CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Joseph Whitmore Barry 
 dramatic library 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 TWO FRIENDS 
 
 OF Cornell University 
 1934 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 6027.E97H7 
 
 The home of the seven devils; a romance, b 
 
 3 1924 013 645 712 
 
B Cornell University 
 B Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013645712 
 
THE 
 
 HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 Novels 
 the red rosette 
 
 THE WIFE 
 
 THE SQUARE MILE 
 
 SPARROWS 
 
 THE LONELY LOVERS 
 
 CALICO JACK 
 
 THE SINS OP THE CHILDREN 
 
 THE SOCIALIST COUNTESS 
 
 the ealing miracle 
 
 pansy meares 
 
 a "young lady" 
 
 the home of the seven devils 
 
 Short Stories 
 living pictures 
 
 Plays 
 
 the journey's end 
 
 MR. FITZ W 
 
 A LABOUR OF LOVE 
 
 THE ETERNAL MASCULINE 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK 
 
 AN IDEAL 
 
 SEMIRAMIS 
 
 A STROKE OF BUSINESS 
 
 (WITH ARTHUR MORRISON) 
 
 FOUR DUOLOGUES 
 
THE HOME OF 
 THE SEVEN DEVILS 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 BY HORACE W. C. NEWTE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 "SPARROWS," "PANSY MEARES," "A ' YOnNG LADY,'" ETC. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 CHATTO isf WINDUS 
 
 1913 
 
 ^ t! 
 
THE 
 HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 FRIAR ANSELM 
 
 Friar Anselm sat in the refectory of the Franciscan 
 Convent of St. Bernardine at Ypres. 
 
 It was after the midday meal, of which he had eaten 
 little — an abstinence that had not been shared by many 
 of those who had sat down; and once again his thoughts 
 took the road they had been seeking all too often of late. 
 
 Just now, however, they were interrupted by the voices 
 of a priest and a student, who, with rags tied to the end of 
 short sticks, were washing up, in the kitchen near by, the 
 recently used crockery. This duty was performed in turn, 
 and it having been announced on the previous Friday that, 
 for the following week. Father Antony and Brother David 
 were lavabunt scutellas, the twain were hard at work, and, 
 according to custom, were alternately chanting verses of 
 the Miserere. 
 
 To-day the heat of the water scalded their fingers, and 
 gave rise to ejaculations of pain which were violently at 
 issue with the burden of the psalm. 
 
 For instance. Father Antony would recite: 
 
 " Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea: et a peccato meo 
 munda me," and cry: " Curse this confounded water !" 
 
 " Quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco : et pecca- 
 tum meum contra me est semper," chanted Brother 
 David, who added: " To blazes with who heated it !" 
 
 " Tibi soli peccavi et malum coram te feci: ut justi- 
 ficeris insermonibus tuis, et vincas cum judicaris." " Ten 
 
2 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. i 
 
 thousand devils ! It's got me again !" returned Father 
 Antony. 
 
 Their duties done, the voices ceased, and Friar Anselin 
 was sadly aware he was once more enabled to reflect in 
 peace — sadly, since he knew only too well that his tmquiet 
 thoughts were not of apiece with his vocation. 
 
 At recurring intervals, and for some time now, he had 
 been the victim of a depression that had ruthlessly fas- 
 tened upon his mind; under the influence of this melan- 
 choly his days seemed " flat, stale, and unprofitable," and 
 of no account whatsoever. 
 
 This morning he had been more than commonly weighed 
 down by this sense of the emptiness of things, and in 
 striving to make headway against this belief he felt he was 
 fighting a losing battle. 
 
 For no reason at all that he could see his heart was 
 bitter with discontent. On trs^ng his hardest to sweeten 
 his thoughts and direct them into orthodox channels, he 
 might have succeeded for a while, had not the sunUght 
 burst through the clouds that had withheld its glory and 
 rioted in the refectory and in the hidden places of Brother 
 Anseka's being. 
 
 He was imaginative and susceptible to intangible in- 
 fluences. After his coming to Ypres he had awakened 
 in the night, and it had seemed that the grass-grown 
 squares and streets of the once world-famous city had 
 again echoed to the tramp of the rival hosts of the Great 
 French King and the renowned British Captain ; that the 
 trumpet calls of these armies troubled the tumbled roofs. 
 
 Now it was springtime, and with a consciousness of 
 guilt Friar Anselm's quick fancy moved to remote lands 
 (he had noticed a like aberration in other years at this 
 season) where he would have liked to have been in the 
 flesh; and since this was impossible, he found himself 
 ■picturing the appearance and ways of their several in- 
 habitants. 
 
 Presently it turned towards England, and more par- 
 ticularly to the home of his youth, which had been in a 
 fold of the Sussex downs — downs now dotted with 
 islands of yeUow gorse . His mind's eye dwelt lovingly (still 
 with a sense of wrong-doing which somehow made the 
 
CH. I] FRIAR ANSELM 3 
 
 presentment the more vivid) on the spread of wind-swept 
 spaces; the woods in the hollows, which were now dis- 
 creetly gay with primroses and fragile anemones; and on 
 a spot he loved most of all, that was sweet with a long, 
 low mist of bluebells. He heard the song-thrushes in the 
 trees singing to their nesting mates; the stir of young life 
 in bush and hedgerow. Friar Ansehn stifled a sigh. 
 
 Next, he saw the interior of the home, with its rambling 
 staircases and surprising nooks, its panelled walls, and 
 old furniture; more than anything else, he was sensible 
 of the love that had made it a holy place. 
 
 His father was the late General QuUHan, V.C, D.S.O., 
 a distinguished. God-fearing soldier, a member of one of 
 England's old Roman Catholic families whose life had been 
 inspired by love of and duty to his country, that, in his 
 simple way, he had believed blessed by Providence for 
 high endeavour and noble ends. 
 
 He had married a fair woman, who was a fit mate for 
 himself. It had been a love match, and the only offspring 
 of their union had ever been deeply sensible of their abiding 
 tenderness for each other, which, as with a good fairy's 
 wand, had touched the ways he had walked at home. 
 
 Of an evening, and for so long as they had been spared 
 to each other, they had, if it were fine enough, walked in 
 the garden, and had watched the sunset with linked arms. 
 
 Friar Ansehn often recalled, as now, an old-fashioned 
 song his mother used to sing at the piano ; it was called 
 " Primrose Farm," and the first verse was as follows: 
 
 " She sat at quiet Primrose Farm 
 In the old oak parlour dim, 
 While out of the window one little arm 
 Leant down the flow'rs to trim. 
 He opened the wicket ; he loved her so : 
 He asked her his bride to be. 
 ' There was someone else,' she answered low ; 
 And her tears fell silently. 
 
 " For some must love, and some must wait ; 
 And some must find their love too late." 
 
 And as she sang this homespun sentiment the eyes of her 
 soldier husband, who had many times looked into the face 
 of death, would fill with tears. 
 
4 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. i 
 
 Friar Anselm reaching the age of fourteen, his mother 
 had died ahnost suddenly, and two months later had been 
 followed to her grave by her husband, who had pined 
 away at losing his dearly loved companion. 
 
 The boy, who had an unusual depth of affection for one 
 of his slender tale of years, had been much affected by his 
 loss, and in his extremity had come under the spell of one 
 of the Fathers at the Roman CathoKc school at which he 
 had been educated. He had eagerly listened to the pro- 
 mise of the spiritual joys provided for those who took 
 religious vows. 
 
 His impressionable nature had been influenced in spite 
 of himself, and the expediency of taking further thought 
 on such a momentous matter had been overborne by the 
 necessity of finding heahng for the wounds his double 
 bereavement had made in his heart. 
 
 He had spent the usual time in one of the " Seraphic " 
 seminaries, where he had done well and dehghted his 
 superiors by his diligence and docility. Following upon the 
 customary period of novitiate, he had taken vows at the 
 age of nineteen. 
 
 Friar Anselm' s thoughts incontinently wandered from 
 his home to the interests immediately about his birth- 
 place — to those who were watching sheep and tending 
 lambs in the fold; to men who were delving in the fields 
 or who went down to the sea in ships; to the many who 
 set about their business, their minds occupied with their 
 doings and the dear ones at home. 
 
 Some of these loved ones taking on the complexion of 
 those whom it was sin for the mind of such a one as Friar 
 Anselm to dwell upon, he, with something of an effort, 
 made his thoughts concern themselves with things of the 
 spirit. These appeared nebulous just now, and he wished 
 he were kneeling in his stall of the chapel where he spent 
 so many hours in prayer, praise, and meditation, and 
 where, more than any other place, he was all but free 
 from unseemly suggestion. 
 
 He crossed himself and prayed for succour, and in the 
 twinkling of an eye it was as though his prayer had been 
 heard. 
 
 His imagination surrounded him with the familiar 
 
CH. I] FRIAR ANSELM 5 
 
 chapel walls, which were pierced by world-famous stained- 
 glass windows. One of these, placed above the high altar, 
 contained a representation of that fair sister of the 
 Seraphim, St. Teresa, who had sought to suffer martyrdom 
 for the Faith: she was depicted as a coldly beautiful 
 woman. 
 
 He had often gazed with rapt adoration at this during 
 " Matins and Lauds," as the breaking of the day had, as it 
 were, slowly called her to life, and the newly risen sun had 
 suffused her with a greater glory; and had pleaded for her 
 intercession with the Most High. Now he again appeared 
 to dwell on the chastened nobility of her face, and even as 
 he did so the Prince of Evil was surely la3dng siege for 
 his soul, for, once more, and this time violently, his heart 
 was inclined to the ways of secular men and women. 
 
 Conscious of how he was erring and straying, Friar 
 Anselm once more bowed his head in prayer : he beseeched 
 forgiveness for his fault, and vowed amendment and 
 penance. 
 
 But although his spirit was wiUing enough, the flesh 
 was passing weak upon that April afternoon. 
 
 It was not that he was held by a barely acknowledged 
 desire for the material things of this life so much as by 
 certain other matters which of late had more or less fas- 
 tened on his mind. 
 
 For all the seclusion the monastery offered, echoes of 
 the outer world had reached his ears. Perhaps the most 
 considerable of these was the report that the position of 
 his native England was threatened by a redoubtable foe, 
 who was ruthlessly making preparations to depose her 
 from her high estate, and grasp in its mailed fist the sceptre 
 of the sea on which the hand that had held it so long ap- 
 peared to be weakening its hold. 
 
 Should he think on this dire possibility, in spite of the 
 nature of his vows, he was minded (it must have been his 
 father's blood in his veins) to bear no mean part in the 
 titanic struggle looming ahead, and to quit himself like a 
 man. 
 
 He had heard — and it had been spoken of by the better 
 informed among the Friars — that too many of his country- 
 men were either sunk in sloth or too engaged in the bitter 
 
6 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. i 
 
 struggle of bread-winning to give heed to those who fore- 
 told disaster unless a mighty effort were made, and that 
 fight speedily; that the politicians who had the ear of the 
 people were too intent on huckstering for votes and 
 occupjdng places of profit and influence to tell those to 
 whom they were responsible a tithe of the truth. 
 
 And as he pondered these things he was seized by a 
 longing for freedom, so that he might go into the by-ways 
 and hedges of industrial life, and with honesty of conviction 
 and singleness of purpose make unwiUing ears hearken. 
 
 Nor was this all. 
 
 There had also come to him a shadowy knowledge of the 
 unrest that was filling men's minds — an unrest which 
 menaced the foundations of social Ufe as it was, which 
 threatened to throw a civilization that was the result of 
 thousands of years of ceaseless effort into the melting- 
 pot, and destroy the ordered fabric of hfe. 
 
 In thinking of this contingency he did not condemn 
 off-hand those whose voices were a trifle loudly raised in 
 order to impeach the possession by the few for the undoing 
 of the many; he had an intuitive pity for, and sympathy 
 with, the dumb milhons who ploughed and sowed that 
 others might reap, and who laboured with the sweat of 
 their brow for those who did neither toil nor spin. 
 
 As it was with his desire to shed his blood in his 
 country's service, so it was with his acquaintance with 
 the existence of the widening gulf which separated the 
 haves from the have-nots. 
 
 He was eager in his present mood to seek out things for 
 himself, and, so far as he was able, to let all men know of 
 the duty one owed to another, since they were the spiritual 
 children of the One Supreme Father. 
 
 Even the impregnable rock on which his Church was 
 founded was not immune from peril, for he knew, from 
 the stoutness with which what was called " Modernism " 
 was combated, that the more liberal ecclesiastical doc- 
 trines for which it stood were percolating into the stone 
 on which the vast system of Roman belief had been 
 reared. 
 
 Now, as at other times when seized by worldly concerns, 
 he chafed at his impotence, and was minded to compare 
 
CH. I] FRIAR ANSELM 7 
 
 his present and future lot with the strenuous days which 
 might have been his. 
 
 From five in the morning, the hour he was awakened 
 by a friar knocking at his door with a wooden hammer 
 and greeting him with " Laudeter Jesus Christus " (to 
 this he responded more or less sleepily " Amen "), to the 
 time he went to rest in his meagrely furnished cell, the 
 day was filled by various sections of the " Office " per- 
 formed in chapel, and what all too often now appeared to 
 be pointless devotional exercises and meditations. 
 
 The only keen mental exercise he got was from the 
 academic debates which sometimes took place between 
 the representatives of other monasteries, and although in 
 these he more than held his own, he knew in his heart of 
 hearts that these discussions amounted to the finest of 
 hair-splitting and the most meticulous chopping of straws. 
 
 He was loth to admit, but was none the less aware, that, 
 on the whole, the monastic life presented great oppor- 
 tunities for idleness. As if to confirm this impression, he 
 glanced at those who were immediately about him in the 
 refectory. 
 
 They were good, well-meaning men of divers nation- 
 alities (French and Flemish predominated); despite the 
 fact that this was the time set apart for pious meditation, 
 many of them were dozing after their meal. 
 
 It seemed to Friar Ansehn, in his present inquiring 
 frame of mind, that here was a waste of sterling manhood; 
 and the thought thereupon occurred to him, and was 
 almost as quickly suppressed, that this lifelong seclusion 
 and devotion to things of the spirit in order to win 
 salvation in the Ufe to come, however praiseworthy it 
 might be, was in the nature of a cowardly shunning of 
 the rough and tumble of the world that seethed without 
 the monastery walls. 
 
 And if it were true that all wealth were the result of 
 labour, and of the consequent wearing down of the poor, 
 it followed that the most praiseworthy of religious houses 
 could not other than sustain the reproach of being para- 
 sitic. 
 
 Friar Anselm was seized with a knowledge of the sin- 
 fulness of such thoughts; he strove to put them away, 
 
8 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. i 
 
 and in so doing told himself that he was doubtless aU 
 wrong, and that were he free of the monastery, he would 
 speedily find out how mistaken he had been, and would 
 long to get back to the blessed peace of the friary. 
 
 But there lingered in his mind the reflection that he 
 wished he had not been taken so young. 
 
 The bell called him to " Vespers," and during this last 
 section of the "Office" his mind was bitter with self- 
 examination and self-reproaches for his unorthodox 
 leanings. 
 
 He was leaving the chapel for tea when he felt a touch 
 upon his shotilder. 
 
 He turned quickly, and saw one of the lay brothers 
 beside him. 
 
 " Father Anselm !" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The Guardian would have word with you." 
 
 " The Guardian I" exclaimed Friar Anselm in surprise. 
 
 " Even now. He awaits your coming." 
 
 Wondering what such an unexpected summons could 
 mean from the Superior of the monastery, and searching 
 his conscience for any sins of omission or commission he 
 might have committed, and for which he was to be 
 reproved. Friar Anselm hastened into the presence of 
 the Guardian, where, with bowed head, he reverently 
 knelt at his feet. 
 
 The Superior of the monastery was very large, very 
 fat, and had staring eyes, a big mouth, a rudely chiselled 
 nose, and looked hke a grossly carved heathen idol. 
 He was very able, very learned, very worldly-wise, and, 
 in spite of this capacity and knowledge, was deeply pious; 
 and was addicted to snuff. He commanded the love and 
 veneration of all who were committed to his charge. 
 
