Sir George Tressady, vol 2 | Page 5

his pessimist sense. Yet it did
not help him much at this juncture. At one moment he said to himself,
"eighteen months--she will live eighteen months," and at another,
"Battye was probably right; Barham took an unnecessarily gloomy
view--she may quite well last as long as the rest of us."
* * * * *
Suddenly he was startled by a movement beside him.
"The honourable member has totally misunderstood me," cried
Fontenoy, springing to his feet and looking eagerly towards the
Speaker.
The member who was speaking on the Government side smiled, put on
his hat, and sat down. Fontenoy flung out a few stinging sentences, was
hotly cheered both by his own supporters and from a certain area of the
Liberal benches, and sat down again triumphant, having scored an
excellent point.
George turned round to his companion.
"Good!" he said, with emphasis. "That rubbed it in!"
But when the man opposite was once more on his legs, labouring to

undo the impression which had been made, George found himself
wondering whether, after all, the point had been so good, and why he
had been so quick to praise. She would have said, of course, that it was
a point scored against common-sense, against humanity. He began to
fancy the play of her scornful eyes, the eloquence of her white hand
moving and quivering as she spoke.
How long was it--one hurried month only--since he had walked with
her along the river at Castle Luton? While the crowded House about
him was again listening with attention to the speech which had just
brought the protesting Fontenoy to his legs; while his leader was
fidgeting and muttering beside him; while to his left the crowd of
members round the door was constantly melting, constantly
reassembling, Tressady's mind withdrew itself from its surroundings,
saw nothing, heard nothing, but the scenes of a far-off London and a
figure that moved among them.
How often had he been with her since Castle Luton? Once or twice a
week, certainly, either at St. James's Square or in the East End, in spite
of Parliament, and Fontenoy, and his many engagements as Letty's
husband. Strange phenomenon--that little salon of hers in the far East!
For it was practically a salon, though it existed for purposes the Hôtel
Rambouillet knew nothing of. He found himself one of many there.
And, like all salons, it had an inner circle. Charles Naseby, Edward
Watton, Lady Madeleine Penley, the Levens--some or all of these were
generally to be found in Lady Maxwell's neighbourhood, rendering
homage or help in one way or another. It was touching to see that girl,
Lady Madeleine, looking at the docker or the shirtmaker, with her
restless greenish eyes, as though she realised for the first time what
hideous bond it is--the one true commonalty--that crushes the human
family together!
Well!--and what had he seen? Nothing, certainly, of which he had not
had ample information before. Under the fresh spur of the talk that
occupied the Maxwell circle he had made one or two rounds through
some dismal regions in Whitechapel, Mile End, and Hackney, where
some of the worst of the home industries to which, at last, after long

hesitation on the part of successive Governments, Maxwell's Bill was
intended to put an end, crowded every house and yard. He saw some of
it in the company of a lady rent-collector, an old friend of the Maxwells,
who had charge of several tenement blocks where the trouser and vest
trade was largely carried on; and he welcomed the chance of one or two
walks in quest of law-breaking workshops with a young inspector, who
could not say enough in praise of the Bill. But if it had been only a
question of fact, George would have felt when the rounds were done
merely an added respect for Fontenoy, perhaps even for his own party
as a whole. Not a point raised by his guides but had been abundantly
discussed and realised--on paper, at any rate--by Fontenoy and his
friends. The young inspector, himself a hot partisan, and knowing with
whom he had to deal, would have liked to convict his companion of
sheer and simple ignorance; but, on the contrary, Tressady was not to
be caught napping. As far as the trade details and statistics of this
gruesome slopwork of East London went, he knew all that could be
shown him.
Nevertheless, cool and impassive as his manner was throughout, the
experience in the main did mean the exchange of a personal for a paper
and hearsay knowledge. When, indeed, had he, or Fontenoy, or anyone
else ever denied that the life of the poor was an odious and miserable
struggle, a scandal to gods and men? What then? Did they make the
world and