CHAPTER VI
Follows Mrs. Euphemia Aiken to Coombe and Maiden. Properpride. You cannot go back on a railway ticket, howeversmall its price. One's Aunts. How Miss Priscilla Baxwas not surprised when she heard it was Reginald. Of theUpas Tree of reputations--the Pure Mind. How AuntPrissy worked her niece up. Of the late Prince Regent, andTiberius. Never write a letter, if you want the wind to lull.Ellen Jane Dudbury and her mamma. Of Ju-jutsu as anantidote to tattle. Of the relative advantages ofImmorality to the two Sexes. Of good souls and busy bodies,and of the Groobs. How that odious little Dolly was theModern Zurbaran. But he had never so much as called.Colossians three-eighteen. Miss Jessie Bax and her puppy.Miss Volumnia Bax. The delicacy of the female character.Of the Radio-Activity of Space and how Mr. Adolphus Groobsat next to Mrs. Aiken. The Godfrey Pybuses. But theyhave nothing to do with the story. How Time slipped by,and how Mr. Aiken employed him till the year drew to an end.
Euphemia Aiken, be it understood, had not broughtdefinition to bear on her motives for running awayto her Aunt Priscilla at Coombe. It seemed thenearest handy way of expressing her indignation ather profligate husband's conduct--that was all.
By the time she had got to Clapham Junction herindignation had begun to cool. But no ructionwould hold out for five minutes if it depended onlegitimate indignation. Unfortunately, when thatemotion gets up, it always awakens pride, withwhom--or which--it has been sleeping. And pride, onceroused--and she or it is not a sound sleeper--won'tgo to bed again on any terms, not even whenindignation is quite tired out, and ready for anothersnooze. So when Euphemia got to ClaphamJunction, it was not her drowsy indignation that madeup its mind she should take a third-class singleticket, but her proper pride, which saidperemptorily that even a weekly return would be absurd.Besides, there weren't any weekly returns.Besides, it was only threepence difference. Anyhow,she wasn't going to come back till she had givenReginald a severe lesson. Her condition of mindwas no doubt the one her husband described byan expression obscure in itself, but too widelyaccepted to be refused a place in the language. Hesaid that her monkey was up.
There is a sense of the irrevocable about thetaking of a railway ticket. Even when it is onlyninepence-halfpenny--the sum Euphemia paid to gothird to Coombe and Maiden--one's soul says, asthe punch bites a piece viciously out of it, that thedie is cast. If you were to hear suddenly thatbubonic plague had broken out at, for instance,Pegwell Bay, you having booked to Ramsgate,would not you feel committed to your visit, plagueor no? Would not your wife say, "But we havetaken our tickets"? Ours would. Was it anywonder that, with Pride at her elbow and her ticketinside her glove. Mrs. Reginald Aiken resisted afaint temptation to get out at Wimbledon and goback by the next up-train that would promise tostop at Clapham Junction? The story cannotpretend it is sorry she did not, because it would havelost much interest for the general reader by herdoing so.
We ourselves believe that if it had not been forMiss Priscilla Bax, she might have returned to herhusband next day. The human race has, however,to stand or fall by its Aunts, as it finds them, theybeing almost always _faits accomplis_ when itscomponent individuals are born. Miss Bax had beenone some forty years when her niece Euphemia cameon the scene, and one of the good lady's strong pointswas the low opinion she had of persons who marriedinto her family. She was, however, a kind-heartedold lady, in spite of her disapproval of her niece'schoice of a husband, and his choice of a profession;and had not only countenanced the marriage, buthad allowed the couple, as above related, a hundreda year. Being the only well-off member of herfamily, she was expected to do this sort of thing.Like the well-off members of other families, shewas only permitted to have property on conditionthat she did not keep it for herself.
When Euphemia's cab from the station drove herup to Athabasca Villa, her aunt's residence, thislady had got through her seven o'clock dinner, andcouldn't imagine who that could possibly be. Itwas such a queer time for visitors. It must be amistake. She was so satisfied of this that sheinaugurated a doze, listening through its preamblefor something to explain the mistake. She wasbetrayed by the doze, which might have had aminute's patience, and was roused from what itinsidiously became by a voice saying groundedly:"Oh dear, I'm afraid I waked you up!"
"I was not asleep," said Miss Priscilla, withdignity, kissing the owner of the voice. "I waslistening." However, it took time to wake quiteup, and until that happened the old lady did notfully grasp the surprising character of so late avisit; and indeed, until she became aware that abox was being carried upstairs, had but dreamyimpressions of the event. In time reality dawned,and she showed it by saying: "I suppose, Euphemia,you will want your bed made up."
As this was the case, and no human ingenuitycould soften the fact, Mrs. Aiken only said: "Iknow it's very troublesome."
To which Miss Priscilla replied: "Nothing istroublesome, so long as you only say distinctly.Now, do you want anything to eat? Becausedinner is taken away." Reviving decision, aftersleep, became emphatic. Self-respect called forself-assertion.
Mrs. Aiken shuffled. She wasn't hungry, she said.
"Have you _had_ dinner? Because if you havenot had dinner, you must have dinner. Ring thebell twice, and Pemphridge will come."
Pemphridge came, and could warm the chicken.Pemphridge did warm the chicken, and Mrs. Aikenhardly touched it. After which she returned, lookingextremely miserable, to her aunt in the drawing-room,who said majestically: "And now perhaps,Euphemia, you will tell me what all this means."