 Friar Anselm waited for his Superior to speak. 
 
 The latter laid his hand on the head of the kneeUng 
 figure, and said : 
 
 " My son !" 
 
 He was a master of many languages, and spoke in 
 French. 
 
 " My Father !" 
 
 " What is it that troubles thee ?" 
 
CH. I] FRIAR ANSELM 9 
 
 The more intimate personal pronoun by which he was 
 addressed gave Friar Ansehn heart. 
 
 " My Father !" he exclaimed, and with an inflection of 
 surprise in his voice. 
 
 " Seek not to conceal thy thoughts. I have watched 
 thee much of late, and have seen how you have been 
 sorely troubled." 
 
 Friar Ansehn lowered his head. 
 
 " Is it not so, my son ?" 
 
 " It is even so, my Father." 
 
 " Know you what it is ?" 
 
 " I fear it is a subtle device of the Evil One, my 
 Father." 
 
 " And a very old one at that. You are suffering, my 
 son, from an ailment of the mind that assails those Uke 
 ourselves who have taken vows to God, even as it attacks 
 those who live to gratify the flesh. Have you never 
 heard of ' Accidie ' ?" 
 
 And before Brother Ansehn could so much as reply, 
 the other went on : 
 
 " 'Tis a trouble known to medieval moralists. Cassian 
 and St. Thomas Aquinas have each of them much to say 
 of this ' Acedia,' to give it its Latin name. And this 
 sickness of the soul is by no means pecuUar to those 
 times. I myself have not altogether been free from it." 
 
 " My Father !" 
 
 The Guardian took a pinch of snuff and went on : 
 
 " It comes to all of us at some time in our Uves, 
 although, perhaps, with you it may take the form of 
 being the last cleaving to the world and its ways before 
 surrendering to the perfect peace which may be yours. 
 What think you, my son ?" 
 
 " It is even as you say, my Father. My soul has been 
 sick, and — and — ^my heart has sometimes clave to the 
 things of the flesh." 
 
 " 'Tis not altogether surprising, my son. Thou art 
 young, and come of a race to whom action is as the breath 
 of its nostrUs; and for all thy prayer, abstinence, and 
 fasting, perchance it is not this ' Accidie ' ; the Spring 
 may be in thy bleed, and urges thee to rebellion against 
 the lot that thou hast chosen !" 
 
10 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS \cji. i 
 
 For answer, Friar Anselm's head almost touched the 
 Guardian's feet. 
 
 '' Perchance I have read aright. And at such times 
 it is in thy heart to bear thy part amongst the children of 
 men. Is this not so, my son ?" 
 
 " It is so, my Father. I confess my fault, and will 
 strive to make amends, and will do even as thou dost 
 command." 
 
 " Nay !" 
 
 " My Father !" 
 
 " Nay, nay !" 
 
 " Didn't thou say " 
 
 " It is weU." 
 
 " My Father !" 
 
 "It is well. And if you will give me heed, I will 
 explain. Listen weU to all I have to say, and after you 
 have left me, ponder deeply on what I shaU have told you." 
 
 Friar Ansehn wondered if he had heard aright; he 
 waited with all his ears to learn the nature of the tidings 
 the Guardian had for him — tidings which, apparently, 
 did away with the necessity of doing penance for his sin. 
 
 The good Guardian took another pinch of snuff, and 
 presently said : 
 
 " 'Tis well thy heart incUnes to the world of men — 
 and in this we see the aU-wise hand of Providence — for 
 if, after prayer and meditation, you resolve to follow a 
 road that you may be permitted to tread, thou canst 
 have thy fill and more of the ways of the unrighteous." 
 
 " Even so, my Father, I will follow thy counsel." 
 
 " Know you the name of Fowler-Fenning ?" 
 
 " He was my father's first cousin, my Father." 
 
 " A man of great substance and a devout Catholic ?" 
 
 " Even so, my Father." 
 
 " He is dead; and by a chapter of accidents, you, my 
 son, inherit his estate." 
 
 " My Father !" 
 
 " I have said." 
 
 " Thou knowest full well I can hold no goods or wealth. 
 What I have, thou hast, my Father, and the Brethren 
 of our Order." 
 
 " Not in this case, for the property is entailed," de- 
 
CH. I] FRIAR ANSELM ii 
 
 dared the Guardian, and with a justifiable suggestion of 
 regret in his voice. 
 
 " Then, my Father, I can renounce my inheritance, and 
 it can be bestowed on him who comes next in blood." 
 
 " That cannot be." 
 
 '' My Father !" 
 
 " That cannot be, and 'tis why I have sent for thee. 
 If you give up that which is rightly yours, the money — 
 and it is much, as such things are counted by those who 
 value that which moth and rust doth corrupt — goes to 
 thy cousin, John Avondale. He is a declared enemy of 
 the Church, and all the good works thy late cousin's 
 piety planted and watered with his beneficence would be 
 as a thing of naught; and in these days of the Devil's 
 quickened activities, 'twould be a grievous thing if his 
 hands were strengthened for evil." 
 
 " Then what do you command, my Father ?" 
 
 " Thy and my Superiors at Rome have taken counsel 
 on the matter, and it is their desire that thou shouldst 
 take what Providence has given into thy keeping — 
 always provided thou canst adjust such acceptance with 
 thy conscience — and use it for the honour of the Church 
 and the glory of God and the Blessed Virgin." 
 
 Friar Anselm crossed himself. A moment or two later, 
 the Guardian hastUy did likewise, before saying : 
 
 " And if you resolve to depart, it would be your duty to 
 live as other men; and seek in marriage a good Catholic 
 wife, and bring into the world and rear a famUy of pious 
 Catholic offspring." 
 
 Friar Anselm's heart involuntarily leapt at sight of 
 freedom: ashamed of his temporality, he cried: 
 
 " I should never leave you, my Father, and the life I 
 have chosen." 
 
 " Not in the service of the Church ?" 
 
 " My Father !" 
 
 " The life that would be yours for such a one as thou 
 art, my son, would be no light pilgrimage, but a narrow 
 path bestrewn with the obstacles the wicked would throw 
 in thy way. It would be set with deep pitfalls, many 
 snares, and if you obtained that for which you went 
 thither, I doubt not but that it would not be until after 
 
12 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVlLb \cii. i 
 
 thy heart had been grievously bruised, and that, a 
 thousand times, thou wouldst wish thyself here again." 
 
 " Is that so, my Father ?" 
 
 " It is so; and dost know why ?" 
 
 " TeU me, my Father." 
 
 " For all the good counsel I would give thee, thou 
 wouldst be attracted by fair women even as the moth is 
 attracted by the candle; and the heart of a beautiful 
 woman is the most loved hiding-place of at least seven 
 devUs." 
 
 Friar Anselm was moved to remonstrance. 
 
 " My mother was a beautiful woman," he said. 
 
 " She was a very good Catholic," came the quick 
 response. " No, my son, and I speak as one who knows 
 only too weU of the devious ways of men: avoid fair 
 women as thou wouldst the Powers of Darkness, and 
 wouldst save thy soul alive, for, as I said, such are not 
 for such a one as thou art. VerUy they are the whitest 
 of sepulchres, and are for the lewd, the base, the froward ; 
 and they love these because like ever seeks like; and, as 
 I told thee, the hearts of such women are wholly bad." 
 
 A short silence was broken by the Guardian, who con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " Should you elect to leave us, my son, for the honour 
 of the Church, I doubt not but that you will endeavour 
 to do many good works. Seek not to do too much, for 
 if you pluck but one brand from the burning, you will 
 do well." 
 
 " So little, my Father !" 
 
 " So much, my son. And if you decide to go, we will 
 talk much before you depart; but" — here he took a 
 further pinch of snuff — " but the mate thou shouldst 
 seek should be one of the Marthas of this world, rather 
 than a Mary; one who is devoted to her father, if she has 
 one living — who is, of covirse, pious, and, above aU, one 
 who is a good cook, for such a one has a heart of purest 
 gold." 
 
 " If — if I go, I will bear in mind thy words, my 
 Father." 
 
 " Until thou seest one of the Devil's handmaidens, and 
 then thou wUt be utterly undone, for, as I told thee, at 
 
CH. I] FRIAR ANSELM 13 
 
 least seven devils will lurk in her heart. And in such 
 case I would urge on thee cold water, prayer, abstinence — 
 and above all, cold water. Go now, my son, and ponder 
 all I have said to thee." 
 
 " Thy blessing, my Father, before I go." 
 
 The blessing given. Friar Anselm quitted the Guardian's 
 presence; it did not once occur to him that the taking of 
 his freedom had been looked on as a foregone conclusion. 
 
 And any doubts Friar Anselm may have had of the 
 wisdom of forsaking the monastery were practically 
 decided upon his next visit to the chapel on the following 
 morning for "Matins and Lauds"; for after he had 
 knelt and prayed, his eyes sought the coldly beautiful 
 face of St. Teresa above the high altar. 
 
 The dawn had once more, as it were, called her to life, 
 and as he looked, the newly risen sun suffused her with its 
 glory; not only with this, for to-day it appeared to endow 
 her with a sweet humanity which warmed the blood in 
 her veins and thawed her austerity. 
 
 She, also, it seemed, regretted the lot she had chosen; 
 and since Friar Anselm was of the same mind, he looked 
 upon the appeaUng alteration as a sign that he would do 
 well to follow the hankerings of his heart, and shift for 
 himself among the daughters of men. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 " A WHITED SEPULCHRE " 
 
 Paul Quillian stood on the Admiralty Pier at Dover. 
 
 His tall, slightly stooping form was clad in the handi- 
 work of a Belgian tailor; and whilst his fellow-passengers 
 were stragghng through the Custom House (a porter was 
 doing what was necessary with his meagre belongings, 
 which were packed in a little canvas trunk), his eyes 
 eagerly drank in the spread of sea and sky. 
 
 It was a clear spring day, and the youth of the year 
 got into his blood and made it dance in his veins. He was 
 somewhat ashamed of this mere joy of living, since such 
 was at issue with the ecclesiastical precepts he had 
 imbibed for so long; but in a very little while he was held 
 by the profusion of blue, and this — ^what he would have 
 called " weakness " in his more normal moments — was 
 assisted by the fact of his mind more or less revelling in 
 his newly gained freedom. 
 
 He had taken heartfelt farewells of the kind, wise 
 Guardian and the Brothers before setting out, and in 
 walking to the station he had been not a Uttle moved by 
 the medieval suggestions of the vast butter-market, the 
 time-worn streets of Ypres. He regretted the step he 
 had taken, and was not a little fearful of the snares that 
 awaited him in the new world he was entering, and of 
 which he was pitifully ignorant; and it would not have 
 taken much to make him turn back and seek shelter in 
 the protecting walls of the monastery that had been his 
 home for so long. 
 
 A sight of the stout old walls which Vauban had erected 
 at the bidding of his august Master, however, had 
 awakened his interest, before serving to reproach him 
 
 14 
 
CH.ii] "A WHITED SEPULCHRE" i5 
 
 for being weak where he should have been of good courage ; 
 and as the train had crawled across the many miles of 
 South Flanders on its way to Bruges, where he woiild 
 wait for the boat train to Ostend, his zest for the great 
 adventure which lay directly ahead had increased in 
 proportion with the tale of distance separating him from 
 Ypres and the significance it possessed. 
 
 He had had over an hour to wait at Bruges. Leaving 
 his trunk in the cloakroom, he had repaired to the 
 cathedral near by, where he had prayed for grace and 
 succour in case of need. 
 
 On boarding the boat that would take him to England, 
 he at first had been shyly interested in what had hitherto 
 been practically an unknown genus of his species; but 
 force of habit had urged him to avoid their presence, 
 so he had engaged a cabin, where he had read and pon- 
 dered a favourite chapter in his beloved St. Thomas k 
 Kempis. 
 
 It was Chapter XLII. which had been the burden of his 
 meditations. 
 
 " A Christian must devote himself entirely to God 
 before he can be happy." 
 
 " Lose thy life, and thou shalt find it. Forsake thyself, 
 and thou shalt possess Me. Esteem and possess nothing, 
 and thou shalt enjoy aU Things. For I wiU recompence 
 thee with greater Treasrures, and infinitely increase thy 
 Store, when thou hast made over into My Hands aU that 
 thou hast and art." 
 
 His gladness in his newly found hberty had been 
 shghtly damped by the thoughts to which the above and 
 foUowing passages had given rise. 
 
 He was rich with possessions that in contrast with his 
 previous poverty seemed to put him without the reach of 
 the most sordid avarice, and he had had an instinctive 
 belief that shotild he be successful in the search on which 
 he had embarked it would bring him an abiding measure 
 of happiness. It had then been brought home to him 
 that he would never win fehcity, and since, according to 
 St. Thomas a Kempis, the road he had elected to travel 
 promised to lead to desert places, he consoled himself 
 by thinking that, after aU said and done, a secular life 
 
i6 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. ii 
 
 was a bitter pilgrimage, and that, whatsoever might befall, 
 he must endure patiently, gladly, inasmuch as he was 
 adventuring in the service of Mother Church. 
 
 Now he stood on the pier; forgetful of the tonsure on 
 his head, which he would fain conceal from the dwellers 
 in a heretic land, he held his hat in his hand. 
 
 The wind laved his face and hair with caresses; the 
 sunlight shone in his heart; the racy smeU of the sea was 
 pleasing to his nostrils; and for the time being the hesita- 
 tions that had troubled him were more and more forgotten : 
 he only knew it was good to be alive. 
 
 He was careless of the passage of time, and was pnly 
 recalled to a sense of the immediate present by the voice 
 of the porter, who had seen to his things in the Customs. 
 
 " Going by this train, sir ?" 
 
 Quillian turned, and looked at the man with dazed 
 eyes. 
 
 " If you are, sir, she's just off. Couldn't find you 
 before." 
 
 " Thank you for reminding me." 
 
 He followed the porter until they reached the length of 
 carriages, where the latter said : 
 
 " What class, sir ?" 
 
 " First. Try and find me an empty carriage." 
 
 " I'll try, sir. But it's rather late, and there's so many 
 crossing to-day." 
 
 While the porter searched for an empty compartment 
 Quilhan hastened to the bookstall, where he asked for and 
 could not obtain a Dublin Review. In order to get 
 acquainted with the happenings of his new world, he 
 bought a lot of daily papers and illustrated journals. The 
 porter's voice again sounded in his ear. 
 
 " Very sorry, sir, all the carriages is full." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Any more going on ?" shouted the guard. 
 
 Quillian was irked by the business-Uke promptitude of 
 things as he was finding them; these were in sad contrast 
 with the more than leisurely doings in the monastery. 
 
 " Anjrwhere will do," he said. 
 
 " Smoking, sir ?" 
 
 '•' Not smoking." 
 
CH. II] "A WHITED SEPULCHRE " 17 
 
 " Here you are, sir. Be quick; she's just off." 
 
 Quillian handsomely tipped the porter, scrambled into 
 the carriage, and on taking his seat saw that the farther 
 corner was filled by a richly dressed woman. 
 
 His iirst thought was to fly the carriage, but the train 
 was already on the move, and he had to stay where he 
 was. He took up the first journal which came to hand, 
 and held it before unseeing eyes. 
 
 Two notions regarding women were at issue in his 
 mind. The more considerable was that which had been 
 cultivated from the earliest days of his association with 
 the Roman Church — this, that even as Eve had tempted 
 and led astray the progenitor of the human race, it was so 
 designed that her sex was to be a snare to the unwary, and 
 one of the Powers of Darkness's most trusted allies to 
 lead man into sinful ways and to make him forfeit his 
 chances of salvation. 
 
 Set against this were dim recollections of his mother 
 and her few female friends; they were all good women, 
 and try as he might, he could not condemn a whole sex 
 off-hand ; moreover, a sex that included such as these. 
 
 Deep down in Paul Quillian' s heart was also a barely 
 acknowledged conviction that for each man who was 
 worthy to be loved there existed a woman who would be 
 as a steadfast beacon-light in the stormy passage of life ; 
 who, beyond being his counsellor and friend in time of 
 need, would not only be his very complement, but the 
 mother of his children; and thoughts of the hitherto un- 
 looked-for human happiness which he was out to seek, 
 and hoped to find, bestowed a magical sweetness on the 
 quest for which he had left the seclusion of the monastery. 
 
