a business career.
When the kettle, having finished its scales, burst into song with anaccompaniment of castanets and vapour, and Ruth's sleeves rose and fellas she made the tea, Denry acknowledged frankly to himself that it wasthis sort of thing, and not the Brougham Street sort of thing, that hewas really born for. He acknowledged to himself humbly that this sortof thing was "life," and that hitherto he had had no adequate idea ofwhat "life" was. For, with all his ability as a card and a rising man,with all his assiduous frequenting of the Sports Club, he had notpenetrated into the upper domestic strata of Bursley society. He hadnever been invited to any house where, as he put it, he would have hadto mind his p's and q's. He still remained the kind of man whom youfamiliarly chat with in the street and club, and no more. His mother'sfame as a flannel-washer was against him; Brougham Street was againsthim; and, chiefly, his poverty was against him. True, he had gorgeouslygiven a house away to an aged widow! True, he succeeded in transmittingto his acquaintances a vague idea that he was doing well and waxingfinancially from strength to strength! But the idea was too vague, toomuch in the air. And save by a suit of clothes he never gave ocularproof that he had money to waste. He could not. It was impossible forhim to compete with even the more modest of the bloods and the blades.To keep a satisfactory straight crease down the middle of each leg ofhis trousers was all he could accomplish with the money regularly at hisdisposal. The town was waiting for him to do something decisive in thematter of what it called "the stuff."
Thus Ruth Earp was the first to introduce him to the higher intimatecivilisations, the refinements lurking behind the foul walls of Bursley.
"Sugar?" she questioned, her head on one side, her arm uplifted, hersleeve drooping, and a bit of sugar caught like a white mouse betweenthe claws of the tongs.
Nobody had ever before said "Sugar?" to him like that. His mother neversaid "Sugar?" to him. His mother was aware that he liked three piecesbut she would not give him more than two. "Sugar?" in that slightlyweak, imploring voice seemed to be charged with a significance at oncetremendous and elusive.
"Yes, please."
"Another?"
And the "Another?" was even more delicious.
He said to himself: "I suppose this is what they call flirting."
When a chronicler tells the exact truth there is always a danger that hewill not be believed. Yet in spite of the risk, it must be said plainlythat at this point Denry actually thought of marriage. An absurd andchildish thought, preposterously rash; but it came into his mind,and--what is more--it stuck there! He pictured marriage as a perpetualafternoon tea alone with an elegant woman, amid an environment ofrib-boned muslin. And the picture appealed to him very strongly. AndRuth appeared to him in a new light. It was perhaps the change in hervoice that did it. She appeared to him at once as a creature veryfeminine and enchanting, and as a creature who could earn her own livingin a manner that was both original and ladylike. A woman such as Ruthwould be a delight without being a drag. And truly, was she not aremarkable woman?--as remarkable as he was a man? Here she was livingamid the refinements of luxury. Not an expensive luxury (he had anexcellent notion of the monetary value of things) but still luxury. Andthe whole affair was so stylish. His heart went out to the stylish.
The slices of bread-and-butter were rolled up. There, now, was apleasing device! It cost nothing to roll up a slice ofbread-and-butter--her fingers had doubtless done the rolling--and yet itgave quite a different taste to the food.
"What made you give that house to Mrs. Hullins?" she asked him suddenly,with a candour that seemed to demand candour.
"Oh!" he said, "just a lark! I thought I would. It came to me all in asecond, and I did."
She shook her head. "Strange boy!" she observed.
There was a pause.
"It was something Charlie Fearns said, wasn't it?" she enquired.
She uttered the name "Charlie Fearns" with a certain faint hint ofdisdain, as if indicating to Denry that of course she and Denry werequite able to put Fearns into his proper place in the scheme of things.
"Oh!" he said. "So you know all about it?"
"Well," said she, "naturally it was all over the town. Mrs. Fearns'sgirl, Annunciata--what a name, eh?--is one of my pupils, the youngest,in fact."
"Well," said he, after another pause. "I was n't going to have Fearnscoming the duke over me!"
She smiled sympathetically. He felt that they understood each otherdeeply.
"You 'll find some cigarettes in that box," she said, when he had beenthere thirty minutes, and pointed to the mantelpiece.
"Sure you don't mind?" he murmured.
She raised her eyebrows.
There was also a silver match-box in the larger box. No detail lacked.It seemed to him that he stood on a mountain and had only to walk down awinding path in order to enter the promised land. He was decidedlypleased with the worldly way in which he had said: "Sure you don'tmind?"
He puffed out smoke delicately. And, the cigarette between his lips, aswith his left hand he waved the match into extinction, he demanded:
"You smoke?"
"Yes," she said, "but not in public. I know what you men are."
This was in the early, timid days of feminine smoking.
>
"I assure you!" he protested, and pushed the box towards her. But shewould not smoke.
"It is n't that I mind _you_," she said, "not at all. But I 'm notwell. I 've got a frightful headache."
He put on a concerned expression.
"I _thought_ you looked rather pale," he said awkwardly.
"Pale!" she repeated the word. "You should have seen me this morning!I have fits of dizziness, you know, too. The doctor says its nothingbut dyspepsia. However, don't let's talk about poor little me and mysilly complaints. Perhaps the tea will do me good."
He protested again, but his experience of intimate civilisation was toobrief to allow him to protest with effectiveness. The truth was, hecould not say these things naturally. He had to compose them, and thenpronounce them, and the result failed in the necessary air ofspontaneity. He could not help thinking what marvellous self-controlwomen had. Now when he had a headache--which happily was seldom--hecould think of nothing else and talk of nothing else; the entireuniverse consisted solely of his headache. And here she was overcomewith a headache and during more than half an hour had not even mentionedit!
She began talking gossip about the Fearnses and the Sweetnams, and shementioned rumours concerning Henry Mynors (who had scruples againstdancing) and Anna Tellwright, the daughter of that rich old skinflint,Ephraim Tellwright. No mistake; she was on the inside of things inBursley society! It was just as if she had removed the front walls ofevery house and examined every room at her leisure, with minuteparticularity. But of course a teacher of dancing had opportunities....Denry had to pretend to be nearly as omniscient as she was.