The Hippodrome | Page 7

"A woman!" echoed the other. "Are you mad?"
"I conclude her to be a woman because of her clothes. Otherwise she
seems to be a mixture of a boy and wood-elf. The combination appears
to me to be a fascinating one. She is of good family, half Irish, speaks
three languages, asks no questions, and seems to have an extraordinary
capacity for holding her tongue. It is on that account that I questioned
her sex. Her appearance is excessively feminine. Of course I do not
propose to enrol her among us at once. As I have said before, there are
many ways in which a woman would be useful."
Sobrenski pulled doubtfully at his reddish, pointed beard. "Does she
know anything about the Cause?"
"I fancy not, but she appears to have the right ideas, and after I have

judiciously fanned the flame!--girls of that age are always wildly
enthusiastic over something--so she may as well devote her enthusiasm
to us."
CHAPTER III
"Out of the uttermost end of things On the side of life that is seamier,
There lies a land, so its poet sings, Whose people call it Bohemia.
"It is not old, it is not new, It is not false, it is not true, And they will
not answer for what they do, Far away in Bohemia." "Love in
Bohemia," DOLF WYLLARDE.
"I think," Arithelli said with deliberation, "that all your friends are very
fatiguing. They have such bad tempers, and do nothing but argue."
"They live for the serious things of life," retorted Emile. "Not to play
the fool."
"Thanks! Is this one of the serious things of life, do you suppose?" She
stuck the large needle with which she had been awkwardly cobbling a
tear in her skirt, into the seat of a chair.
"What are you doing that for?" demanded Emile.
"Oh, pardon, I forgot." She extracted the needle. "I don't think I'm
unwomanly but I'm not a good sewer. Emile! don't you think we might
have some music? I really am beginning to sing 'Le Rêve' quite well."
Her education in Anarchy had commenced with the teaching of
revolutionary songs. Emile, who was himself music-mad, had
discovered her to be possessed of a rough contralto voice of a curious
mature quality. It would have been an absurd voice for ballads in a
drawing-room, but it suited fiery declamations in praise of La Liberté!
They were sitting in Emile's room now, for they made use of each
other's lodgings alternately, and there was a battered and rather
out-of-tune piano. Sometimes, after the evening performance, there

would be a gathering of the conspirators, all more or less morose,
unshaven and untidy; and while Emile played for her, Arithelli would
stand in the middle of the room, her green eyes blazing out of her pale
face, her arms folded, singing with a fervour which surprised even her
teacher, the lovely impassioned "Rêve du prisonnier" of Rubinstein.
She was always pleased with her own performances, and not in the
least troubled with shyness. Also she was invariably eager to practise.
She shook down her skirt, went across to the piano and began to pick
out the notes.
"S'il faut, ah, prends ma vie. Mais rends-moi la liberté!"
Emile was sewing on buttons. Though he did not look in the least
domesticated, he was far more dexterous at such work than the
long-fingered Arithelli. In fact it was only at his suggestion that she
ever mended anything at all.
"Do you ever by chance realise what you are singing about?" he
demanded.
"Of course I do. I'm a red hot Socialist. I've read Tolstoi's books and
lots of others. I got in an awful scrape over political things just the little
time I was in Paris. It was when the Dreyfus case was on. Madame
Bertrand was terrified at the way I aired my opinions. You see politics
are so different abroad to what they are in England."
Emile agreed. The girl was developing even more than he had hoped.
"Ah! This is the first time I've ever heard about your political
opinions."
"You've never asked me before. One doesn't know everything about a
person at once."
Again Emile agreed. Then he said abruptly, "Well, if you have all these
ideas you'd better join the Cause."
"I'd love to! Shall I have to go to meetings with Sobrenski and all the

rest of them?"
"Probably. But you'll not be expected to talk. You may be told to do
some writing or carry messages."
"Is that all?" She seemed rather disappointed. Emile felt for a moment
almost inclined to develop scruples. She evidently regarded Anarchy at
large as a species of particularly exciting diversion.
"Who are the other women mixed up with it?" she asked.
"There are no other women. You should