 He dwelled for a while on the possibilities which, with 
 the blessing of Providence, might become facts. In so 
 doing he happened to lower the sixpenny journal he had 
 held before his face. The next moment he believed that 
 the woman in the farther corner was glancing in his 
 direction. He at once involuntarily raised the Sketch in 
 order to shield himself from what his ecclesiastical train- 
 ing stigmatized as contamination. 
 
 Once more his fancies dwelt in the pleasant places of 
 this world — pleasant places which owe their enchantment 
 
i8 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. ii 
 
 to a woman's magic influence— until he was pulled up 
 short at recalling his parting from the good Guardian. 
 
 QuiUian's spiritual Father had been loth to say farewell 
 to one he truly loved ; he had been hard put to it to 
 restrain his emotion. 
 
 He had taken many pinches of snuff ; had again told the 
 adventurer that, if his hopes met with shipwreck, there 
 was always the old peace awaiting him in the ceU he had 
 left; and had said: " My son, I love thee, and it is hard 
 to part. But once more let me warn thee against the 
 seven devils that lurk in a fair woman' s heart . Love such 
 a one at your peril, for you wiU be consumed in unquench- 
 able torments." 
 
 And after the Guardian had given his last blessing in 
 an unsteady voice, he had blown his nose, and added : 
 
 " Succeed in plucking but one brand from the burning, 
 and you will do weU. And in the day of temptation, 
 my son, do not forget prayer, abstinence, and cold 
 water. But, above all, cold water." 
 
 QmlHan's eye was attracted by the stretch of country- 
 side which was visible through the window at his elbow. 
 The sight of pasture, hedgerow, and trees seemed to re- 
 spond to something in his blood; he reproached himself for 
 his lack of eagerness to see something of the England from 
 which he had been separated so long. 
 
 And for a while his senses were intoxicated with the 
 thought of being again in the land of his birth ; so much 
 was he moved that he looked with tender eyes on 
 the beasts of the field the train passed in its swift 
 progress. 
 
 It occurred to him that he was neglecting to cultivate a 
 very necessary knowledge of the life he was entering, and 
 opened at random one of the publications he had bought. 
 He was shocked at catching sight of the scantily-dad 
 comehness of a musical comedy actress, and sharply 
 closed the journal. In so doing he was uncomfortably 
 aUve to the fact of his proximity to another daughter of 
 Eve. 
 
 He was minded to look at the newspapers, but reflected 
 that if it were incumbent on him to pick up as soon as 
 may be information of current happenings, how much 
 
CH.ii] "A WHITED SEPULCHRE" 19 
 
 more it was necessary for him to learn something of that 
 unknown quantity, woman ! 
 
 A little later, and with considerable searchings of con- 
 science, he was furtively looking at the other occupant 
 of the compartment. 
 
 Not for long, for almost immediately he saw a pair of 
 attractive dark eyes meeting his. 
 
 Once more he withdrew his curiosity and shielded him- 
 self behind a newspaper, which this time was the Daily 
 Mail : he was ashamed of his forwardness, and the more 
 so since it had been discovered. 
 
 The glance he had taken of his travelling companion 
 was enough to teU him that, so far as appearances went, 
 she was one of those whom his late spiritual Father had 
 classified as " whited sepulchres." She was by no means 
 in her first youth; was not, on the face of it, strikingly 
 beautiful; yet there was something appealingly feminine 
 about her which allured QuiUian in spite of his intuitive 
 knowledge that the Guardian would have strongly dis- 
 approved of his interest in her. 
 
 He wished once more that he had not idled precious 
 minutes in woolgathering on the pier at Dover, so that he 
 might have journeyed in another carriage. 
 
 He sought to set his mind on the contents of the news- 
 sheet, and his nostrils were conscious of a subtle aroma 
 begotten of purple and fine linen or of some rare scent. 
 It was certainly embarrassing to be brought into contact 
 with such a one on his first entry into his new Ufe, and 
 more particularly was this the case since he was aware 
 she was repeatedly glancing at him. 
 
 Then he was almost startled out of his wits by her 
 addressing him (she spoke in a low and modulated voice), 
 and saying : 
 
 " Would you very much mind opening one of the win- 
 dows ?" 
 
 The blood coloured his ascetic face. 
 
 " I — I beg your pardon," he stammered, and she re- 
 peated her request. 
 
 He ptilled himself together, and replied: 
 
 " Certainly not. Which ?" 
 
 " You might feel the draught. This one, near me." 
 
20 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. n 
 
 He did as he was bid, and somewhat clumsily. 
 
 " Thank you so much; it is good of you," she said. 
 
 Their eyes met, and he saw that hers would be very 
 large if she fully opened them, and that lights slumbered 
 in their depths. 
 
 The jolting of the train constrained him to seat himself 
 in the middle of the seat. He was edging away to his 
 corner, and she said : 
 
 " You can smoke if you want to." 
 
 " Thank you, I don't smoke." 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 " Very rarely." 
 
 A short silence was broken by her absently asking: 
 
 " Doesn't everyone smoke ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 " I am sorry to be so ignorant; but I am." 
 
 She gave him a swift, appraising glance with wider 
 opened eyes before sapng : 
 
 " Going far ?" 
 
 " London." 
 
 " I've come from Brussels." 
 
 Her voice and manner held a weariness that disarmed 
 the suspicion that she was trjdng to pump him, and im- 
 pelled his quick sympathies in her direction. 
 
 " I have come from Ypres," he told her. 
 
 " Ypres !" 
 
 " In South Flanders." 
 
 " I know it well." 
 
 " You do ?" 
 
 " That is to say, I was there ever so many years ago, 
 and something happened which I shall never forget." 
 
 " Indeed !" he returned, and with an inflection of 
 surprise in his voice. 
 
 " I was with friends, but I went out one dark evening 
 alone ; the dreariness of the place appealed to me, 
 and " 
 
 " Yes ?" as she paused. 
 
 " It's all so trivial it's not worth teUing." 
 
 " I should hke to hear," he returned. 
 
 " Are you French ?" she asked quickly. 
 
CH.ii] "A WHITED SEPULCHRE" 21 
 
 '' EngUsh." 
 
 " You look English. But you speak — where was I ? 
 Yes, I went out alone in the deserted, dark streets, and 
 presently lost my way." 
 
 ;; You did ?" 
 
 " And found myself by a very old church in a by-street ; 
 it was surrounded by tall trees." 
 
 II St. Martin's ?" 
 
 " You know it ?" 
 
 I' Well." 
 
 " The leaves were rustling ever so sadly in the wind, 
 andjjrought home to me that nothing — nothing whatever 
 mattered the least bit, since the end of everything was a 
 mouldy church and a dirge of stirring leaves. It quite 
 frightened me; I was glad to get away; and although it 
 happened very many years ago I have never quite for- 
 gotten it." 
 
 " But surely it could not have been so many years ago," 
 returned Quillian artlessly — her face appeared younger 
 while she spoke. 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 'I Well " 
 
 " How old do you think I am ?" she asked bluntly. 
 
 " I could not tell you." 
 
 " Guess." 
 
 " I am unable." 
 
 '' ' Unable ' !" 
 
 " I know so little of women." 
 
 'I Indeed !" 
 
 " I have not spoken to a woman for a great number of 
 years," he gravely told her. 
 
 " Not ?" she returned, and somewhat aroused from her 
 listlessness. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then " 
 
 " I have just left a monastery." 
 
 " At Ypres ?" 
 
 " Yes. St. Bemardine. Do you know it ?" 
 
 " I have seen it. Holiday ?" 
 
 " I have left for good." 
 
 The next moment he regretted he had not curbed his 
 
22 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. ii 
 
 tongue, and put down his garrulity to the influence of 
 one or more of the devils that, in the gospel according to 
 the Guardian, lurked in every attractive woman's heart. 
 Notwithstanding this apprehension, there was no gain- 
 saying the common sympathy of the two who were 
 traveUing together; but doubtless, reflected Quillian, this 
 was a means of clouding his understanding. 
 
 He was aware of an increase of interest in the woman 
 almost facing him. Her listlessness fell from her as 
 might a cloak, and with this loss of diffidence was an 
 animation that made her the more appealing. 
 
 " How interesting !" she remarked. 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " At least, it is to me. It's aU so different from the 
 men I meet." 
 
 Her eyes rarely left his face, and he looked on the 
 ground, where he was distressed by her little shoes and 
 the merest glimpse of black silk openwork stockings. 
 
 " I thought you unusual when you got into the carriage, 
 and, you see, I wasn't wrong. May I ask where you are 
 going to stay ?" 
 
 " At a hotel near the station for a few days." 
 
 " The Grosvenor ?" 
 
 " I — I suppose so." 
 
 A few moments' silence was broken by her saying : 
 
 " What are you going to do with your life ?" 
 
 With anyone else he might have resented this inquisi- 
 tion; somehow his native humility was flattered by the 
 questioning of such a comely woman. 
 
 " Many things." He half smiled. 
 
 " Convert the ungodly ?" 
 
 " Scarcely that." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it." 
 
 Quillian opened his eyes, and his heart sank. 
 
 " It's uphill work nowadays," she went on. 
 
 " If that is so, the greater would be the merit." 
 
 " Tell me — but don't answer if you don't want to — 
 will you have to work ?" 
 
 "Work?" 
 
 " To live ?" 
 
 " I have more than enough," he told her; and directly 
 
CH. II] " A WHITED SEPULCHRE " 23 
 
 he had spoken he was subtly aware that she was in some 
 measure disappointed. 
 
 " I'm sorry." 
 
 " Sorry !" 
 
 " For you." 
 
 " May I ask why ?" 
 
 " I suppose you will think me impertinent and curious, 
 and all that sort of thing, presuming to ask you questions ; 
 and there are things I should like to say, but — but " 
 
 " Yes ?" 
 
 " The circmnstances all seem so out of the way, and 
 you seem so different from anyone I have ever met, that 
 advice from a worldly woman who is so much older than 
 you may be of use." 
 
 " It is very kind of you," he returned, and, in spite of 
 himself, drew nearer to the other. 
 
 " I suppose you want to be happy ?" 
 
 " If it is justifiable happiness," 
 
 " We're nearing town, or I would tell you of the 
 dangers and perils you will meet with from all sorts and 
 conditions of women, who will be after your money." 
 
 " You tell me that !" he cried in astonishment. 
 
 " Why not ?" she calmly rejoined. 
 
 " You warn me against your own sex !" 
 
 " All women hate each other, and " 
 
 « But " 
 
 " And most of them are so base, it takes one to see 
 through another. Have I surprised you ?" 
 
 " Much." 
 
 " Ah ! It only tells me how easily you will be de- 
 ceived. But it is with regard to winning so-called happi- 
 ness that I would advise you." 
 
 " You say ' so-called ' !" 
 
 " There is no such thing." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " No. What joy in life that there is lies in the pursuit 
 of it; directly we believe it to be won, it ceases to in- 
 terest us." 
 
 " But surely " 
 
 " Let me finish. I suppose you will take up things ?" 
 
 " I've made no plans." 
 
24 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. ii 
 
 "Anyone who has anything in them always does. 
 And if I may advise you, go very, very slowly. The 
 keener one's impressions, the sooner one goes through 
 things, and if one goes too fast, the sooner one reaches the 
 great loneliness." 
 
 " The great lonehness ?" he queried. 
 
 " Complete, unutterable boredom with everyone and 
 everything." 
 
 There flashed into Quillian's mind the recollection of 
 all the Guardian had said to him regarding the disease 
 of the soul called " Accidie," from which even those who 
 had taken vows were not free, and he said : 
 
 " I know what that is." 
 
 " You know ?" 
 
 " It is ' Accidie,' an ailment of the soul which affects 
 the worldly." 
 
 " I've never heard of it." 
 
 " It was well known to the early Fathers. St. Thomas 
 Aquinas and " 
 
 " Please, please !" she interrupted, and with a charming 
 gesture of protest. " Whatever it is, it is there, and all 
 the talking in the world won't alter it." 
 
 " But surely you " 
 
 " I'm speaking impersonally," she interrupted almost 
 sharply. 
 
 "Then surely everyone — most men and women have 
 the consolations of religion." 
 
 " Of what ! Did you say religion ?" 
 
 " I did. Have they not ?" 
 
 " Y-yes." 
 
 " You hesitate." 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Then " 
 
 " That you must find out for yourself," she said almost 
 sadly. 
 
 Her words, her angle of vision, depressed him; he was 
 lost in uneasy thought imtil she said : 
 
 " I am sorry." 
 " You are !" 
 
 " But I am doing you a kindness you may one day 
 appreciate." 
 
CH.II] "A WHITED SEPULCHRE" 25 
 
 "And, after all," she said a little later, "you may 
 have better luck than most. You may tumble on your 
 feet all your days; and I devoutly hope you wiU." 
 
 As an after-thought, she added: "I'm afraid you 
 won't." 
 
 " Why afraid ?" 
 
 " You don't seem wonderfully armed for a contest 
 with a beastly world which takes every advantage of 
 innocence and good nature." 
 
 " There is always my faith," he said simply. 
 
 She all but made a g^ture of protest. 
 
 "And I can't beheve that the wa3rs of life are as 
 barren as you would lead me to think." 
 
 " I wish they were not, for yoiu: sake." 
 
 " Surely there is happiness to be found in simple 
 things!" 
 
 " What is in your mind ?" 
 
 " Love of nature, love of one's kind, love of friends, 
 and — and " 
 
 " Go on," she said, with a bitter smile. 
 
 " Love of some " 
 
 " Stop !" 
 
 « But " 
 
 "There is no such thing," she said, and with a sur- 
 prising decision in one who of a surety was desirable in 
 the eyes of men. 
 
 " No such thing ?" 
 
 "As the love of man for woman and of woman for 
 man which you may have in your mind. It may exist 
 occasionally — very, very occasionally — in one of them. 
 There is no such thing." 
 
 He looked at her with big, troubled eyes, and she said, 
 after a moment or two: 
 
 " We are almost in London, and I've already said 
 enough to depress you. And perhaps I've also depressed 
 mysdf, which serves me right." 
 
 She half sighed, and turned to stare with unseeing 
 eyes at the wilderness of roofs and chimney-pots. QuiUian 
 did the same. 
 
 He had looked forward to the approach of London with 
 the curiosity of one who is burning to learn aU he can 
 
26 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ca. ii. 
 
 of a new environment; now he had only thought for the 
 warning that had fallen from his companion's red lips. 
 Coupled with this wels a desire to soothe the distresses 
 from which it was evident she suffered with spiritual con- 
 solation, but somehow he was regretfully sensible that 
 such would fall on deaf ears : her's was an undoubted case 
 of " Accidie " with which only the wise Guardian could 
 deal. 
 
 The stopping of the train for the collection of tickets 
 interrupted his cogitations; and after the guard had 
 opened and shut the carriage door, she said, and with 
 a return to her former Ustlessness : 
 
 " Here is my card, if ever you care about seeing me 
 again." 
 
 Quillian took it ; the other went on : 
 
 " I go out a lot, and hate it; but I shall always be in 
 to you if you write or telephone. Here we are, and I'd 
 drive you if you were going any distance." 
 
 " Thank you," was all he said. 
 
 Upon the train stopping, she rose to her feet, and he 
 was surprised she was not so tall as he had believed her 
 to be. He would have opened the carriage door, but 
 was anticipated by a man in livery, who touched his hat 
 to his mistress. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said, " and thank you." 
 
 " What for ?" 
 
 " Interesting a weary woman. Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye," he returned. 
 
 " And look me up some day." 
 
 He watched the footman escort her to a finely ap- 
 pointed motor-car. A minute or two later, he was fol- 
 lowing the porter, who carried the trunk that shamelessly 
 advertized its foreign manufacture, to the hotel. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 LONDON 
 
 " Any more luggage, sir ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 Quillian was conscious of a loss of esteem on the part 
 of the hotel attendants on account of his meagre be- 
 longings, and ascended by the lift to the fourth floor bed- 
 room which had been allotted to him, where the formal 
 appointments seemed in the nature of indulgence if com- 
 pared to the bare necessities of the monastery cell he 
 had left. 
 