"It's Reginald," said Euphemia.
"I am not surprised," said her aunt.
"But you don't _know_ yet."
"I know nothing whatever. But I am not surprised.Is it reasonable, Euphemia, to expect me tobe surprised? After what I have so frequently hadoccasion to say. But I am quite prepared to hearthat I have said no such thing. Pray tell meanything you like. I will not contradict you." AuntPriscilla assumed a rigid continuousness, as of onewho forms to receive aspersions. Truth will triumphin the end; meanwhile there is no harm in portendingthat triumph by an aggressive stony patience.
"Only you don't know what it is, Aunt Prissy,"said her niece. No more she did, speaking academically.She was, however, quite prepared for everycontingency.
"I do not think _you_ are the person to say thatto me, Euphemia, seeing that you have told menothing--absolutely nothing! But I can wait." Shewaited. As she lay face upwards on thesofa--the nearest approach to an Early Victorianrecumbent effigy that the Nature of Things permits--shepresented the appearance of a deserving personfloating on her back in a sea of exasperation.Unless this image justifies itself, it must becondemned. Nothing in literature can excuse it.
Mrs. Euphemia was so used to her aunt, withwhom she had lived since the death of her parentsfifteen years since, that she knew she might neverget a better moment than this for telling the storyof her passage of arms with her husband. Shetherefore embarked on a narrative of the events weknow, and contrived to get them told, in spite ofinterruptions, the nature of which, after theforegoing sample of Aunt Priscilla, we can surmise.Neither need be repeated.
Thereafter followed a long conversation, thesubstance of which has already been given. Its effectwas to try Mrs. Euphemia's faith in her husband--whichstill existed, mind you!--very severely. Haveyou ever noticed--but of course you have--thatwhen Inexperience testifies to the sinfulness of thehuman race _passim_, Average Experience hides herdiminished head, and does not venture on whateverthere is to be said on behalf of the culprit. Ashocking race, no doubt, but scarcely so bad as pureminds paint it! Old single ladies have pure minds,as often as not, and wield them with a fiendishdexterity, polishing off Lancelot and Galahad,Mordred and Arthur himself, all in a breath. Whichof us dares to try a fall with a pure-minded person,in defence of his sex, or anyone else's? MissPriscilla, having a pure mind and getting the bitin her teeth in connexion with her nephew-in-law'sshortcomings, bolted, and dragged her niece afterher through an imaginary Society
compounded ofLondon in the days of the Regency and Rome inthe days of Tiberius, with a touch of impendingDivine vengeance in the bush, justifying referenceto Sodom and Gomorrah. She succeeded in makingthe young woman thoroughly uncomfortable, andcausing the quarrel to assume proportions--which iswhat things that get bigger are understood to donowadays--such as it never dreamed of at first.For Mrs. Euphemia's scheme of life allowed foreverlasting bickerings, never-ending recriminations, lastwords _ad libitum_, short tiffs, long tiffs, tempersomenessand proper spirit--all, in fact, that makes lifedrag in families--but always under chronicconditions that precluded a crisis. If her worthy aunt'ssuggestion that this incident of Sairah was themerest spark from _ignes suppositos cineri_, and thather husband had never been even as good as heshould be--if this indicated a true view of hischaracter, she for one wasn't going to put up withsuch conduct. Corinthians or no! This _was_ acrisis, only it was one that never would have comeabout but for Miss Priscilla. So, as we mentionedsome time since, Mrs. Euphemia cried herself tosleep, and next day, galled by ill-considered moralprecepts about the whole duty of Woman, wrote aninfuriated letter to her dear Reginald--not herdearest; she might have any number of dearerReginalds on draught--stating at a very high figurethe amount of penance she would make a necessarycondition of reconciliation, and even then it wouldnever be the same thing underlined. She was,however, so completely the slave of a beautifuldisposition, that no course was open to her butforgiveness, subject only to a reduction of someninety-per-cent. at the dictation of a rarelysensitive consciousness of obligation to Duty, which shegave him to understand was her ruling passion.The letter demanded the assimilation of an amountof humble-pie outside practical politics--soMr. Aiken said to a friend after reading it; thephraseology is his. He hadn't done anything to deservethe character imputed to him in language he couldidentify by the style as Aunt Priscilla's, shorn ofmuch of its Scriptural character. It incensed him,and caused him to write a letter which widened thebreach between them. Then she wrote back, andthe breach fairly yawned. There is nothing soeffective as correspondence to consolidate a quarrel.
She had been at all times since her marriage afrequent visitor enough at Athabasca Villa for theinquisitiveness of her Aunt's circle of friends toremain unexcited; for a week or so, at any rate.But that good lady's unholy alacrity in disclaimingall knowledge of her niece's domestic affairsstimulated a premature curiosity. When the PeterDudburys called, Aunt Priscilla might quite easilyhave said, in reply to Mrs. Peter Dudbury's "Andhow is the Artist?" that she believed the saidArtist was enjoying good health. Instead of whichshe was seized with a sort of paroxysm, exclaimingvery often: "Don't ask me! I know nothingwhatever about it. Nuth, thing-what, ever!" andshaking her head with her eyes tight shut.Whereupon Ellen Jane Dudbury said, "Shishmar!" andstamped cruelly on her mother's foot. Now reallythat amiable woman had only expanded into hergushy inquiry after Mr. Aiken because she knew thatshe and her three daughters had asked more thanonce after everyone else. She felt hurt, andresolved to have it out with Ellen Jane, and indeedbegan to do so as soon as they were out of hearing.
