Jaffery | Page 4

could he have
written this same epoch-making novel? Beyond doubt he was a clever
fellow. He had obtained a First Class in the Law Tripos and had done
well in his Bar examination. But after fourteen years or so he was
making twopence halfpenny per annum at his profession. He made
another three-farthings, say, by selling elegant verses to magazines. He
dined out a great deal and spent much of his time at country houses,
being a very popular and agreeable person. His other means of
livelihood consisted of an allowance of four hundred a year made him
by his mother. Beyond the social graces he had not distinguished
himself. And now--
"It is Adrian," cried my wife, bursting into the library. "I knew it was.
He has had several other glorious reviews which we haven't seen. Isn't
it splendid?"
Her eyes danced with loyalty and gladness. Now that I too knew it was
our Adrian I caught her enthusiasm.
"Splendid," I echoed. "To think of old Adrian making good at last! I'm
more than glad. Telephone at once, dear, for a copy of the book."

"Adrian is bringing one with him. He's coming down to dine and stay
the night. He said he had an engagement, but I told him it was rubbish,
and he's coming."
Barbara had a despotic way with her men friends, especially with
Adrian and Jaffery, who, each after his kind, paid her very pretty
homage.
"And now, I've got a hundred things to do, so you must excuse me,"
said Barbara--for all the world as if I had invited her into my library
and was detaining her against her will.
My reply was smilingly ironical. She disappeared. I returned to Hafiz.
Soon a bumble-bee, a great fellow splendid in gold and black and
crimson, blundered into the room and immediately made furious racket
against a window pane. Now I can't concentrate my mind on serious
things, if there's a bumble-bee buzzing about. So I had to get up and
devote ten minutes to persuading the dunderhead to leave the glass and
establish himself firmly on the piece of paper that would waft him into
the open air and sunlight. When I lost sight of him in the glad greenery
I again came back to my work. But two minutes afterwards my little
seven year old daughter, rather the worse for amateur gardening, and
holding a cage of white mice in her hand, appeared on the threshold,
smiled at me with refreshing absence of apology, darted in, dumped the
white mice on an open volume of my precious Turner Macan's edition
of Firdusi, and clambering into my lap and seizing pencil and paper,
instantly ordained my participation in her favourite game of "head,
body and legs."
An hour afterwards a radiant angel of a nurse claimed her for purposes
of ablution. I once more returned to Hafiz. Then Barbara put her head
in at the door.
"Haven't you thought how delighted Doria will be?"
"I haven't," said I. "I've more important things to think about."
"But," said Barbara, entering and closing the door with soft deliberation

behind her and coming to my side--"if Adrian makes a big success,
they'll be able to marry."
"Well?" said I.
"Well," said she, with a different intonation. "Don't you see?"
"See what?"
It is wise to irritate your wife on occasion, so as to manifest your
superiority. She shook me by the collar and stamped her foot.
"Don't you care a bit whether your friends get married or not?"
"Not a bit," said I.
Barbara lifted the Macan's Firdusi, still suffering the desecration of the
forgotten cage of white mice, onto my manuscript and hoisted herself
on the cleared corner of the table.
"Doria is my dearest friend. She did my sums for me at school,
although I was three years older. If it hadn't been for us, she and Adrian
would never have met."
"That I admit," I interrupted. "But having started on the path of crime
we're not bound to pursue it to the end."
"You're simply horrid!" she cried. "We've talked for years of the sad
story of these two poor young things, and now, when there's a chance
of their marrying, you say you don't care a bit!"
"My dear," said I, rising, "what with you and Adrian and a bumble-bee
and the child and two white mice, and now Doria, my morning's work
is ruined. Let us go out into the garden and watch the starlings resting
in the walnut trees. Incidentally we might discuss Doria and Adrian."
"Now you're talking sense," said Barbara.
So we went into the garden--and discussed the formation next autumn

of a new rose-bed.
* * * * *
By the afternoon train came Adrian, impeccably vestured and feverish
with excitement. Two