 Directly he was alone, he unpacked his trunk (this did 
 not take very long), refreshed himself with a wash, and 
 then sat on the bed in order to take stock of his impres- 
 sions, which, over and beyond the confusion set up in 
 his mind by the hurry and scurry of the railway terminus, 
 were mostly taken up with the woman he had spoken 
 with in the train. 
 
 He had had no business, he told himself, to strike up 
 a chance acquaintance, and with a member of a sex with 
 regard to whom he had ever to be on his guard. He 
 had been weak where he should have been strong, and 
 had succumbed at the first assault of the tempter. 
 
 And, worst of aU, he had liked her, and could not deny 
 they had been drawn together by a common sympathy — 
 this in spite of her being a worldly woman, and one 
 whom the Guardian, out of his wide knowledge, would 
 probably have given short shrift. 
 
 The first effect of his self-examination was to fill him 
 with apprehension concerning other women he should 
 meet, and this set him wondering if they, too, and more 
 particularly those whose eyes were blinded to the higher 
 things of life, would prove equally alluring. 
 
 27 
 
28 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. ill 
 
 He could not forget that she had as good as hinted 
 she would like to see him again, sind he resolved to put 
 her out of his mind as soon as may be; but before he 
 went downstEiirs he pulled out the card on which was 
 written : 
 
 Mrs. RAYMOND CHATILLON 
 
 23<i, Hill Street, W. Hilton Court, Hilton, Somerset. 
 
 " Married and, of course, a woman of means," he re- 
 flected. " Doubtless one of those who lead butterfly lives." 
 
 He was minded to tear it up. Upon its occurring to 
 him that commonplace distractions would not appeal to 
 her at all, and that she was a sufferer from a bad attack 
 of " Accidie," he put it carefully away. He did not know 
 quite what was in his mind, since he had no intention 
 of taking advantage of her invitation. Perhaps he had a 
 barely formulated idea that some day he might be able 
 to provide the succour of which she was in need. 
 
 QuiUian went downstairs to the big hotel drawing- 
 room, where he sat in a corner, and after he had secured 
 the attention of a waiter, he ordered tea. He was em- 
 barrassed by the men and women of all ages who were 
 slowly filling the room, and sheltered himself behind 
 some journals that he gathered from a table near by. 
 
 Again he was held by the obvious contrast between the 
 tranquil silence of the ordered life in the monastery and 
 the din — as it appeared to him — that was going on all 
 about him; it seemed to him that pandemonium was let 
 loose, and wondered how people could have so much to 
 say to each other. 
 
 He was fearful how one of his antecedents could bear 
 a part amongst those who apparently expressed a thought 
 almost before it was formulated; he marvelled if they 
 jabbered in the same way during all the business of their 
 lives ; and told himself that, if a flowing tongue were one 
 of the weapons necessary to hold one's own, he was indeed 
 ill equipped. 
 
 Then he was both attracted and repelled by certain 
 picture-hats ; the tasteful frocks they set off ; although he 
 could not approve of such costly fripperies, he did not deny 
 they were pleasing to the eye. 
 
CH. Ill] LONDON 29 
 
 He was aware he had caught the attention of two or 
 three groups of extravagant milhnery, and saw that its 
 wearers were speaking of him ; he did not doubt that his 
 queer appearance — perhaps they had caught sight of his 
 tonsure — ^was the cause of it — and shielded himself by the 
 biggest of the journals. 
 
 The ceaseless chatter, the feeling that he was being 
 picked out as an oddity, decided him to beat a retreat. 
 He got up and made for the nearest door, keeping as near 
 to the wall as was possible, and more than ever conscious 
 of those who were giving him heed. 
 
 He found refuge in his bedroom, where he sat on his 
 bed, and considered his plans for the immediate future. 
 
 The Guardian had repeatedly counselled him with regard 
 to the unwisdom of betraying his means to all and sundry 
 until he had some acquaintance with the devious ways of 
 the worldly; had told him that, beyOnd paying the 
 shortest of visits to the great house which was his, it 
 would be well to live modestly for a considerable time in 
 London, which was a place that would all too soon supply 
 the education of which he was in need; and had given 
 him two letters to spiritual directors — one in London, the 
 other near his future home — who, beyond providing the 
 privileges of his faith, would be a very certain help in 
 time of trouble. He would be unable to see the former 
 for a week or two since this priest, a Father Horan, was 
 away on a much-needed holiday. 
 
 There woiold be visits to sohcitors, in addition to those 
 of his father, and from these last he would seek advice 
 about taking a flat or small house. 
 
 And then — and this loomed large in his horizon — he must 
 pursue the Great Adventure, the necessity of which was 
 the reason of his quitting St. Bemardine. 
 
 Just now his senses were vexed by the hustle he had 
 endured, and he told himself he would be in no htury to 
 adventure his soul among the fair ones of the earth were 
 it not his bounden duty. 
 
 He was seized by a passion of restlessness, and was 
 athirst for knowledge, however scanty, of the ways of men 
 in the vast city; he bridled this desire as an exercise of 
 self-control, and because he had already given rein to his 
 
30 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. in 
 
 inclinations more than enough for one day, he spent 
 the hours that separated him from dinner in prayer and 
 meditation. 
 
 Upon the hour of dinner approaching, he was minded 
 to have it served in a private room in order to escape the 
 curiosity to which he had been subject in the drawing- 
 room a few hours back. He got the better of what he 
 called cowardice, and in due course went downstairs, 
 though not without a suspicion of trepidation; he was 
 aware he would encounter women in evening dress. 
 
 As luck would have it, the assurance with which he 
 sought to veneer his natural humility was blown to the 
 four winds on catching sight of his reflection in a mirror 
 immediately without the entrance to the dining-room, 
 into which men and women were streaming. He had 
 not given a thought to his Belgian garments, but the 
 sight of their queer outlines — ^they were baggy in the wrong 
 places, and unduly tight in others — against that fashion- 
 able throng made him wish for the monastic robe he had 
 worn with simple dignity. 
 
 He feared difficulty in obtaining the attentions of the 
 waiters, and did not know that on account of the nearness 
 of the station they were used to handling all sorts of queer 
 cattle shot out by the arriving continental trains. 
 
 He gave his hat into the care of a bechained official 
 who was enthroned in a recess, and secured a seat at a 
 table where a pillar did much to screen him from obser- 
 vation. If the digni&ed wine steward were disposed to 
 hold him in light esteem, his respect was won on Quillian's 
 ordering a respectable vintage claret. Wine was one of 
 the few things of this world they understood at the 
 monastery. 
 
 The elaborate table furniture was contrasted in his 
 mind's eye with the wooden platters, the bare tables, of his 
 former home, which had merely provided for primitive 
 wants. The many knives, forks, and spoons arrayed 
 before him seemed not a little symbolical of the new life 
 he had entered — a new life which, of set purpose, appeared 
 a meticulous elaboration of simple needs. 
 
 While he ate he thought of the friars at Ypres ; he pic- 
 tured them as having just finished their simple supper, 
 
CH. Ill] LONDON 31 
 
 and as about to spend an hour or two in private devotions 
 — this was not one of the three evenings a week appointed 
 for self-discipline — before retiring for the night; and for a 
 time his heart ached for the peace he had left. 
 
 His mind insensibly wandered to the events of the day — 
 his leave-taking of the Guardian; his rejoicing in his newly 
 found sense of freedom, once he was quit of the influences 
 of Ypres; his meditations during the crossing; his revelling 
 in the glad spring day on the pier at Dover; lastly, his 
 unexpected adventure in the train. 
 
 The woman's eyes haunted him, eyes which were elo- 
 quent of the " Accidie " of which the Guardian had made 
 mention. Quillian wondered at the cause. 
 
 And apart from the attraction she had held for him, he 
 could not fail to admit she was a woman who had a fund 
 of deep human sympathy, and who was dowered with 
 understanding parts. 
 
 His narrow theological training did not enable him to 
 solve the problem that faced him — this, how a woman 
 could be both attractive and dead to things of the Spirit 
 from the ecclesiastical standpoint. He feared the interest 
 she held for him was on account of his own burden of 
 original sin. 
 
 This misgiving made him neglect his lamb cutlet until 
 he was recalled to its existence by the waiter offering to 
 take it away. 
 
 He thought the dinner would never come to an end. 
 Upon its tardy conclusion, instead of seeking his room as he 
 had intended, he asked for his hat, descended to the vesti- 
 bule of the hotel, and went out into the night. 
 
 He hesitated in which direction to go ; seeing that the 
 human stream was flowing to the right, he became merged 
 in its current, and let it take him where it listed. 
 
 But only for a while. 
 
 After passing the tube station, and crossing the Vauxhall 
 Bridge Road, he was dazed by the roar of the traffic, the 
 uncounted human units on the pavements; and bore away 
 to the right, where it promised comparative quiet. 
 
 Soon he found himself before the raw immensity of the 
 great cathedral which had been raised to the honour and 
 glory of the Faith. He was on the point of going in, but 
 
32 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. in 
 
 held back on reflecting that his first entrance into the 
 fane that stood for so much should not be a haphazard 
 matter, but one that demanded meet preparation. 
 
 He wandered into Victoria Street, where, although the 
 road was crowded with public and private vehicles, the 
 pavement was comparatively deserted. 
 
 The taxicabs and motor-broughams were nearly all 
 racing in one direction. Now and again he caught glirtipses 
 of their sumptuously clad occupants, and it seemed that 
 they were speeding against time to snatch greedily at 
 pleasure — pleasure which, according to Mrs. Chatillon, 
 ever eluded the grasp. 
 
 Doubtless she was somewhere to be found amongst 
 those who were hunting for what they could never find, 
 and with a mocking smile on her lips at the vanity of her 
 quest. 
 
 The men and women other than the pleasure-seekers 
 next attracted him — men and women who were wearing 
 everyday garb, and were hastening in twos and threes. 
 These, for all he knew to the contrary, might also be bound 
 for the delights of the senses, but that the faces of most of 
 them had a preoccupied careworn look, eloquent of priva- 
 tion and toil. 
 
 Apart from their appearance, he was moved by the fact 
 pf any and everyone being enormously intent on their 
 individual affairs ; there seemed no room in their respective 
 lives for meditation on the things of the Spirit; not even 
 for concern in the welfare of their neighbour. 
 
 With a humility that was far removed from curiosity, 
 he wondered what heavy burdens they were condemned 
 to shoulder, what griefs consumed their hearts, and how 
 far these were lessened by faith. 
 
 He would have given much for any and all to bare their 
 wounds to his gaze so that he might give them human 
 sympathy, spiritual healing; but one and all seemed to 
 be wearing a veil that hid suffering from his fellows, and 
 discouraged, if not forbade, inquiry. 
 
 QuilUan's eye wandered to the great buildings which 
 continuously faced each other along the seemingly endless 
 street. He had already passed miles of bricks and mortar 
 in the train that had brought him to London, and the 
 
CH. m] LONDON 33 
 
 thought of this vast accumulation of habitations made 
 his brain reel. 
 
 For a time he was overwhelmed by the immensity of the 
 human hive which was revealed to his ken; it seemed im- 
 possible to minister to the needs of such an agglomeration 
 of souls. 
 
 Next, his attention was held by the tier upon tier of 
 dwellings which almost seemed to touch the skies. The 
 windows were ULumined with many lights; otherwise 
 they were an impenetrable mask to tiie eyes of the 
 world. 
 
 He did not doubt that many of these dainty curtains 
 hid uncounted mental and physical agonies; and if this 
 were so in this well-to-do part of the town, how much 
 more was this the case in squalid districts where want and 
 hunger, disease and cruelty, stalked abroad ! 
 
 Even as he thought of th^e things, Quillian's heart 
 weUed with pity for those who were in travail on that 
 spring night; he ached to give plentifully of his substance 
 to all who were in need, to speak of the necessity of bearing 
 sorrow stoutly to those who were afflicted; and out of the 
 fullness of his loving-kindn^s he gave bountifully to those 
 who asked for alms. 
 
 Then, after resolving to get the better of the ignorance 
 that alone prevented hrm diverting much of his riches into 
 worthy channels, he fell to looking shyly at many of the 
 women he encountered in his progress. They were of all 
 ages, stations in life, and degree of comeliness. He was 
 overjoyed at discovering that not one of the many faces 
 he saw held any interest for him — overjoyed because, 
 following upon Ins experience in the train, he had feared 
 that many of those he met would attract him in spite of 
 himself. 
 
 After he had passed the venerable pile of the Abbey, the 
 nature of his quest was borne in upon his mind. 
 
 He wonder^ if among the teeming millions of this city 
 there dwelt the one whom it was ordained he would one 
 day make his own in the sight of God. 
 
 He marvelled what she might be doing at that self-same 
 moment. Upon his seeking to picture the countenance 
 that would attract him, there came into his mind a sem- 
 
34 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. hi 
 
 blance of the saint whose stained-glass presentment 
 illumined the high altar of the monastery chapel. 
 
 He devoutly hoped he would be worthy of the love of a 
 woman ; before he turned back he stopped and murmured 
 a blessing for whomsoever she should prove to be. 
 
 In returning to the hotel, QuUlian weis again stirred by 
 the ceaseless pageantry of the streets, the interminable flow 
 of vehicles, the countless evidences of human activity at 
 that, to him, late hour of the evening. Each and all of 
 these seemed to insist upon his trumpery littleness, and, 
 if anything, he quickened his steps in order to take refuge 
 in his room from a conviction of insignificance. 
 
 Arrived at the hotel, he hastened upstairs. After pray- 
 ing long for succour and direction in the momentous step 
 he had taken, he got into what seemed the unduly 
 luxurious bed. 
 
 Contrary to expectation, he did not fall asleep; he lay 
 awake, and, so far as he could see, for no reason at all. 
 
 His mind was filled with a curious sense of expectation, 
 until he found his attention straining, much as if something 
 untoward were about to happen. 
 
 He had not drawn the blinds, and his eyes were arrested 
 by a bit of the glare of the great city which was visible 
 through the window; the roar of the traffic was carried to 
 his ears, and he respectively watched and listened to these 
 evidences of crowded life. 
 
 Then, to his alert perceptions, the glare and the roar in- 
 creased tenfold, until one moment it seemed to his 
 tense apprehensions as if he were near a burning fiery 
 furnace ; at another, that he was being stalked by a mon- 
 ster which w£Ls seeking whom it might devour. 
 
 He was filled with an unreasoning fear, and in a very 
 little while his state of mind was akin to that in which 
 he sometimes lay in bed as a Uttle child, and possessed 
 by a nervous dread of the Powers of Darkness. 
 
 And now, as in those far away days, he shut his eyes 
 and sought to comfort himself by repeating almost for- 
 gotten doggerels which, somehow, came trippingly to his 
 tongue. 
 
 The first was taught him by a sailor uncle, who had 
 retired from the Navy, and who was happy with his 
 
CH. in] LONDON 35 
 
 astronomical telescope, which was fitted with a speculum. 
 The rhs^ne was as follows: 
 
 " The Ram, the Bull, the Heavenly Twins ; 
 And next the Crab the Lion shines, 
 The Virgin and the Scales. 
 The Scorpion, Archer, and He-Goat ; 
 The Man who carries the Watering Pot ; 
 The Fish with glittering tails." 
 
 The first verse and refrain of " Primrose Farm," the 
 song his mother sang to his father, came into his mind. 
 He said it to himself as before : 
 
 " She sat at quiet Primrose Farm 
 In the old oak parlour dim. 
 While out of the window one little arm 
 Leant down the flow'rs to trim. 
 He opened the wicket ; he loved her so : 
 He asked her his bride to be. 
 ' There's someone else,' she answered low, 
 And her tears fell silently. 
 
 " For some must love, and some must wait ; 
 And some must find their love too late." 
 
 This was followed by a country rhyme, taught him by 
 an old nurse : 
 
 " If the geese don't lay 
 By Candlemas day. 
 Cut off their heads 
 And throw them away." 
 