"Wellmar," said Ellen Jane, "what is one to dowhen you won't take the slightest notice?" Shewent on to explain that any person of normalshrewdness would have seen, the moment Mrs. Aikenmade excuses and went upstairs, that therewas something. You could always see when therewas anything if you chose to use your eyes. It wasno use telling her--Ellen Jane, that is--that therewas nothing. She knew better. It was complimentaryto Ellen Jane's penetration that her motherand sisters hoped aloud at the next house wherethey called, and captured the tenants to inquireafter them, that there really was nothing betweenyoung Mrs. Aiken and her husband, and most likelyit was all fancy, because there was nothingwhatever to go upon, and such absurd stories did getabout.
To our thinking it is clear that the receptivityof the Peter Dudburys was caused by that paroxysmof Aunt Priscilla's. An adoption of a like attitude withother visitors tended to enrich the gossip of Coombeand Maiden at the expense of Mrs. Euphemia Aiken.
Miss Priscilla did not have paroxysms of this classin her niece's presence, so of course the latter hadthe less chance of guessing that the cause of hervisit to Athabasca Villa had become commonproperty. She did, however, wake up to the fact thatCoombe and Maiden were commiserating her. Theimpertinence of those neighbourhoods! She wouldhave liked to knock their heads together. The worstof it was that no one put commiseration into aconcrete form, such as "How is dear Mr. Aiken'sinfidelity going on?" or "We are so shocked tothink how your most sacred affections are beinglacerated." Then she might have flown at suchlike sympathizers with a poker, or got them downand cricked their joints by Ju-jutsu. This practiceof talking about everyone else's private affairs toevery-other else, never to their proprietor, is goodfor our father the Devil, but bad for his sons anddaughters. Amen.
The truth is that, for some unexplained reason, alady who runs away from her husband gets no sortof credit or glory by doing so, but only puts herselfin an uncomfortable position; unless, indeed, shetakes up with some other male, preferably areprobate. Then an unhallowed splendour envelops her,and protects her from the cards of respectability,which has misgivings about her possible effect onits sons and husbands. We wonder, is this whatis meant when one hears that some lady is livingunder the protection of Duke Baily or DukeHumphy? Are those--is one of them, wemean--protecting her from Mrs. Peter Dudbury? Honourto his Grace, whichever he is, if he acts up to hisdescription!
With the nobler sex the reverse is the case.Whether deserting or deserted, he is rather lookedup to by his more securely anchored male friendsas the subject of a wider and more illuminatingexperience than their own. Of course, theforsaken example does not shine with the radiance ofa self-supporting inconstancy. It may be that hecomes off best in the end, if he is a man of spirit,and finds consolation elsewhere. For then he cannot only crow, farmyard-wise, but he has theheartfelt satisfaction of being an ill-used man intothe bargain. If he cottons to someone else'sill-used wife, he has nothing left to wish for.
Nothing of all this has any application in thisstory, unless it attaches to the fact that Mr. Aikenfound some consolation in the company of hisfriends, while his wife found none in that of heracquaintances. As both parties were perfectlyblameless in the ordinary sense of the word--geeseare most blameless birds--none of the numerousadvantages of wickedness were secured by either.Their interests in Belial never vested. Mrs. Aikennever meant not to go back in the end, as soon asshe had made her husband knuckle down, andconfess up. And he was consciously keeping hishome unsullied by anything too Bohemian, in orderthat when Euphemia came back--as of course shewould--no memory of the interregnum should clashwith the Restoration.
Euphemia had the worst of it; but then she wasthe weaker party. If weaker parties take toexpecting the emoluments of stronger parties, whatshall we come to next? This feeling of theunfairness of things in general and Destiny inparticular, tended towards exasperation andintensification; and the South Cone--metaphors may befetched from any distance--remained up in thedistricts of Coombe and Maiden. Time passed andMrs. Euphemia had perforce to endure thecommiseration of those districts.
The neighbourhood of Athabasca Villa might beclassed as a congested district, and its populationas consisting, broadly speaking, of good souls andbusy bodies. Every resident was both, be itunderstood.
"Oh yes!" said Euphemia to her aunt, onebreakfast-time. "Of course the Groobs are goodnessitself. But why can't they mind their ownbusiness?" For although it may appear incredible, afamily residing in the neighbourhood was actuallynamed Groob.
"My dear," said Miss Priscilla, "do not beunreasonable and violent. Mr. Latimer Groob is, Iunderstand, a wine-importer in quite a large way ofbusiness, with more than one retail establishment;and his son, Mr. Adolphus Groob, has, I am told,talent. He has had several pictures on the line,somewhere, and comes down to see his family onSaturdays, and to stop till Monday."
"Well, then!" said Euphemia. "It
wasn't thePeter Dudburys this time. At least, it needn't havebeen, for anything I can see."
"Why not? ... Do take care of the tablecloth!Anne has put one of the best out by mistake. Imust speak to her.... Why not the Peter Dudburysthis time?"
"I am not cutting the cloth. The knife is milesoff. Why not the Peter Dudburys? Why,because I know that odious little Dolly Groob. He's afriend of Reginald's, and comes to the Studio. Ican _see_. I'm not a baby. Of course, Reginald hasbeen talking to him." Mrs. Euphemia bit her lips,and was under the impression that her eyes flashed.But they didn't really--eyes never do; it's a _faconde parler_.
