A Great Success | Page 6

world,
especially on its scientific side. And for nearly two years before her
marriage she had been a student at the Slade School. But since her
imprudent love-match with a literary man had plunged her into the
practical work of a small household, run on a scanty and precarious
income, she had been obliged, one after another, to let the old interests
go. Except the drawing. That was good enough to bring her a little
money, as an illustrator, designer of Christmas cards, etc.; and she
filled most of her spare time with it.
But now she feverishly looked out some of her old books--Pater's
"Studies," a volume of Huxley's Essays, "Shelley" and "Keats" in the
"Men of Letters" series. She borrowed two or three of the political
biographies with which Arthur's shelves were crowded, having all the
while, however, the dispiriting conviction that Lady Dunstable had
been dandled on the knees of every English Prime Minister since her
birth, and had been the blood relation of all of them, except perhaps Mr.
G., whose blood no doubt had not been blue enough to entitle him to
the privilege.
However, she must do her best. She kept these feelings and
preparations entirely secret from Arthur, and she saw the day of the
visit dawn in a mood of mingled expectation and revolt.

CHAPTER II
It was a perfect June evening: Doris was seated on one of the spreading
lawns of Crosby Ledgers,--a low Georgian house, much added to at
various times, and now a pleasant medley of pillared verandahs, tiled
roofs, cupolas, and dormer windows, apparently unpretending, but, as
many people knew, one of the most luxurious of English country
houses.
Lady Dunstable, in a flowing dress of lilac crêpe and a large black hat,
had just given Mrs. Meadows a second cup of tea, and was clearly
doing her duty--and showing it--to a guest whose entertainment could
not be trusted to go of itself. The only other persons at the tea-table--the
Meadowses having arrived late--were an elderly man with long
Dundreary whiskers, in a Panama hat and a white waistcoat, and a lady
of uncertain age, plump, kind-eyed, and merry-mouthed, in whom
Doris had at once divined a possible harbour of refuge from the terrors
of the situation. Arthur was strolling up and down the lawn with the
Home Secretary, smoking and chatting--talking indeed nineteen to the
dozen, and entirely at his ease. A few other groups were scattered over
the grass; while girls in white dresses and young men in flannels were
playing tennis in the distance. A lake at the bottom of the sloping
garden made light and space in a landscape otherwise too heavily
walled in by thick woodland. White swans floated on the lake, and the
June trees beyond were in their freshest and proudest leaf. A church
tower rose appropriately in a corner of the park, and on the other side of
the deer-fence beyond the lake a herd of red deer were feeding. Doris
could not help feeling as though the whole scene had been lately
painted for a new "high life" play at the St. James's Theatre, and she
half expected to see Sir George Alexander walk out of the bushes.
"I suppose, Mrs. Meadows, you have been helping your husband with
his lectures?" said Lady Dunstable, a little languidly, as though the heat
oppressed her. She was making play with a cigarette and her half-shut
eyes were fixed on the "lion's" wife. The eyes fascinated Doris. Surely
they were artificially blackened, above and below? And the lips--had

art been delicately invoked, or was Nature alone responsible?
"I copy things for Arthur," said Doris. "Unfortunately, I can't type."
At the sound of the young and musical voice, the gentleman with the
Dundreary whiskers--Sir Luke Malford--who had seemed half asleep,
turned sharply to look at the speaker. Doris too was in a white dress, of
the simplest stuff and make; but it became her. So did the straw hat,
with its wreath of wild roses, which she had trimmed herself that
morning. There was not the slightest visible sign of tremor in the young
woman; and Sir Luke's inner mind applauded her.
"No fool!--and a lady," he thought. "Let's see what Rachel will make of
her."
"Then you don't help him in the writing?" said Lady Dunstable, still
with the same detached air. Doris laughed.
"I don't know what Arthur would say if I proposed it. He never lets
anybody go near him when he's writing."
"I see; like all geniuses, he's dangerous on the loose." Was Lady
Dunstable's smile just touched with sarcasm? "Well!--has the success
of the lectures surprised you?"
Doris pondered.
"No," she said at last, "not really. I always thought Arthur had it in
him."
"But you hardly expected such a