 Then, other seafaring doggerels he had learned from his 
 sailor uncle : 
 
 " If to starboard red appear, 
 It's your duty to keep clear ; 
 To act as judgment says is proper : 
 ' Port ' or 'Starboard,' ' Astern ' or ' Stop her.' 
 
 " If upon your Port is seen 
 A steamer's starboard light of green ; 
 There is not much for you to do : 
 Green to red keeps clear of you. 
 
 " Green to green,'red to red, 
 Perfect safety, go ahead." 
 
36 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. iii 
 
 Lastly, a simple prayer he had learned by heart at 
 his mother's knee : 
 
 " Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, 
 Bless the bed I lie upon ; 
 Four angels to guard my bed, 
 Two at the foot and two at the head ; 
 Two to watch me while I pray, 
 And two to carry my soul away." 
 
 Five minutes later, Paul QiuUian was asleep. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 FREEDOM 
 
 " Are you waiting to see me ?" 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You spoke to me the other day, didn't you ?" 
 " When you were coming out of St. Agatha's, sir.''^ 
 " If you will come inside, we'll go into the matter." 
 QuUlian opened the door of his flat in James's Mansions, 
 
 Buckingham Gate, and was meekly followed by the lean, 
 
 shabby, elderly man who had been waiting for him, and 
 
 who had an indefinable atmosphere of ecclesiasticism. 
 The two men entered a severely furnished room, where 
 
 the younger, noticing that the other looked weary, told 
 
 him to be seated. 
 " No, thank you, sir; not to-day. To-day's a fast." 
 
 " stm " 
 
 " No, sir; not even th« tortures of St. Severin Would 
 
 make me sit on a ' fast.' " 
 " Let me see, what is your name ?" 
 " Grumby, sir. Michael Gregory Grumby." 
 " I seemed to know your face when you first spoke to 
 
 me the other day." 
 
 " I'm not a bit surprised," returned Grumby, with the 
 
 ghost of a self-conscious smile. 
 " Indeed 1" 
 " Ladies has seen in me a distinct likeness to St. 
 
 Thomas Aquinas." 
 " And you want emplo3nuent in some capacity ?" 
 " Only with you, sir. D'rectly I set eyes on you, I 
 
 said to myself, ' I'd sooner work with that gentleman for 
 
 nothing than wax fat with the 'eathen.' " 
 " Didn't I understand you to say you acted sacristan 
 
 37 
 
38 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. iv 
 
 at St. Agatha's for five weeks ?" asked Quillian, who was 
 not disposed in the man's favour by his flattery. 
 
 " Yes, sir, when the permanent sacristan was down 
 with measles, caught from the children he keeps an 
 eye on." 
 
 " What were you doing before that ?" 
 
 " Odd jobs, sir; jobs various." 
 
 Quillian looked at the man's eyes, which had a trick 
 of glancing furtively in any and every direction other 
 than his questioner ; and even with his slender knowledge 
 of human nature, he suspected Grumby was shifty. 
 
 '' Of course you can give references ?" 
 
 " Y-yes, sir. Ahem ! I was often requisitioned to 
 carry a banner on procession days. Responsible work 
 carrying a banner; gives a individual touch, as one might 
 say — to say nothing of the risk." 
 
 " Risk ?" 
 
 " A turn of the wrist, sir, and one's maimed for life." 
 
 " Is that so ?" said Quillian coldly. 
 
 " More or less, sir." 
 
 QuilUan reflected for a few moments before saying : 
 
 " The proprietors of these flats see to everything in the 
 way of attendance, and I get my meals in the restaurant 
 dowiistairs, so " 
 
 " I never seem to get any luck on ' fasts,' sir," inter- 
 rupted Grumby, while his face wore an expression of 
 gladly endured martj^rdom. 
 
 " You don't let me finish. I am going into the country 
 for a week or so the day after to-morrow, and on my 
 return I expect to be more or less busy, and shall want 
 someone responsible to be here in mj absence." 
 
 Grimiby's face lit up as if descrying succouring angels 
 in the ofiing. 
 
 " And if you can give me one satisfactory reference " 
 
 It seemed as if the angels had changed their mind, for 
 an expression of pitiful suffering came into the man's 
 face. 
 
 " It surely cannot be difficult !" urged Quillian. 
 
 " I assure you, sir, I come of a family that is one and 
 aU of us in the ascetic line. And if you would write to 
 my Uncle Jonas " 
 
CH. IV] FREEDOM 39 
 
 '] Where is he?" 
 
 " He's hermit in the Bristol tea-gardens. And Uncle 
 Tobias is a fasting man at Liverpool." 
 
 " Perhaps I'd better speak to Father Nicholas at 
 St. Agatha's." 
 
 " Then I am lost in the bottomless pit," moaned 
 Grumby. 
 
 His meagre body seemed to become more emaciated, 
 his throat to shrivel, and his knees to tremble; his shifty 
 eyes became a-swim. 
 
 " Come, come !" said Quillian sympathetically. " If 
 he has anjrthing against you, perhaps it's just possible 
 there is another side to the story." 
 
 " There is, sir," declared Grumby emphatically. 
 
 'I Well ?" 
 
 " His reverence said it was strong drink, sir — you see 
 how honest I am about it." 
 
 " And was it ?" 
 
 " Pork !" said the old man stoutly. 
 
 'I Pork ?" 
 
 " If ever I takes pork or veal, I'm done for. I gets 
 the indigestion awful, and I'm helpless for days." 
 
 " You should have seen a doctor, and " 
 
 " If one errs in the way of pork or veal, I believe in 
 penance, sir." 
 
 Quillian was almost certain the man was a humbug. 
 Not wishing to be unduly hard on him, and beheving 
 that another chance would assist him to resist temptation, 
 he said : 
 
 " I will take you for a month on trial. And if I see 
 Father Nicholas, I'll mention I'm doing this, and shall 
 not ask any questions. You can come in to-morrow." 
 
 He had feared an outburst of gratitude. Grumby at 
 once recovered himself, and said : 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Indigestion is a pitiful thing, and 
 for all I hear tell, there's no mention of it in the early 
 Fathers." 
 
 Quillian's kindness with regard to Grumby had not 
 been altogether inspired by charity. He did not hide 
 from himself that there was a leven of selfishness in his 
 consideration, begotten of his immense curiosity concern- 
 
40 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. iv 
 
 ing the endless tale of life which was ever unfolding itself 
 before his wondering eyes. Grtunby might further this 
 enlightenment, and with regard to phases of existence of 
 which he was ignorant. 
 
 He had now been in London the best part of four weeks, 
 and each day had brought some fascinating surprise. 
 
 His life had been cast in such a narrow groove that it 
 was enough for him merely to walk out of doors in any 
 given direction to find distraction in the everyday in- 
 cidents of the streets; these, beyond diverting him, 
 assisted the knowledge of himian nature in which he was 
 so pitifully lacking. 
 
 His appetite grew with what it fed on until he took 
 a zest in life of which he was often ashamed. Try as he 
 might, however, he could not bring himself to denjr that 
 it was good to be aUve; that he more than rejoiced in his 
 freedom from the trammels of monastic discipline. 
 
 And in retmrn for the feast that his species so bountifully 
 spread, he gave them of the love of his heart and, when 
 opportunity served, profusely, if often foolishly, of his 
 plenty. 
 
 It seemed so good of everyone to devote such a cheer- 
 ful, single-hearted attention to their affairs — to face 
 bravely anything Providence might think seemly to 
 inflict — that he ached to bestow of his substance for the 
 good of hvmianity at large, and resolved to make a 
 beginning on his return from his short stay at the home 
 he had inherited. 
 
 Nor did his love extend only to his kind. 
 
 In seeing the sights of London he had included the 
 Zoological Gardens, where he had been so delighted by 
 the infinite variety of beasts and birds that he had been 
 a frequent visitor and had got rid of many odd shillings 
 in bu3dng food for his favourites. 
 
 The elephants particularly attracted him. He spent 
 hours in their company, and quite decided that if he had 
 to work for his living he would hke nothing better than 
 to be one of their attendants. 
 
 He wondered if it would be too great a self-indulgence 
 to have an elephant of his own later on. 
 And he made friends with the dogs in the neighbour- 
 
CH. lY] FREEDOM 41 
 
 hood, aad had made up his mind to have his house full 
 of them after he had finally settled down. 
 
 In going out and about, it fired his blood on the in- 
 frequent occasions he saw animals ill-treated. He 
 always remonstrated, and burned to inflict bodily chas- 
 tisement; but he realized that his slack muscles would 
 be helpless against a doughty adversary, and had written 
 for the prospectus of a Swedish gymnasium. 
 
 QuiUian fully realized that aJl these delights were a 
 mere preliminary to the serious issues of life in which he 
 was resolved to bear no mean part. By way of making 
 some sort of beginning, and to assure himself he was not 
 giving all his time to idling, he devoted his evenings to 
 hard reading. 
 
 And the wonderfully romantic vistas of the past which 
 were revealed to his ken in the pages he devoured ! 
 
 It was the story of human progress which chiefly 
 attracted him; not the story " doctored" by Authority, 
 to which he had hitherto been confined, but the dispas- 
 sionate history of the ebb and flow of the consciousness 
 of right in the effort to make headway against t37ranny 
 and privilege. 
 
 The mighty world-dramas depicted with such vivid 
 colouring in Gibbon's " Decline and Fall " were his chief 
 dehght — this in spite of being not a Uttle shocked by its 
 anti-ecclesiastical bias. It grieved him to read that the 
 patron saint of England was said to be a butcher of 
 Cappadocia, who was torn to pieces by the mob for 
 selling diseased meat to the army; and he could not help 
 having a sneaking admiration for the heroism and genius 
 of Julian the Apostate. 
 
 He did not dare to think what his new director, who 
 had not yet returned from his much-needed change, 
 would say of these excursions into more or less forbidden 
 ways; he justified his unorthodoxy by assuring himself 
 that he was only doing his utmost to equip himself for 
 the struggle that lay ahead, and could not deny that, 
 after all said and done, he was studying the procession 
 of life from delightfully confusing angles. 
 
 For the time being, he had resolved to let the subject 
 of women alone, yet he could not get away from the fact 
 
42 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. iv 
 
 of the all-powerful influence they had exerted on the course 
 of events from the recorded beginnings of things; and if 
 they had inspired noble deeds, it was equally true that 
 unnumbered crimes stood to the account of their sex. 
 
 And if he were troubled by the frequency with which 
 they had caused blood to flow, the callousness with which 
 they had looked on suffering of their making, he told himself 
 how that was all in the barbaric past — that Christianity 
 had worked the surpassing miracle of purging their minds 
 of dross. 
 
 Even if he had doubted this alteration for the better, 
 he had only to go out into the streets and look at the 
 multitudes of hard-working citizens, who toiled long hours 
 either for dear ones at home, or for those they hoped to 
 win for their own : and surely they would not waste their 
 lives in striving for those who were unworthy ! 
 
 Since he was removed from the necessity of earning his 
 living, he must wholeheartedly make use of his advan- 
 tages for the wellbeing of others less happily placed : only 
 thus could he justify his hardihood in winning a mate 
 for himself; and until he had qualified himself for a place 
 in the ranks of those who cheerfully shouldered heavy 
 burdens, he was not worthy to be thus blessed. 
 
 Notwithstanding his resolve to defer getting a know- 
 ledge of women (so far as this was possible), he was nearly 
 always sensible of the haunting witchery of sex ; and this 
 was not a little stimulated by certain winsome girls he 
 chanced upon in the streets on taking his walks abroad: 
 for all the caution of the Guardian with regard to the 
 many devils which had a hiding-place in the hearts of 
 such as these, their graceful movements, happy laughter, 
 and the soft glances they sometimes threw in his direction, 
 lingered long in his memory; an individual face would 
 persistently fill his thoughts, and it was only by hard 
 reading and mental effort that he would succeed in 
 putting it out of his mind. 
 
 Quillian had written to the housekeeper of " Courts," 
 the property in Kent, saying he was maJcing the shortest 
 of stays, and that, beyond the religious director who 
 would watch over the needs of his soul when living 
 there, he did not wish his visit to be known to anyone: 
 
CH. IV] FREEDOM 43 
 
 he had resolved on his return to put his hand to the 
 plough. 
 
 This afternoon he seemed unable to settle to anything 
 within doors, so determined to go out ; on leaving his flat, 
 he had nothing definite in mind; he yielded to the im- 
 pulse of the moment, and set foot on the first stationary 
 motor-bus he came upon. 
 
 It was going Eastwards. After it had threaded the 
 Strand and Fleet Street, thoroughfares he already knew 
 well, it came to a part of London that had all the charm 
 of novelty. 
 
 The teeming ways of the City told him, if further 
 assurance were necessary, of the strenuous lives lived by 
 those who toil and spin; he was so interested in the 
 countless evidences of activity he witnessed on every hand 
 that he left the bus, and mingled with the black-coated, 
 top-hatted throng. 
 
 This was the most striking contrast he had yet come 
 upon to the contemplative existence at Ypres; and after 
 being somewhat dazed by the bustle, he foimd himself 
 thinking how much more befitting a man was this life of 
 crowded adventure than the lot that had been his; and 
 this reflection reminded him how quickly he had got rid 
 of many of his ecclesiastical prejudices, and now looked 
 at things from much of the standpoint of a man of the 
 world. 
 
 And if, as was not infrequently the case, he suffered 
 from the prickings of conscience at having agreed to the 
 renunciation of his vows, he strove to comfort himself by 
 bearing in mind how young and ignorant he had been at 
 the time he had welcomed the suggestion that he should 
 embrace the monastic Ufe. 
 
 Now and again he was attracted by infrequent evi- 
 dences of the older London which had been effaced by 
 a utilitarian passion for improvement; on following a 
 narrow street flanked by what had once been the stately 
 homes of City merchants, he came upon one of the long- 
 disused City burial-grounds. 
 
 Its forlorn appearance, the callous way it was hemmed 
 in by tall warehouses, the locked iron gate, all spoke of 
 the ruthless disregard of the dead where the pecuniary 
 
44 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. iv 
 
 advantage of the living was concerned: he was minded 
 to enter the adjacent church to see if it suffered from a 
 like neglect. 
 
 He had scruples about entering a house of worship 
 alien to his faith, but told himself that, since his visit 
 would be in the nature of sight-seeing, he would be justi- 
 fied in so doing: then he reflected how it had been a 
 perennial joke amongst the friars " that the Protestant 
 God was only accessible on Sundays," and in order to 
 see if the church were locked he tried the door. 
 
 It yielded to his hand (the place was being swept), and 
 after descending a few steps he found himself in an edifice 
 of which the dignity was, if anything, assisted by what 
 in his eyes was its barrenness of ecclesiastical trappings. 
 
 He stared about him with unalloyed curiosity, which 
 was increased upon the charwoman, who was dusting the 
 pews, informing him that it was one of the few City 
 churches which had escaped the " Great Fire." 
 
 Quillian fell to reading the mural inscriptions which 
 recorded the virtues of long-since departed citizens: one 
 in particular held his attention, and was raised to the 
 memory of " Mistress Mary Bewley, the late matchless 
 wife, and mother of that hopeful young gentleman, Thomas 
 Bewley," whom she had followed untimely to the grave. 
 
 The inscription further stated that " He remembered 
 his Creator in the days of his youth," and that " These 
 (two now with Christ) Lived, Dyd, and Lye in the same 
 grave near to this stone," and that " to both their mem- 
 ories is this monument erected by their sorrowing husband 
 and father." 
 
 Although the bereaved mother's tears had been shed 
 nearly three hundred years ago, the simple pathos of the 
 words quickened Quillian's sjmipathy and imagination; 
 it seemed to him as if her griefs were yet fresh; a moment 
 or two later it was as though the hand of time were put 
 back, until he saw her kneeling in the empty church, and 
 striving to comfort her anguish by telling herself that, in 
 a very little while, she would rejoin the dear one she had 
 lost. 
 
 Then, in spite of the irregularity of worshipping in a 
 heretic house of worship, Quillian fell on his knees and 
 
CH. IV] FREEDOM 45 
 
 prayed for the repose of the souls of the twain who had 
 slept so long " in the same grave near to this stone." 
 