Miss Priscilla ignored this petulance. "You hadbetter let me pour you out some fresh coffee," shesaid. "Yours is getting cold. I cannot say, mydear, that I think 'that odious little Dolly Groob'is at all the way to speak of an artist who has hadpictures on the line. And his father, now I think ofit, is in Paris also. Besides, I see he is distinguishinghimself by his connexion with something."
"With what?"
"It was in yesterday evening's paper. PerhapsAnne hasn't burned it. Anyhow, I do not think theexpression 'odious little' well chosen.... Ohyes--that's it! Give it to Miss Euphemia." Thatis to say, Anne the parlourmaid, not having burnedyesterday's evening paper, had produced it as bynecromancy, in response. The way Aunt Priscillaspoke of her niece was an accident, not a suggestionthat Mr. Aiken was cancelled. It caused "MissEuphemia," however, a slight twinge of anindescribable discomfort. Possibly, if this is ever readby any lady who has ever been in exactly the sameposition, she will understand why.
The story knows of it because, when Anne hadleft the room, Mrs. Aiken looked up from thenewspaper, where she had found what she was lookingfor, to say: "I think, Aunt Prissy, you might bemore careful before the servants."
Her aunt replied with dignity: "What you arereferring to, my dear Euphemia, I cannot professto understand." Of course she _did_, perfectly well.What she meant was, "I know you cannot get aconviction, so I can tell a fib." Mankind, securelyentrenched, fibs freely.
"Why--'Miss Euphemia,' of course!" said theniece, quoting incisively. "But I know it's no usemy asking you to pay the slightest attention." Shebecame absorbed in her paper.
"I think you are nonsensical, my dear," said theaunt. She retired behind something morallyequivalent to the lines of Torres Vedras; but was stillaudible outside, saying: "I think you might saywhether you have, or have not, found aboutMr. Adolphus Groob."
The niece made no response for a moment, butcontinued reading; then said, as one who, comingup from diving, speaks without quite locating hisaudience: "Oh yes--there's about Mr. Groob here.I can't read it all, there's such a lot. Is there somecoffee left? ... Three-quarters of a cup, please!"
Please observe that, although this aunt and niecealways conversed more or less as if each was strainingthe patience of the other past endurance, nosort of ill-will was thereby implied on either part.It may be that it was only that they emphasizedthe ordinary intercourse of British families.Perhaps you know how much the average foreign familynags, _en famille_. We do not.
Mrs. Aiken read the newspaper paragraph aloud,skipping portions. What she read described theformation of the New Modernism, the ArtisticSociety about which so much was being said amongwell-informed circles of the Art World, with thereservation that nothing must be accepted as official.The Editor was breaking confidence in telling somuch; but then he really was unable, with thatpitiful heart of his, to bear the yearning faces andheartrending cries for information of his readingpublic. The only course open to him was to putaside all conscientious scruples, and divulge whathad reached him, as it were, under the seal ofconfession. Such a thirst must be satiated, or worsemight come of it. The object of this Society wasto develope its promoters' ideas, and exhibit theirworks in Bond Street. The underlying theory oftheir new Gospel of Art appeared to be--only thewriter did not express it so coarsely--that successin pictorial effort, in the future, must turn on theartist never having learned to draw, and notknowing how to paint. What was wanted was clearlyhis unimpaired Self, unsoiled by the instruction ofthe Schools. The near future was entitled toliberation from the stilted traditions of the remotepast, not only in Painting, but in Sculpture, Music,Poetry, the Drama--what not? Here was anopportunity to make a beginning, seized by abrilliant coterie of talented young men, whom a rarechance had brought together under one roof. Ifthe writer was not much mistaken, Pimlico Studiosstood a fair chance of becoming the Mecca of theArt World.
"I can't read all this," said the niece. "I don'tsee where Mr. Groob comes in. Oh yes--it's here!'The Modern Zurbaran.'..." This gentlemanwas, of course, the Artist familiarly spoken of as"Dolly" at the Pimlico Studios. Mrs. Aiken wenton reading to herself, and then said suddenly: "Ido hope Reginald won't be a fool, and make himselfresponsible for anything."
"Mr. Adolphus Groob would be able to tell usall about it," said Miss Priscilla. "His sisterArethusa is almost sure to call this afternoon, andyou can ask her to find out."
"I shall do nothing of the sort, and I beg youwon't say anything to her. I particularly dislikeMr. Groob, and just now nothing could be moreunpleasant to me. Please no Mr. Groob on anyaccount!"
"You need not be so testy, Euphemia. Nothingis easier than for me to make no reference toMr. Groob, who has never so much as called. His sisterArethusa is, of course, not the same thing as he ishimself, but no doubt she may know something aboutthis Society."
"I thought her an odious girl. Anyhow, I don'twant to know anything at all about the Society, andit's no concern of mine. Reginald must go his ownway now, and put his name down for subscriptionsjust as he likes.... Oh yes, I shall answer hislast letter, but only to say that, if he wants meto read his next one, the _tone_ must be verydifferent."
Her aunt said, as one with whom patience ishabitual, and tolerance a foregone conclusion: "Itis perfectly useless for me to repeat, Euphemia,what I believe to be your duty as a Christian towardsyour lawful husband, which Reginald is andcontinues to be, however disgracefully he may havebehaved; and you acted with your eyes open inthe face of warnings of his lawless Bohemian habits._He--is--your_--HUSBAND, and your obvious dutyis..."