 He was again regarding the monument before leaving 
 the church, when the voice of the charwoman said in his 
 ear: 
 
 " Like to see round ?" 
 
 " That's a very pathetic inscription," remarked 
 Quillian. 
 
 " Very pathetic," she returned mechanically. " The 
 vestry's well worth seeing." 
 
 But Quillian was not in the mood for sight-seeing just 
 then; on going out into the sunlight, he wondered where 
 next he should betake himself, until he bore in mind that 
 he had hitherto confined his excursions to the more central 
 regions of London, and that he owed it to himself to learn 
 something of the outlying districts. 
 
 Acting on the impulse of the moment, he hastened to 
 one of the big arteries of traffic, and mounted to the top 
 of a motor-bus that was going in a north-easterly direc- 
 tion; he had difficulty in finding a seat, since the after- 
 noon was wearing, and the more fortunate of the City 
 workers were already bound for home; many of them 
 carried bulging rush baskets. 
 
 The vehicle being crowded to its holding capacity, 
 there were few stoppages; it was not long before the 
 aspect of the ceaseless bricks and mortar, and of the 
 people in the street, changed. 
 
 Opulence and an atmosphere of wellbeing gave place 
 to buildings of immitigated ugliness and vast goods yards ; 
 coincident with the commencement of tram-lines, the 
 interminable shops became meaner. 
 
 He passed beneath railway bridges, across which trains 
 were lumbering, and although a conspicuous widening 
 of the road suggested relief at escaping from the jealous 
 confinement of the City proper, there was no denying the 
 surrounding squalor, which seemed laying perpetual siege 
 to the riches he had left behind. 
 
 So far as the swift progress of the bus enabled him to 
 see, wretched little streets were at right angles to the 
 main thoroughfare, and seemed to lead to less attractive 
 places or down-at-heel squares: it was as though the dis- 
 
46 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. iv 
 
 trict were well aware of its meanness, and put the best- 
 looking houses in the forefront. 
 
 The bus passed a row of gracious Georgian houses, 
 which stood with aloof dignity from the road; and Quillian 
 believed that an abrupt period had been put to the 
 wearisome ugliness: all too soon, however, he found that 
 the soothing red brick was a mere oasis in the wilderness 
 of unsightliness, and that this last threatened to go on for 
 ever. 
 
 The shops would infrequently surrender to a row of 
 private dwellings, but even these looked as if dejectedly 
 awaiting the commercial fate which must soon overtake 
 them. 
 
 Then the bus dipped, ascended, and crossed a noisome 
 canal which made the merest break between the con- 
 tinuity of dreary masonry; for a time Quillian was con- 
 strained to close his eyes in order to shut out the pitiful 
 sameness. 
 
 On again looking about him, he sought to get a definite 
 impression of what he was witnessing; presently it seemed 
 as if the varjHing heights of the builcings stood for the 
 respective interests of those who dwelled therein. 
 
 The almost uniform houses and shops were all too often 
 dominated by a gin-palace ; and if a church or other place 
 of worship stood well above the public-house, and in so 
 doing suggested escape from ignoble temptation, there 
 was always the never far distant factory chimney, which 
 towered above everything else, and seemed the ultimate 
 factor in life. 
 
 And if the men and women who were compelled to spend 
 their days in this debasing environment were, as he had 
 heard at Ypres, rebelling against the hardness of their lot, 
 and clamouring for a share in the finer things of life, could 
 he do otherwise than S3mipathize with the aspiration of 
 those for whom the factory chimney stood for tyranny 
 as overmastering as that of the medieval castlfe of old ! 
 
 Persistent squalor, infrequently lessened by a tree in 
 new leaf, the lust for modem improvement had passed 
 by; and beyond a suggestion of straggling in the side 
 turnings, the cheerlessness of the little shops seemed 
 interminable. 
 
CH. IV] FREEDOM 47 
 
 But later, a high brick wall with trees on the farther 
 side suggested that, at last, a breach had been made in all 
 that triumphant ugliness: Quillian's vantage-point, how- 
 ever, enabled him to see that one or two fine old houses 
 had been turned to base uses: one was a brewery; another 
 a laundry ; a third stood drearily mourning its emptiness. 
 
 Then the street opened out, and there were certain evi- 
 dences of an old-world village: there were red-bricked, 
 red-tiled cottages, some venerable houses, and what had 
 been a wayside hostelry. 
 
 Nearer inspection told him that even this reminder of 
 former dignified repose was in process of dissolution; it 
 seemed as if the prevailing squalor was intent on swallow- 
 ing up anything that reproached its unseemliness: the 
 inn had just come into the hands of the house-breakers, 
 and a pick had been stuck into a sundial painted on its 
 front wall; the cottages had been condemned by the 
 sanitary authorities, and stood empty ; and as for the row 
 of fine houses, most of the windows had been smashed by 
 stones; it was as though they had been grossly insulted 
 before they were demolished. 
 
 The bus stopped; the remaining passengers got off; 
 the conductor told Quillian it was going no farther, and 
 he followed their example. 
 
 His spirits were affected by all he had seen ; he looked 
 about him for a likely place where he could get a cup of 
 tea; this was by no means as easy as it appeared on the 
 face of it, since there was an entire absence of tea-shops : 
 he entered several confectioners without being able to 
 get what he wanted, and was thinking of returning when, 
 on deciding to try one more, he was gratified on being 
 told that his needs could be supplied if he did not mind 
 waiting, and did not object to having it in the shop. 
 
 Quillian sat at a table that was littered with loaves; 
 while it was cleared by the woman who had been serving 
 behind the counter, and for the ten minutes he possessed 
 his soul in patience while the tea was being made, his 
 nerves were tortured by the laboured practising of five- 
 finger exercises on a piano upstairs which badly wanted 
 tuning. 
 
 The woman was joined by her husband and a tall, 
 
48 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. iv 
 
 anaemic, spectacled daughter. Quillian sought to divert 
 his mind from the piano upstairs by taking an interest in 
 these and the customers who were coming and going. 
 
 Most of these last had more or less to say to those 
 behind the counter, and for the first time the cockney 
 accent in all its native hideousness fell uncouthly on 
 Quillian's ear; he thought at first it was the personal 
 idios57ncrasy of those he overheard speak ; upon each and 
 all making use of the same nasal twang, he could only 
 conclude that the sordid growth of London had corrupted 
 their speech. 
 
 His attention wandered to the three behind the counter : 
 they all looked overworked, underfed; most significant of 
 all, they did not appear to have sufficient spirit to reply 
 to their customers' remarks: they supplied what was 
 asked for, took the money, gave the necessary change, 
 and, if compelled to reply, expressed themselves in weary 
 monosyllables : there was a touching absence of the joyous- 
 ness which would have possessed the Belgians of French 
 extraction in a like situation of life. 
 
 QuiUian drank his tea, paid the trifling sum charged, 
 and set out to explore the neighbourhood. 
 
 Directly he left the road by which he had come, there 
 was a startling change in the atmosphere of the place. 
 Instead of the animation provided by the traffic, the 
 shops, and costermongers' barrows, there were either dull, 
 lifeless roads of little modern viUas, or streets of older, 
 taller, and very shabby houses, where children played up 
 and down basement steps. He was curious to learn 
 what manner of folk lived in the villas, and did not have 
 to wait long before finding that they were tenanted by 
 weary-looking, black-coated men, who were dribbHng 
 home from the City in ones and twos. He noticed how 
 the pale faces lighted up on being greeted by children, 
 who sometimes ran out of doors to welcome their respec- 
 tive fathers. 
 
 On returning to the main road, he came upon a Palace 
 of Varieties. A little farther along on the same side of 
 the way was a brilliantly lit Picture Palace. Men 
 and women were streaming into the music-hall, while 
 outside the latter there waited a long tail of children who, 
 
CH. IV] FREEDOM 49 
 
 with the price of admission clutched in their hands, 
 eagerly awaited the moment of admission. 
 
 Quilhan stood and watched the expectancy on the wan 
 faces. It seemed to him that here, in this down-at- 
 heel outer suburb, even as in the opulent West End of 
 London, there was the same passionate pursuit of pleasure. 
 
 And he fell to wondering if it were with these as it 
 was with the others — that is to say, if what Mrs. Chatillon 
 had said on the matter were true, and if these children 
 were also in pursuit of what they would never find. 
 
 If there were any likeUhood of this being the case, 
 Quillian from the bottom of his heart prayed that God, 
 out of the fulness of His mercy, would relent with such 
 as these. 
 
 Quillian walked along the pavement that was momen- 
 tarily becoming more crowded, and noticed the eagerness 
 with which the pinched-looking, silent men and women 
 shoppers appraised the goods on the barrows which here 
 lined the roads. So far as he could tell, their lives were 
 a ceaseless struggle to make two ends meet, and he looked 
 in vain for the suggestion of spirituality in their faces 
 which would be an outward and visible sign of the con- 
 sciousness of the Life to come. 
 
 Perhaps they could not be blamed if their hearts were 
 cold to Divine truths, he told himself; and for all their 
 blindness, there was a Power which watched over them 
 unceasingly, and shaped their sorry existence to Its own 
 purposes. 
 
 This reflection brought a measure of consolation to 
 Quillian's troubled soul. He was about to look for a bus 
 that would take him back, when he heard an agonized 
 cry which seemed to come from beneath a passing motor- 
 bus, a shout from many voices, and he was aware of a 
 sickening suspense. 
 
 The vehicle pulled up sharply, whereupon there was a. 
 crowded movement into the road. 
 
 Quillian also pushed forward, and his heart was wrung 
 with anguish at seeing the pitiful, upturned face of the 
 man who had been run over. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 A STRAY LAMB 
 
 QuiLLiAN journeyed home with heavy heart. 
 
 On finding the man was dead, he had waited beside the 
 body; and, unmindful of the morbidly curious crowd, he 
 had bowed his head and moved his lips in prayer until 
 the arrival of the police ambulance. Then, hearing a 
 voice telling all who cared to listen particulars of the 
 deceased, Quillian had learned a sad story. 
 
 It seemed that he was the elder son of a hard-working 
 mother and a thriftless, drunken father; that he had 
 been out of work for some weeks, and only that day had 
 got a job, to which he had gone with a light heart, since 
 he was thus enabled to lighten his mother's load of care. 
 
 " Shame it weren't old Bill, instead of the young 'un. 
 No one would have missed 'un. But it's always Uke 
 that," the informant had remarked. 
 
 QuiQian had obtained the victim's address, and had 
 resolved to assist handsomely the bereaved mother. 
 
 On reaching Westminster, he made a poor dinner at 
 the restaurant attached to his fiat. He was haunted by 
 the upturned face of the man who had been run over; 
 and after he had done, being in no mood for reading or 
 sleep, he walked the length of Victoria Street, and 
 meditated on the inscrutable ways of Providence, which 
 had taken the breadwinner of a necessitous family at a 
 time his efforts were most needed. 
 
 He found that exercise eased his tension of mind, and 
 continued in the direction of Trafalgar Square, until he 
 was aware that a girl was standing directly in his path. 
 She was looking about, as if uncertain of her whereabouts. 
 
 He stepped out of his way to avoid her. After 
 
 50 
 
CH. V] A STRAY LAMB 51 
 
 glancing timidly at his face, she made as if to address 
 him. 
 
 It was not the first time he had been accosted in the 
 streets by a woman at night, and he would have kept on 
 his way had he not been a little unstrung by the events 
 of the evening; moreover, he perceived that the girl had 
 a sweetly innocent face. 
 
 QuiUian half stopped, and, emboldened by this en- 
 couragement, the girl said : 
 
 " Could you please teU me if this is the way to Plum- 
 stead?" 
 
 " Plumstead ?" he returned. 
 
 " I've lost my way in London, and must get there 
 to-night." 
 
 " I'm afraid I can't tell you," he said. 
 
 "It's very hear Woolwich, if you know where that is." 
 
 " I only know it's some way from here." 
 
 " It's so awkward! I really don't know what I shall do." 
 
 " Any policeman will direct you. I wish I could tell 
 you myself." 
 
 " Thank you very much," she murmured, and made as 
 if to seek information from a man who was approaching. 
 
 Disliking the idea of her speaking to one who might 
 show her less consideration than he had done, he fore- 
 stalled her and asked of the man if he knew the best way 
 of getting to Plumstead. 
 
 " Train from Charing Cross," replied the man promptly. 
 " And Charing Cross is five minutes from here. Along 
 there on the right." 
 
 Quillian thanked the man, and was about to accom- 
 pany the girl as far as the station, in order to protect her 
 from harm. 
 
 " You needn't worry any more," he said. 
 
 She sadly shook her head. 
 
 ' • Why ? What' s the matter ? ' ' 
 
 She dropped her eyes (they were large and innocent 
 and blue), and murmured: 
 
 " I — I haven't any money." 
 
 " No money ?" 
 
 " I— I had some. But my purse was stolen this after- 
 noon while I was sitting in the Park." 
 
52 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. v 
 
 " Stolen ! Was there much in it ?" 
 
 " Not much; fifteen shillings." 
 
 " That needn't trouble you, if you do not mind my 
 pajdng for your ticket." 
 
 " It's very, very kind of you." 
 
 " You'd better hurry " — she seemed inclined to linger 
 — " it's getting late." 
 
 They walked in the direction of Charing Cross Station, 
 and as they went along Whitehall Gardens he could not 
 help noticing the slim grace of her figure, the tasteful 
 neatness with which it was clad. 
 
 " How have you managed about food ?" he asked. 
 
 " I've — I've had to go without." 
 
 " Are you hungry ?" 
 
 " N-not very." 
 
 " I can get you something at the station. But you'd 
 better eat it in the train, as it's very late." 
 
 " Why, what time is it ?" 
 
 " Long past ten." 
 
 " So I thought." 
 
 " And surely that's very late for you to be out." 
 
 " 0-of course." 
 
 " Have you far to go when you get to Plumstead ?" 
 
 " I— I don't know." 
 
 " Don't know !" 
 
 " I lost the address in the purse that was stolen." 
 
 " What !" cried QuiUian in dismay. 
 
 " It was the address of my aunt, and " 
 
 " But don't you remember it ?" 
 
 " She's just gone to a new address," she said, after 
 the merest suspicion of hesitation. 
 
 " Then what are you going to do ?" 
 
 " I shall have to ask." 
 
 " At this time of night ?" 
 
 " What else can I do ?" she returned helplessly. 
 
 " What is her name ?" asked Qmllian, after a few 
 moments' thought. 
 
 " Manning." 
 
 " And if she has just moved to a new address, she's 
 not likely to be known ?" 
 
 " Perhaps not." 
 
CH. V] A STRAY LAMB 53 
 
 " Then what are you to do ?" 
 
 " I— I don't know." 
 
 They arrived at the station just then, and he took 
 her into the refreshment-room and bought her sand- 
 wiches, cakes, and lemonade. While she ate (he was 
 surprised at seeing the small appetite she had) he sought 
 to turn over in his mind the best thing to be done — 
 sought because he was sorely troubled by the girl's 
 extremity, and his own position in the matter. 
 
 It was unthinkable that he should give her money and 
 let her shift for herself at that hour of the night, with 
 nowhere to go, and in a city like London; for since she 
 had told him how she was situated, if anything untoward 
 happened to her, he wotild be largely, if not entirely, to 
 blame. 
 
 On the other hand, he had himself to consider in having 
 a young and pretty girl on his hands. 
 
 He thought of her sad plight, of the chapter of accidents 
 which had left her helpless, of the perils that lay in 
 wait for such as she, and reproached himself for his 
 selfishness. The next moment, the good Guardian's 
 repeated warnings flashed into his mind with regard 
 to comely women, and he wondered if, after all, she 
 was one of those who are out seeking whom they may 
 devour. 
 
 He glanced at the young face, with the sweetly inno- 
 cent blue eyes, and told himself that, if she were de- 
 ceiving him, the DevU had selected a cunning instrument. 
 She was nibbhng a cake with an appealing disregard of 
 danger. 
 
 He could not find it in his heart to think evU of her, 
 but in order to stiU the doubtings of a worldly prudence 
 he felt it was his duty to assume, he said: 
 
 " Do you mind if T ask you a few questions ?" 
 
 " Questions !" she repeated, and looked at him with 
 wondering eyes. 
 
 He was a little ashamed as he went on : 
 
 " About yourself." 
 
 " What do you want to know ?" she asked, with art- 
 less stirprise. 
 
 " I want to help you, but I don't know anything about 
 
54 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. v 
 
 you," he returned, with a smile that would have won the 
 most hesitating confidence. 
 
 " I'U tell you anything," she replied, with a flattering 
 suspicion of emphasis on the pronoun. 
 
 " What is your name ?" 
 
 II May FothergiU." 
 
 " Where have you come from ?" 
 
 " To-day ?" 
 
 " To-day, then ?" 
 
 " EaUng." 
 
 " From friends ?" 
 
 " I was in a situation there." 
 
 " May 1 ask what ?" 
 
 " I was secretary to a dentist." 
 
 " Why did you leave ?" 
 
 The girl's face became troubled. 
 
 " Do not tell me if you do not wish to," he said. 
 
 " I can teU you. He — he tried to kiss me, and — 
 and " 
 
 " He did !" 
 
 " I knew it wasn't right, and so I came away." 
 
 Quillian made a gesture of repulsion. 
 
 " Can such things be ?" he asked a little later. 
 
 " And I should have been with auntie now if my purse 
 hadn't been stolen." 
 
 "I quite understand that. Where do your parentsUve?" 
 
 " My father and mother are both dead." 
 
 " Haven't you any brothers or sisters ?" 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 " No other relations ?" 
 
 " Only auntie." 
 
 " The question is, where are you to sleep to-night ?" he 
 said, after some moments' thought. 
 
 The girl paused in the act of putting a cake to her red 
 lips. 
 
 " I could send you to an hotel, but there are, of course, 
 objections to that." 
 
 She did not offer any comment, and he went on : 
 
 "And there are other places, pensions — ^boarding-houses 
 you call them. But they would take objection to your 
 going in so late whatever explanation I might make." 
 
CH. V] A STRAY LAMB 55 
 
 The girl still held her peace. 
 
 " I have a flat, and you might sleep there," he hazarded, 
 and it seemed that the suggestion of a puzzled expression 
 came into her face. 
 
 " Of course I could sleep elsewhere. But then there are 
 objections to that, as not onlv would you be alone, but it 
 would ven" naturally sraprise the servants on their coming 
 in the morning." 
 The big blue eyes looked at him in innocent surprise. 
 " I really don't know what is best to be done !" he 
 sighed. 
 
 She did not offer to help him out, and he wa~ considering 
 first one thing and then another until he recalled the fact 
 of the man Grumby having called upon him with refer- 
 ence to a situation in the afternoon. He had the man's 
 address, and if QuiDian could succeed in catching him 
 before he went to bed, he might know of some r^pectable 
 woman who would bear the girl company in the flat; on 
 the morrow he would assist Miss Fothergill to trace her 
 aunt. 
 
 " If you have finished we'U go at once," he said. " And 
 as time is precious, we'U go in a cab — ^that is, if you don't 
 mind." 
 
 She made not the slightest demur, and rose to her feet. 
 Her simple trust dissipated any lingering doubts he may 
 have had of her honesty, while the unseemly glances that 
 men who were standing at the bar directed at Miss Fother- 
 gill strengthened his resolve to shield her from the perils 
 of the night. 
 
 The}- entered a waiting cab, and as they were speeding 
 to Grnmby's address, which was in a mean street in the 
 ndghbourhood of Rochester Row, he said: 
 " You do not mind coming with me ?" 
 " Why should I ?" she returned. 
 " But you know nothing of me !" 
 
 " I know, but " 
 
 " And for all you know to the contrary, I might be one 
 of the worst men living." 
 " I — I don't understand." 
 " Don't understand !" 
 " ^^^lat do you mean ? " 
 
56 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. v 
 
 " I've been reading terrible things lately in the papers, 
 and perhaps you have too, of men and women who decoy 
 young girls away and break them to Uves of unspeakable 
 infamy." 
 
 " I never read the papers," she told him. 
 
 " But you surely know of the dangers to which helpless 
 girls are exposed in a great city !" 
 
 " What dangers ?" she asked ingenuously. 
 
 " You mean to say you are ignorant ?" 
 
 " You must think me very stupid, but I don't know a 
 bit what you mean." 
 
 " Don't — don't you know anjHihing of the harm un- 
 scrupulous men can inflict on a girl such as you — of the 
 way they can destroy you, soul and body ?" 
 
 " You must think me very siUy, but I really don't know 
 what you are talking about." 
 
 QuiUian was wholeheartedly thankful that this child had 
 been led to approach him, and not someone who might 
 have taken advantage of her innocence. 
 
 " Haven't you ever had anyone to advise you ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 "No sensible, good woman." 
 
 " I don't easily make friends," she rephed. 
 
 The cab stopped in the street where Grumby lived. 
 Telling the girl to remain seated, QuiUian got out and 
 commenced to look for the number, a matter of some 
 difficulty, since most of the two-story houses were in 
 darkness. 
 
 A woman standing at a doorway and talking to two or 
 three others a little way along caught his attention. 
 Thinking she might assist him in his search, and raising 
 his hat, he asked her if she knew where Grumby hved. 
 
 " Next door, my dear," she told him. The familiarity 
 was doubtless inspired by the unusual civility he had 
 showed her. 
 
 QuilHan knocked at the door of the apparently hfeless 
 house. While he waited, he heard the woman he had 
 spoken to realistically describing the details of a death-bed 
 scene, and in a set manner which suggested she was repeat- 
 ing a familiar story. 
 
CH. V] A STRAY LAMB 57 
 
 Quillian, who was resolved to rouse Grumby from his 
 bed, knocked again. 
 
 " Tell us about the death-rattle, Sarey," cried one of 
 the women. " You've forgot that !" 
 
 " No, I ain't," indignantly returned the woman QuilUan 
 had spoken to. 
 
 " Yes, you 'ave." 
 
 " I ain't come to it yet." 
 
 " Ain't yer ?" 
 
 " No, I ain't," she declared; and as if to punish the 
 woman who had presumed to question the sequence of her 
 narrative, she turned to QuiUian and asked : 
 
 " Was you wanting Mr. Grumby ?" 
 
 " Very particularly." 
 
 " I'm afraid he's hout." 
 
 " Not in bed ?" 
 
 " Not 'im !" 
 
 " I suppose you could not tell me where I could be 
 likely to find him ?" 
 
 " I dessay I could, and if you likes to wait, me or one of 
 these ladies would fetch 'im in two ticks." 
 
 " I should be so much obliged if one of you would." 
 
 " 'Arf a mo', and I'll be back." 
 
 The woman set out, and by the time Quilhan had 
 walked to the cab to tell Miss FothergiU that he hoped he 
 would not keep her waiting much longer, and had returned 
 to the house where Grumby hved, the woman had come 
 back. 
 
 " He — he ain't there," she said. 
 
 '\ Not ?" 
 
 " Least, I couldn't see him ; and no one could say where 
 he was." 
 
 She gave QuiUian the impression she was not speaking 
 the truth ; but there was nothing to be gained by doubting 
 her word, and for want of knowing what else to do, he said : 
 
 " Could I speak to you a moment ?" 
 
 " That you can, my dear." 
 
 He took her out of earshot of the others, told her as 
 shortly as possible how he was situated, and asked her if 
 she knew of a respectable woman who would bear them 
 company in the flat for at least one night. 
 
58 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. v 
 
 " They wants finding," she said. 
 
 " I suppose so," he remarked lamely. And then as he 
 looked at the woman's honest, almost masculine face, he 
 asked : 
 
 " I suppose you wouldn't care to come ?" 
 
 " Me ?" 
 
 '/. ^^^■" 
 
 " I think I could oblige you," she said off-handedly. 
 
 " Forgive my saying so, but I presume you are 
 
 thoroughly trustworthy ?" 
 
 " Me ?" 
 
 " As hardworking a woman as ever stepped. An' if 
 you don't b'leeve me, walk upstairs and see my 'usband, 
 who's been bedridden and dependent on me for support 
 this ever so long. But, thank Gawd, Gassma.nn has a pair 
 of arms to keep 'im in comfort by charing." 
 
 " I'm sorry to hear of his affliction." 
 
 " It might be wuss. He may be took any time now." 
 
 " I should be sorry to take you away from him in 
 case " 
 
 " Work's work, altho' if he was to be took, I should 
 miss the end," said Mrs. Gassmann regretfully. 
 
 '' Still, I feel " 
 
 " Don't you worry, my dear; I've paid 'is club money. 
 I'U jess see he's all right for the night." 
 
 She went into the house without satisfying the curiosity 
 of her friends. On returning a few minutes later, she 
 said: 
 
 " Where's the young party ?" 
 
 " In a cab farther- — " 
 
 " In a keb, sir ?" she interrupted quickly. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Am I to ride in it too, sir ?" 
 
 " If you don't mind." 
 
 " Mind ! Hopes they sees me in it, sir, and pay Mrs. 
 KeUy out for thinkin' I'd forgot the ' rattle.' " 
 
 Thus it came about that Miss Fothergill and Mrs. 
 Gassmann were introduced to Quillian's flat. The char- 
 woman became inordinately respectful on learning that 
 her temporary employer was a man of substance, a respect 
 
CH. V] A STRAY LAMB 59 
 
 he could not help noticing that the girl he had befriended 
 did not seem to share. 
 
 While Mrs. Gassmann prepared a room for herself and 
 another for her employer's guest, QuiUian had a further 
 conversation with the latter, who did not appear in the 
 least put out by the novel situation in which she found 
 herself. 
 
 " You don't mind my asking you some more ques- 
 tions ?" he began. 
 
 " More !" she laughed. 
 
 " I naturally want to know as much about you as I can." 
 
 The girl left the chair on which she had been sitting 
 and knelt on the hearthrug to stroke a cat Quillian had be- 
 friended. She had removed her cloak and hat, and QuiUian 
 could not help noticing the slim grace of her figure, the pro- 
 fusion of pretty brown hair which was tastefully arranged 
 on her shapely head, the lace about her wrists ; at the same 
 time he had an impression that she was making an un- 
 necessary display of her hands, which were white and small. 
 
 " Where were you born ?" 
 
 " London." 
 
 " London's a big place." 
 
 " I don't care about speaking of all that," she faltered. 
 
 " Do not tell me if you don't wish to." 
 
 There was a silence, broken by her saying in a burst 
 of confidence : 
 
 " I don't mind teUing you." 
 
 " Thank you. The more I know about you, the more 
 I shall be in a position to help you." 
 
 " I was born in Half Moon Street." 
 
 II Where is that ?" 
 
 " Don't you know ?" she asked in some surprise. 
 
 " I haven't been very long in London." 
 
 " Oh ! That accounts for it. It's a turning off 
 Piccadilly." 
 
 " Then your parents were well off ?" 
 
 " Very, for a time." 
 
 " Then they lost their money ?" 
 
 " Everything." 
 
 " And you say they are dead ?" 
 
 " They died soon after." 
 
6o THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. v 
 
 " I suppose of grief at their troubles !" he said sympa- 
 thetically. 
 
 The pretty broWn head bent over the fire. 
 
 " And your aunt ?" he urged a little later. 
 
 " She is only a — a half-sister of my mother. Not a real 
 aunt." 
 
 " Is she married ?" 
 
 "I —I think so." 
 
 " Don't you know ?" 
 
 " I know very little about her." 
 
 " But didn't you say her name was Mrs. Manning ?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Then she must be married ?" 
 
 " Of course. How stupid of me!" 
 
 " Were you educated in England ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " Southsea." 
 
 " Could I write to the head-mistress or any clergjTman 
 who knew you ?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Then you could give me their names to-morrow ?" 
 
 " If I remember them." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " I never can remember names." 
 
 There was a silence, during which Quillian was aware of 
 an uneasiness of spirit, and just now he did not care about 
 accounting for it. 
 
 " Anjrway," he presently went on, there is a man 
 coming here to-morrow — an elderly man — ^who will go 
 with you to Plumstead and help you find your atmt." 
 
 " I do hope we shall," she said wistfully. 
 
 " Of course, if you don't you must come back here, and 
 I'll try and arrange for Mrs. Gassmann to sleep here again. 
 If she cannot, I must get someone else." 
 
 " Will you be here to-morrow ?" 
 
 " To-morrow, yes. The next day I'm going away." 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " Only for a week or so. If you do not find your aunt, 
 you must stay here till you do, and we must then talk 
 over the best thing to be done." 
 
CH. V] A STRAY LAMB 6i 
 
 She did not reply, and he was again a little surprised at 
 her taking aU these arrangements quite as a matter of 
 course. He told himself, however, that this argued an 
 appealing trustfulness, a behef that was doubtless assisted 
 by Miss FothergUl's comeliness. 
 
 Mrs. Gassmann came into the room to say that the 
 yoimg lady's room was ready if she wanted to go to bed. 
 QuiUian looked inquiringly at Miss Fothergill. 
 
 " I think I win, if you don't mind. I'm rather tired." 
 
 " And you've plenty to do to-morrow !" 
 
 " Good-night," she smiled. 
 
 " Good-night and God bless you !" returned QuiUian. 
 
 " Shall I come with you ?" asked Mrs. Gassmann of 
 Miss Fothergill. 
 
 " I can manage all right," said the younger woman, and 
 with a hint of ungraciousness in her voice. 
 
 She went to the door, turned to smile at QuiUian, and 
 disappeared. 
 
 A somewhat long sUence was broken by QuiUian re- 
 marking: 
 
 " I hope you wUl be comfortable, Mrs. Gassmann ?" 
 
 " I shaU be aU right, sir," she returned almost defiantly. 
 
 "A terrible thing a girl like that being alone in 
 London !" 
 
 " Sir !" 
 
 QuiUian repeated his remark. 
 
 " May I ask who does for you here, sir ?" 
 
 " Attendance is included." 
 
 " But wot sort of attendance ?" 
 
 " I haven't any reason to complain, so far." 
 
 " If you 'ave, you know where to find a 'ard-working 
 woman with a strong pair of arms she knows how to use." 
 
 "That reminds me: I may want you to sleep in to- 
 morrow night, and perhaps every other night for a week 
 or so." 
 
 " I don't mind obliging you, sir." 
 
 " Because, if Miss Fothergill stays on, I want you to 
 look after her while I'm away, as, of course, she cannot 
 have her meals in the restatu-ant." 
 
 " Then it isn't to look after you, sir ?" 
 
 " Miss FothergiU. The chances are she wiU find her 
 
62 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. v 
 
 relations to-morrow, but in any case I promise you you 
 will have no reason to complain." 
 
 " Maybe, sir, but— but !" 
 
 " But what ?" 
 
 " I'm more used to looking after gentlemen than 
 ladies," said Mrs. Gassmann sullenly. 
 
 " For all we know to the contrary. Miss Fothergill may 
 find her aunt to-morrow." 
 
 " Sir !" 
 
 " I said Miss Fothergill may find her aunt to-morrow." 
 
 Upon Mrs. Gassmann keeping silent, and looking at him 
 with a wooden expression, he added : 
 
 " It's more likely than not." 
 
 " I 'ope she will," sniffed Mrs. Gassmann. 
 
 " What !" 
 
 " I 'ope she will !" said Mrs. Gassmann as before. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 " COURTS " 
 
 " And what are your plans at present ?" 
 
 " I shall not stay much longer than a week." 
 
 " Only a week ?" asked Father Akhurst in surprise. 
 
 " There is so much to do." 
 
 " So I rmderstand." 
 
 " Why do you smile ?" 
 
 " The purpose for which you left Ypres." 
 
 " I was not referring to that. Not by any means." 
 
 " Not ?" returned Father Akhurst coldly. 
 
 " Not." 
 
 The two men reached the end of the walk in the Italian 
 garden before the priest spoke and said : 
 
 " As your spiritual adviser, may I ask what is in your 
 mind ?" 
 
 " That is very soon told. Before I dare to ask any 
 woman to share her life with mine, I must prove myself 
 worthy," declared QuiUian. 
 