"Oh, do shut up with Corinthians!" was therude, impatient, and indeed irreligious interruption."If you mean that a woman is bound to put upwith anything and everything, no matter what herhusband says or does ... What?"
"My dear Euphemia, if I have told you once, Ihave told you fifty times, that it is _not_ Corinthians,but Colossians--Colossians three eighteen. Besides,I'm sure there was a ring at the bell."
There was, and therefore the chronic guerillawarfare--for this sort of thing always went on untilvisitors stopped it--was suspended until the nextopportunity.
The ring at the gate-bell was--or was causedby--Miss Jessie Bax, another niece, who was shy andseventeen. She began everything she said with"Oh!" The first words she uttered were, "Oh,I mustn't stop!" But she had previously said toAnne, at the gate, "Oh, I mustn't come in!" andwhen overcome on this point by Euphemia, whocame out and kissed her, not without satisfaction--becauseshe was that sort--she only just contrivedto say, "Oh, I only came to bring these fromVolumnia. It's to-morrow night at the SuburbitonAthenaeum, where the Psychomorphic meets tillthe new rooms are ready, and she hopes you'll come."
Miss Jessie explained that she was, strictlyspeaking, an emanation from her sister Volumnia. Thatyoung lady was thirteen years her senior, and was apowerful individuality. She entered into inquiries,and advocated causes. Miss Jessica, on thecontrary, flirted.
Was it, this time, advocating causes, or enteringinto inquiries? Mrs. Aiken, fearing the former,was consoled when she found it was the latter. Shewould look at the Syllabus tendered, whatever itwas, and wouldn't detain Miss Jessie, whose anxietynot to come in need not have been laid so muchstress on. It presently appeared that this wish tostop out was not unconnected with CharleySomebody, who was playing with a puppy on the otherside of the road. A suggestion that Charl
eySomebody should come in too was met with so earnest adisclaimer of intention to disturb any fellow-creatureanywhere, at any time, that it would have beensheer downright cruelty to press the point. So theyoung lady and Master Charley, whoever he was,escaped, and were heard whistling for the puppy,who was getting quite good, and learning to followbeautifully.
"What is it?" said Aunt Priscilla.
"Oh, some reading papers and nonsense," saidher niece. "I never have any patience with thatsort of twaddle. It only irritates me."
It suited Miss Priscilla to take up a tone ofsuperiority to such childish petulance, combinedwith an enlightened attitude of open-mindedness,and a suggestion of being better informed than mostpeople about what is doing. To this end she pickedup the prospectus her niece was ostentatiouslyneglecting, and read it aloud in an atmosphereabove human prejudices, specially designed for herown personal use. It related to a lecture "On theAttitude of Investigation towards the Unknowable,"with magic-lantern slides, and a discussion tofollow. "It does not say," said Aunt Priscilla,"who is the Medium." It is possible that the goodlady had in her own mind confused something withsomething else. One does sometimes.
"I'm not sure that I shan't go, if it isn't theSuffrage," said Euphemia. She took theprospectus, and seemed reassured on re-reading it.Yes, she might go if there were pictures on a sheet.But not if it was to be Women's Rights.
"With your peculiar, new, advanced views, mydear," said her aunt, "it certainly seems to methat you ought to sympathize with your cousin."
This, however, was because of Miss Priscilla'sexceptional way of looking at Social and Politicalsubjects. She divided all the world--the thoughtfulworld, that is--into two classes, the one thatwent in for Movements and things, and the onethat consisted of Sensible Persons. The latter stayedat home and minded their own business, sometimesgoing for a drive when it held up, and, of course, toChurch on Sundays, and having hot crossed bunson Good Friday, and so on. She made no distinctionbetween Agitators on the score of the diversityof their respective objects. Could she be expectedto differentiate between shades of opinion thatwould now be indicated by the terms--thenuninvented--of Suffragettes and Anti-Suffragettes?
Volumnia Bax would have belonged to the latterdenomination. Women, that young lady said, werenot intended by an All-wise Providence to mix inpublic life. Their sphere was the Home. Shebelonged to a League whose chief object was to preventwomen becoming unfeminine. If it was not Woman'sown duty to make a stand against these new-fangledAmerican notions, which could only end inher being completely unsexed, whose was it? Ifshe did not exert herself to avert this calamity,who would? So this League consisted entirely ofwomen, pledged to resist, by violence if necessary,but in any case by speaking out at meetings, andgetting up petitions, and so on, these insidiousattempts to destroy the delicacy of the femalecharacter, which from time immemorial had beenits principal charm. This was the point on whichAunt Priscilla certainly failed in discrimination, forshe drew no distinction between the various shadesof political impulse. She objected to anyone leavingthe groove, even with the motive of pushing othersback into it. Her niece Euphemia shared her viewsto a great extent, and when she used the expression"Women's Rights," it was probably in a sensemuch less circumscribed than its usual one. "But,"said she to Miss Priscilla, justifying her determinationto go on Saturday evening to this lecture, orwhatever it was, "it can't be minutes and resolutionsand jaw, jaw, jaw, if there's a magic-lantern. Sodo come, Aunty dear!"
Miss Priscilla gave way, and consented toaccompany her niece, but not without a misgiving thatshe might be compelled to come away in the middleof the entertainment. A re-perusal of the Syllabushad engendered in her mind a doubt whether itwas quite. That is how she worded it. The storyonly chronicles; it takes no responsibilities.Euphemia assured her that it could not beotherwise than quite, seeing that so respectable anAthenaeum as the Suburbiton would be sure to bemost careful. Besides, it was Metaphysical.
So they had the fly from Dulgrove's--as it appears,and we think we know what is meant--andDulgrove's representative touched one of its hats,which was on his own head, and promised upon thehonour of both to return at half-past ten toreimpatriate the two ladies at Athabasca Villa, whichis two miles from Coombe proper.
Though Mr. Groob's sister Arethusa did nothappen to call, as Miss Priscilla anticipated,Mrs. Reginald Aiken was destined to be brought incontact with her odious brother, the Artist, whowas acquainted with her husband. It happenedthat Miss Bax was desirous that another brotherof Arethusa's should come to the lecture. Thisgentleman, Mr. Duodecimus Groob, had a clearhead, and a cool judgment, and belonged, moreover,to a class which is frequently referred to, butwhose members cannot always be differentiatedwith certainty, the class of persons who are not tobe sneezed at. Others may be, without offence orinjustice.
Now, it chanced that Miss Jessica Bax had beenemployed by her sister as a species of bait to inducethis gentleman to accompany his sister Arethusa--who,of course, was coming to the lecture--bysending her to be driven over in the Groob brougham,she herself accepting a lift from the Peter Dudburys,who had no room for more than one. Miss Volumnia,you see, intended to speak at the discussion, andwas naturally anxious that Mr. Groob should bringhis clear head and cool judgment to hear andappreciate the powerful analysis she intended to make ofthe lecturer's first exposition of the subject.
It is impossible in this story to enter at lengthinto the intricate and difficult questions touchedupon; but it may be noted that Miss Volumnia,who had read the typed manuscript of this lecture,was prepared to combat its main argument, to takeexception to its author's fundamental standpoint,to scrutinise fearlessly his pretensions to Scientificaccuracy, and to lay bare its fallacies with amerciless scalpel. She was naturally anxious that aB.Sc., London--for Mr. Duodecimus Groob was sodesignate--should hear her do it, being so close athand; and when she said to Jessica, "Tell ArethusaI expect her to bring a brother," she did so with ashrewd insight into the souls of brothers whosesisters very pretty girls accompany to even thehumblest entertainments--penny readings and whatnot. This Mr. Groob came, and what was more,Mr. Adolphus, whom we saw _en passant_ at PimlicoStudios, accompanied him. Both had come tostay till Monday at their father's residence--wherethere were bronzes and Dresden china in thedrawing-room, and ruins by Panini all round thedining-room, and a Wolf Hunt, Snyders, in theentrance-hall. We repeat that _both_ came, althoughthere was hardly room in the small brougham, andMr. Adolphus had to go on the box and wrap up.And our belief is that if it had been an omnibus,and there had been young men enough to fill it,they would all have gone to that lecture.
Insignificant as this visit to the SuburbitonAthenaeum may seem, it has its place in this story,and that place is given to it by its most unimportantdetails. As you can scarcely be expected to turnback to it, please note now what it was that reallyhappened.
In the lobby, when Mrs. Aiken and her Auntarrived, Miss Volumnia Bax was, as it were,marshalling Europe. She was a leading mind,overlooking gregariousness through a pince-nez.Gregariousness was shedding its fleeces and takinglittle cardboard tickets in exchange.
"You know Mr. Adolphus Groob," said MissVolumnia to her cousin, sternly, almost reproachfully.
"Yes--you know my brother," said Miss ArethusaGroob confirmatorily. And Miss Priscilla--ohdear! one's unmanageable Aunts!--must needs,as it were, go over to the enemy, saying inhoneyed tones, with a little powdered sugar overthem:
"_You_ know Mr. Adolphus Groob, Euphemia."
It was quite the most dastardly desertion onrecord. There was nothing for it before such anaccumulation of testimony but to plead guilty. Whatcan, anybody do with such treachery in the camp?Euphemia admitted grudgingly that she knewMr. Adolphus, who had long hair and was like our ideaof a German Student. He, for his part, was horriblyfrightened and got away. For, you see, he knewall about the row between Aiken and his wife; andalthough in the absence of that unearthly sex, thefemale one, he was ready to lay claim to a deep andsubtle
knowledge of its ways, he was an arrantcoward in the presence of a sample.
"I say, Bob," said he aside to his brotherDuodecimus, using a convenient, if arbitrary,abbreviation of that name.
"What's the fun, Dolly?" said Bob, who was achap who always made game of everything.
"Why, look here! When a customer you knowquarrels with his wife, and she does a bunk..."
"She _what's_?"
"Hooks it, don't you know! Well, when sheruns away, and you come across her, and you knowall the story about the shindy, being in the beggar'sconfidence, don't you see?--and she knows youknow it, only, mind you, there's nothing exactlyto swear by, and you know she knows you knowit, and she knows you know she knows--up anddown and in and out--intersectitiously, don't yousee...?" But the heroic effort to express asituation we have all had a try at and failedover was too much for Mr. Adolphus, andhis sentence remained unfinished. Consider thathe had supplied an entirely new word, and belenient!
"Want'n'er for yourself, Dolly?" said thatfrivolous, superficial beast, Bob. "Don't you, that'smy advice! She's a head and shoulders taller thanyou. You'll look such an ass!" WhereuponMr. Adolphus, not without dignity, checked his brother'sill-timed humour, pointing out that he had donenothing to deserve the imputation of personalmotives, and hinting that his well-known monasticbias should have saved him from it.
"Very well, then!--let her alone!" said Bob.
"But it's very embarrassing, you must admit,"said Dolly.
"H'm!--don't see why."
"The position is a delicate one."
"Can't see where the delicacy comes in. Youkeep out of her way. _She_ won't tackle _you_."
This was just about the time when the disengagementof their fleeces had enabled a congestion ofthe flock to pass on towards the lecture-hall, leavingaccess clear to Miss Priscilla, her niece, and others.Euphemia's fleece was one that gave trouble; shesaid it always got hooked. It certainly did so thistime, and Mr. Adolphus, passing on after his colloquywith his brother, was able to render squire's service,unhooking it as bold as brass. Whereupon the ladyand her aunt gushed gratefully, as in return forlife saved. Their rescuer passed on, feelinginternally gratified, and that he had shown presenceof mind at a crisis--was, in short, a Man of the World.But he did not know that from thenceforward hewas entangled in a certain perverse enchantment--asort of spell that constantly impelled him todally with the delicate position he was so consciousabout. He must needs go and stick himself fourseats off Mrs. Aiken, in the two-shilling places, theintervening three seats being vacant.
Now, if only lean men, operating edgewise, hadattempted to pass into these seats, things mighthave gone otherwise. Fate sent a lady over threefeet thick all the way down, and apparently quitesolid, to wedge her way into one or more of theseseats. Mr. Adolphus shrank, for all he was worth,but it was a trying moment. The lady was justthat sort the Inquisition once employed sosuccessfully; one with spikes, that drew blood fromanyone that got agglutinated with her costume. Shemight, however, have got through without accident--younever can tell!--if the trial had been carriedout. It was suspended by a suggestion fromMrs. Aiken that Mr. Adolphus Groob should come a littlefarther along and make room; and when he complied,to the extent of going one seat nearer to her,a second suggestion that he should come nearer still,to which he assented with trepidation. Resistancewas useless. A galaxy of daughters had alreadyfilled in the whole row behind the stout lady, andwere forcing her on like the air-tight piece of potatoin a quill popgun, only larger. So in the endMr. Adolphus Groob found himself wedged securelybetween the stout lady and Mrs. Euphemia Aiken, quiteunable to speak to the former, for though they hadcertainly met--with a vengeance--they had neverbeen introduced. This really _was_ a very delicateposition. Mrs. Aiken might at least have said,"You know Mrs. Godfrey Pybus, I think?" Thatwas the stout lady's name. Then he could haveavoided talking with Mrs. Aiken, by becomingabsorbed in Mrs. Pybus, and shouting round herto her nearest daughters beyond. As it was, hewas fairly forced to make careful remarks to hisother neighbour, scrupulously avoiding allusion tohusbands, wives, quarrels, Studios, Chelsea, London,servant-girls, picture-cleaning ... this is only ahandful at random of the things it would never doto mention in such delicate circumstances. He heldhis tongue discreetly about every one of these inturn, and talked of little but the weather.
Do not run away with the idea that anythinginteresting or exciting grew out of this chancemeeting, in the story. The introduction of it, atsuch length, is only warranted by the fact that,without its details, it would have absolutely norelevance at all. Whatever it has will, we hope,be made clear later.
A little conversation passed between the two, butit was of no more importance than the sample whichfollows.
"Do you know what the lecture is about?" saidMrs. Aiken.
"Couldn't say," was the reply. "Never knowwhat lectures are about! I'm an Artist, don't youknow! My brother Bob could tell you. He's ascientific chap--knows about Telephones and thingsthat go round and burst."
"Is there anything that goes round and burstsin the lecture, I wonder?"
"Shouldn't be much surprised. Here's theSyllabub--I mean Syllabus." Mr. Adolphushanded his information to his neighbour. Cautionmade him uncommunicative. Naturally, he wasof a more talkative disposition.
Mrs. Aiken studied the heads of the lecture."What is meant, I wonder, by the Radio-Activityof Space?" said she. Now in asking this questionshe was deferring to the widespread idea that Manunderstands Science, and can tell Woman all aboutit. He doesn't, and can't.
Observe, please, that Mr. Groob was under amixed influence. He happened to have been ratherdisgusted because Miss Jessica Bax, instead ofappreciating his self-sacrifice in riding outside andwrapping up, had shown a marked preference fora flirtation with his brother. Slightly miffed bythis, he had become the victim of a mysteriousspell or fascination connected with thathook-and-eye accident, which had caused him--not to sitdown beside its victim; he never would havepresumed to do that--but to hover near her, and indoing this to be remorselessly forced into her pocketby the dead weight of Mrs. Godfrey Pybus. Thingsbeing so, what could he do but rejoice at theRadio-Activity of Space, as a topic surely removed fromany wives that had bolted from any husbands?What could be safer as a resource againstembarrassing reference to the painful _status quo_?
He accepted the position of instructor his sexconferred on him. "It's got somethin' to do withFour Dimensions," he said. "Can't say I've gonemuch into the subject myself, but I've talked to avery intelligent feller about it. Did you ever seeany Radium?"
"Me? No. My husband saw some, though.He looked through a hole."
"That's it. It destroys your eyesight, I believe,and loses decimal point something of its volume ina hundred thousand years. There is no doubt weare on the brink of great discoveries."
"How very interesting! I wish the lecturerwould begin. Oh--here he is!"
"Very bald feller! He ought to use petrol.You have to rub it in and keep out of the way ofartificial light. This chap's first cousin lost theuse of both legs through investigatin'. It wasX-rays, I believe. You may depend on it we'vegot a deal to learn." And so on.
Upon the honour of the narrative this sample isa fair one of what passed between this lady andgentleman on this occasion. There was more, butit was exactly the same sort.
In due course the lecture was begun and ended;then the discussion followed, and Mrs. GodfreyPybus and her six daughters didn't stop to hearMiss Volumnia Bax's analysis and refutation, butwent away in the middle and made a noise onpurpose. It was just like them, and they wereperfectly odious people.
It is most extraordinary how Time will slip awaywhen the catching hold of his forelock depends onourselves. Each morning may bring that forelockagain within reach, and each morning the sameapathy that made us yesterday too languid to stretchout a hand and grip the old scamp and employ himfor our own advantage keeps us in the same stupidabeyance, and we lose the chance for anothertwenty-fo
ur hours. Every postponement makesa new precedent, and every new precedent stiffensthe back of inaction.
It was so with Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Aiken.Not a morning passed without an unfulfilledimpulse on either part to cross the gulf between them,and terminate their idiotic separation, bridged bycorrespondence which really did more harm thangood. There is one precept which it is quiteimpossible for the human race to observe tooclosely--_Never write letters_! If only those words couldreplace Little Liver Pills and so forth on thoseatrocities that flank the railways and hide theplanet, its inhabitants would be the gainers.Mr. Reginald had an extraordinary faculty for undoingin a postscript any little concession he had made atthe outset, and Mrs. Euphemia, for her part, wasbecoming quite a proficient in sarcasm--three-linewhips of scorpions describes her style, or thestyle she aimed at. For a superficial literaryeducation did not help her up to its perfection.
"Very good, Mrs. Hay!"--thus, on receipt of aletter, would run her husband's commentary,embodying transposed quotation in its text, "'Praygo my own way'--that's it, is it?--'On no accountgive the slightest consideration underlined to thewishes of your underlined wife.' Oh, very well--Iwon't. 'If my Conscience with a big C didn'tturn a deaf ear to the pleadings of my Better Selfwith a big B and a big S'--what's all this? can'tread it--oh! I see--yes, at least I see what it comesto!--I should come to my sences--spelt wrong--andovercome the ridiculous false pride that standsbetween me and something or otherunderlined--h'm! h'm!--'consult my own dignity'--h'm,h'm--something's something else I can't make outin the truest sence of the word, underlined. Idare say. I know what all this rot comes to in theend. I'm to go and ask forgiveness and showcontrition, and I shouldn't wonder if I was expected tobeg Aunt Priscilla's pardon. And be taken toChurch, as like as not! I say, Stumpy, that wouldbe rather jolly, wouldn't it? Fancy the WickedMan turnething away from his Wickedness andAunt Priscilla taking care visibly not to look atyour humble servant, so as not to hurt his feelings!"
"I tell you what, Crocky,"--thus Mr. Hughes,on the occasion the above is chosen from, some timein November--"I tell you what: if I was you, Ishouldn't be an Ass. Just you mozey off toAthabasca Villa and make it up. I believe Mrs. Gapp'sright."
"That old sot been talking? Parples was thebest of the two. I'll have Parples back." ForMrs. Gapp had taken Mrs. Parples' place, underpretence of greater accomplishments and bettertraining.
"At my invitation, Mr. Aiken," said Mr. Hugheswith some show of dignity--"at my invitation,observe!--Mrs. Gapp, who has buried threehusbands and really ought to know a good dealabout connubiosity--conjugosity--what the dooceis the word?..."
"Well--married life, anyhow! What did oldboozey say?"
"She had great faith in a spirit of mutualconciliation. That is not precisely the way she put it.Her exact expression was 'A good 'ug's the thing,Mr. Stumpy' .... Yes--that is what Mrs. Gappcalls me, misled by your example.... I must sayI think the course she indicated has much torecommend it."
Mr. Aiken looked moody, and did not reply atonce. Then he said: "That's all very fine, Stump,my boy. But--Sairah! Sairah's the point. Now,mind you, I'm not suggestin' anythin'. But justyou look at it this way. There was a rather nicelookin' gyairl, with a bird's wing in her hat, came forthe place, and Euphemia wouldn't hear of her,don't you know! Suppose it had been her!--putsthe matter on a more human footin', shouldn'tyou say?"
Mr. Hughes reflected, and spoke as one whosereflections had borne fruit. "Not being a marriedbeggar myself, I can't say. Speaking as a singlecuss, my recommendation to you would be--speakingbroadly--not to make an Ass of yourself.See what I'm driving at?"
"That means," said Mr. Aiken, "that youconsider I ought to go and beg Euphemia's graciouspardon, and take the blame of the wholehow-do-you-do on my own shoulders, and as like as nothave to go to Church with Aunt Priscilla.Well--I won't, and there's an end of it!"
And Mr. Aiken didn't, and prolonged his uncomfortablecircumstances quite to the end of the year.But it is only right to say that his wife contributedall her share to their extension and consolidation.In fact, if this story has achieved the wish of itscompiler, ourself, it should be clear to its readerthat Mr. Reginald and Mrs. Euphemia Aiken wereprecisely six of the one and half a dozen of theother.