 " How do you propose to set about doing that ?" 
 returned the priest. 
 
 Quillian would have liked to have opened his heart to the 
 man at his side, and have asked his counsel with regard 
 to the best means of serving his kind with the wealth 
 Providence had seen fit to trust him with; he was held 
 back by the strong condemnation the priest had extended 
 to his desultory reading, which had included books on 
 the " Index " ; by the lack of human sympathy in Father 
 Akhurst's nature; and by the hardening of his manner 
 should QuiUian touch on anything that had not the 
 Church and its multitudinous charities for its first con- 
 sideration. 
 
 63 
 
64 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. vi 
 
 "I^lrst of all, I want first-hand authority with life," 
 said Quillian. 
 
 " At the risk of being infected with the poison of latter- 
 day thought ?" 
 
 " There is Uttle to be done if there is no chance of 
 receiving wounds," returned QuiUian. 
 
 " Has it not occurred to you that the Church can supply 
 all the knowledge you need ?" 
 
 Quillian did not at once reply, and the priest repeated 
 his question. 
 
 " May I be candid with you ?" 
 
 " It is your duty to be." 
 
 " Before I was absolved from my vows, I was afflicted 
 with doubts of " 
 
 " Doubts !" interrupted the other sharply. 
 
 " Of the wisdom of my vocation." 
 
 Father Akhurst made a gesture of annoyance. Quillian 
 went on: 
 
 " I admit I did what I did with my eyes open. But 
 one does not know very much at sixteen, the year I was 
 taken." 
 
 " You could have gone back during your novitiate." 
 
 " I only saw life from one angle, and " 
 
 " That is a subject I am forbidden to discuss. And as 
 it is all over and done with, it would serve no pmrpose. 
 Say you return and do what is in your mind: you will 
 gradually acquire a taste for these plausible writings of 
 freethinkers." 
 
 " Freethinkers !" 
 
 " Are not those works you confessed to having studied 
 the writing of men outside the Church ?" 
 
 " They are frequently men of a wide humanity; a wider 
 knowledge: and it doesn't by any means follow that " 
 
 " I do not care to discuss them." 
 
 " Have you read any ?" 
 
 " I shotild be ashamed to admit having done so." 
 
 QuiUian thought it wiser to hold his peace, and the 
 other, perhaps thinking he had spoken with impolitic 
 harshness, changed the subject for the time being, and 
 said: 
 
 " And what do you think of your home ?" 
 
CH.vi] 'COURTS' 65 
 
 " I cannot look at it often enough." 
 
 " And it looks its best on a fine summer morning." 
 
 The two men turned and gazed at the house across the 
 intervening expanse of lawns, and once more Quillian 
 sought to appraise its appealing picturesqueness. 
 
 It was long and low, and biult of red bricks, and roofed 
 with dull blue slates which shone genially in the sun- 
 light; the wings were farther advanced than the centre 
 portion, and the space that was thus enclosed was 
 bordered by a balustrade from which flights of steps 
 descended to the gardens: away on the left was a lake, 
 and beside much of this was a forest of fir-trees which 
 were sternly reflected in its depths. 
 
 "It seems a typical Enghsh home," said Quillian 
 presently. 
 
 " It is your duty to make it so," returned Father 
 Akhurst. 
 
 Quilhan was not a little moved by the domestic sugges- 
 tions of the place, and was in the mood to make amends 
 for the unfortunate impression he felt sure he had made 
 on the priest; consequently he said: 
 
 " And how would you advise me to set about it ?" 
 
 " That is very soon told," replied the other. " You 
 spoke of worthiness ! What more worthy object could 
 you achieve than in devoting much of your substance to 
 the honour and glory of the Church ?" 
 
 " Of course I shall do all that is necessary for the 
 charities my relatives founded." 
 
 " I mean apart from them." 
 
 Quillian looked inquiringly at Father Akhurst, who 
 went on: 
 
 " I mean by rearing and endowing a foundation that 
 would be a means of spreading the light of the true 
 faith in this district, and one that would make your name 
 revered by all good CathoHcs." 
 
 Upon Quillian making no reply, Father Akhurst added: 
 
 " It would be some slight return for the much that has 
 been given." 
 
 " It is a matter that cannot be decided at once," de- 
 clared Quillian lamely. 
 
 " Prayer and taking counsel with those who are set in 
 
 5 
 
66 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. vi 
 
 authority over you should lead you into the right way. 
 Then, having proved your worthiness, I could give 
 you excellent advice with regard to whom you should 
 marry." 
 
 Qmllian metaphorically pricked up his ears. 
 
 " That is one of the reasons I am sorry you are making 
 such a very short stay," continued the other. 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 "You have several Catholic neighbours: I have two 
 families in my mind, in either of which you will find the 
 wife you are in need of. It is a great pity you cannot 
 change your mind." 
 
 " I shall have to return for a day or two," said Quillian 
 (he was thinking of Miss Fothergill, who had not yet suc- 
 ceeded in finding her aunt), " but I could come back 
 after." 
 
 " I advise all young men who come to me to marry as 
 early as possible. And if it is a safeguard for them, how 
 much more is it for one such as you, who is young, rich, 
 inexperienced !" 
 
 " The Guardian at Ypres warned me before I came 
 away." 
 
 " As you know, he wrote to me ; he is very, very anxious 
 on your behalf." 
 
 " There is no occasion to be." 
 
 " He knows you better than you do yourself. But 
 there is a Miss Wenborn here. Her fither was not born 
 in the Faith, but was converted by his wife. I am 
 anxious for you to meet them." 
 
 " I should like to — on my return." 
 
 " They already know of you. Miss Wenborn has con- 
 sulted me about taking vows." 
 
 " If she wishes to be a nun " began Quillian, who 
 
 had a masculine objection to having his wife chosen for 
 him. 
 
 " She will be advised by me," interrupted the priest 
 shortly. 
 
 " And then there are the three Miss Lownes," he con- 
 tinued after an interval of silence. " The one who wins 
 the eldest for his own will have a veritable treasure." 
 
 " Is she so attractive ?" 
 
CH.VI] 'COURTS' 67 
 
 "Mercia Lownes is good, accomplished, beautiful. 
 What more can man want ?" 
 
 " Love," said Quillian hesitatingly, and in a low voice. 
 
 " Is that essential ?" 
 
 " It would be to me." 
 
 " How can you know what love is ?" 
 
 " Whether they experience it or not, it is what most 
 men feel they need," returned QuiUian. 
 
 " Well, well," said Father Akhurst impatiently, " that 
 all hes in the future. But if— if I can be of service to you 
 in this or any other respect, it is in my mind to ask some- 
 thing in return." 
 
 " And that ?" 
 
 " Amongst other things, you have mherited a very fine 
 Ubrary, which contains all too many works of which our 
 Church rightly disapproves. I often reproached your 
 late relative on this score, but he was by way of being a 
 scholar, and would not Usten." 
 
 " Well !" said QuiLian, upon the other pausing. 
 
 " If I succeeded in being of great service to you, I 
 should beg your permission to weed out much of which I 
 disapprove." 
 
 QuiUian returned a non-committal reply; very soon 
 after. Father Akhurst took his leave. 
 
 Quillian stroUed thoughtfully towards the house: he 
 could not blame the priest for what he now considered the 
 narrowness of his views, since he was only too well aware 
 that his training and environment had set hard and fast 
 limits to his horizon : Quillian was much more engrossed 
 by what he had heard of the perfections of Mercia Lown^, 
 and marvelled if it were she whom Providence had selected 
 to be his mate. 
 
 He walked up a flight of the steps leading to the fore- 
 court, and, crossing this, entered the big, panelled haU, 
 passed the age-blackened oak staircase with its carved 
 balustrade, and went into the library — the library in 
 which Father Akhurst was eager to sift the unrighteous 
 chaH from the orthodox grain. 
 
 Quihian loved the almost starthng repose of this place, 
 which seemed impervious to the increasing unrest of the 
 world without; the stately house had an atmosphere of 
 
68 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. vi 
 
 permanence, but it was as nothing compared to the un- 
 ruffled calm provided by the rows upon rows of leather- 
 bound books upon the shelves and in the great oak cases 
 which cumbered the floor: perhaps this was largely caused 
 by the accumulation of thought and imagination and 
 emotion for which the volumes stood, which the efforts 
 of narrow-minded or revolutionary destructiveness could 
 never quite efface. 
 
 Quillianwas cursed or blessed with a natural humility; 
 but his normal appreciation of his insignificance in the 
 scheme of things was appallingly enhanced upon his con- 
 templating the vast wealth of knowledge which stared him 
 in the face, a wealth of knowledge which it was quite 
 impossible for one person to assimilate in the span doled 
 out to the human unit. 
 
 For the time being, the purpose for which he had left 
 the monastery, the perfections of Mercia Lownes were 
 forgotten : it was in his mind to devote his days to scholar- 
 ship, even if by so doing all he ultimately won was an 
 abiding belief in his limitations. 
 
 But only for a while, for soon his senses were alive to 
 the subtle influences about him. 
 
 Ever so long ago (it was in the early days of his entering 
 the seminary) he had been moved to authorship, but had 
 soon given up on realizing his pitiful lack of a necessary 
 knowledge of his species; and on account of the dis- 
 couragement of his pastors and masters. 
 
 These early efforts had taught him, however, the extent 
 to which imaginative writers were dependent for their 
 material on their environment: if this were so, and he 
 intuitively believed it to be the case, the heaped-up 
 erudition and fancy with which he was surrounded was 
 the quintessence of life in varjdng periods of the world's 
 history : and much of it was inspired by the emotions of 
 the soul (QuilUan did not forget that love was the most 
 considerable), and fired by the flame of genius. 
 
 Even as Quillian was sensible of these things, it was as 
 though the atmosphere of the library was fuU of intangible 
 whispers from some of the phases of existence which 
 lived between the covers of many of the books; they 
 buzzed about his brain, and in a very httle while theyset 
 
CH.vi] 'COURTS' 69 
 
 up a kaleidoscope of impressions; a kaleidoscope in 
 which glimpses of the days that had been were all 
 jumbled together. 
 
 It seemed as if he were watching living pictures which 
 were mishandled by a drunken operator. 
 
 One moment, he was witnessing episodes, and of the 
 heroic sort, from the life of the ancient world; the next, 
 he was minghng with the groundlings of an Elizabethan 
 theatre, and marvelling at their coarse vitaUty. 
 
 A vision of St. John preaching in the wilderness was 
 followed by a sight of the cruel splendour of Carthage, 
 with its masts, and temples, and quays; and this was 
 blotted out by the adventures of greatly daring spirits 
 in new and hitherto undreamed-of worlds. 
 
 The struggles of mailed crusaders against the infidel; 
 the hard-fought battles of forgotten ships in uncharted 
 seas; the Emperor Hadrian trudging at the head of his 
 legions to visit his far-flung dominions; the despair of 
 prophets at their messages faUing on ears that would 
 not hearken; the downfall of Empires which seemed to 
 shake the earth to its foundations; the ceaseless cries of 
 the downtrodden, were all set before him. 
 
 And ever woven like a silk thread in a coarse woof was 
 an eternal tale of love which had made holy and of good 
 report the orgy of lust and bloodshed which, just now, 
 seemed to have been the chief preoccupation of his kind. 
 
 A fair face infrequently looked into his; more than 
 once he repeated two lines he had lately chanced upon : 
 
 ' Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, 
 And burnt the topless towers of Ilium !' 
 
 But one and all passed, and left him weary; not enough, 
 however, to stop him from suffering from a further and 
 more comprehensive knowledge of his stupendous little- 
 ness when compared to the sum of things that were and 
 had been. 
 
 And the impressions that had faded into nothingness 
 were in the nature of a symbol of all earthly striving and 
 winning, which, in the ruthless passing of time, aU died 
 away and became as things of naught. 
 
 This conviction of personal insignificance and sense of 
 
70 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. vi 
 
 futility were not altogether unhelpful in his present frame 
 of mind ; they brought home to him the wisdom of making 
 the most of his lot, even if it were merely in the nature of 
 a defiance to the obstacles he had to face. Only by 
 such means could he justify his hfe to its Giver. 
 
 Quillian started from his reverie; a servant had en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 " Sir Percy and Miss Philbrick, sir," said the man. 
 
 " Who are they ?" returned QuiUian. 
 
 " Neighbours, sir. They come from Croft Park." 
 
 " Have you shown them in ?" 
 
 " Sir Percy's in the hall, sir. The lady won't come in, 
 as she's dogs in the car." 
 
 Quillian, with some misgivings with regard to his 
 ability to meet people of some importance on common 
 social ground, hastened into the hall, where he saw a 
 stoutish, elderly, kindly, not very intelligent-looking man 
 staring at one of the pictures. 
 
 " Hope you don't mind my calling," said Sir Percy, a 
 little nervously. " But Beatrice insisted, and — and — 
 there you are." 
 
 " It is very kind of you. Won't your daughter come 
 in?" 
 
 " Thanks, but, as usual, we're full up with dogs — ^in 
 fact, we're on our way to a show. But she'd Uke a word 
 with you." 
 
 " Can she spare the time ?" 
 
 " Sure you don't mind dogs ?" 
 
 " I love them." 
 
 " Eh 1" 
 
 " The house isn't ready for people, but I should be 
 delighted if she would come in." 
 
 " Dogs and all ?" 
 
 " Dogs and all." 
 
 The two men went without the door, where, reclining 
 in a motor-car, and caressing a dog, was a young woman 
 whom Quillian for a moment or two considered very 
 handsome until he was aware of a suggestion of an almost 
 brutal (in one so otherwise fair) resolve in the lower part 
 of her countenance. A stoutish, middle-aged man, with 
 a fat red face, was by her side; one of his hands was 
 
CH. VI] ■ COURTS ' 71 
 
 tugging a tiny moustache, and the other was fondling a 
 dog that lay across his knees. 
 
 " My daughter, Beatrice," said her father. " Chal- 
 font, do you know QuiUian ?" 
 
 " Hope you don't mind our turnin' up like this ?" 
 cried Miss Philbrick, who appeared a very self-possessed 
 young woman. 
 
 " It is very good of you to come," returned QuiUian. 
 " But won't you come in ?" 
 
 " Perhaps you mind dogs ! I told father to mention 
 it, but he's sure to forget." 
 
 Before Quillian could reply. Sir Percy said: 
 
 " But I did tell him; I did mention it, didn't I ?" 
 
 " You did," declared Quillian. " And I said I hadn't 
 the least objection." 
 
 The chauffeur opened the door, and Miss Philbrick 
 and ChaKont got out; they were followed by some half- 
 dozen beautiful dogs of varying breeds, which streamed 
 after them. 
 
 " Perhaps you're 'doggy' !" suggested Miss Philbrick 
 to QuilHan as they entered the house. 
 
 " I beg your pardon." 
 
 " Perhaps you're ' doggy ' !" 
 
 " I'm afraid I don't understand." 
 
 " Are you keen on dogs ?" 
 
 " I'm very fond of them." 
 
 " You don't ' show ' — dog shows, I mean ?" 
 
 " No. I'm afraid things are rather in confusion here. 
 I've only come for the shortest of visits." 
 
 " Lucky we got you. But hearin' you were here, I 
 was determined to come, although father was against it." 
 
 " My dear !" urged Sir Percy. 
 
 " You know you were." 
 
 " Not in the way you appear to mean." 
 
 " I'U tell you all about it, and then we'll all know — 
 come here, Roger " (this to one of the dogs) — " we'll know 
 where we are." 
 
 " Please do," said Quillian, who was sure he would 
 never be a match for this young woman's forcefulness. 
 
 " I'm startin' a County Canine Society," Miss Philbrick 
 went on. " And as we're all drivin' over to the Ashford 
 
72 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. vi 
 
 Show this afternoon, I decided to look in and ask if you'd 
 be a Vice-President, or let us have your name in some 
 way." 
 
 " I should be very pleased to help you if I thought 
 I should be the least use." 
 
 " That's all right," she remarked oft-handedly. " All 
 I want is a few names to make a start. Tommy and father 
 are honorary secretaries." 
 
 " Tommy !" 
 
 " Tommy Chalfont. Everybody calls him Tommy." 
 
 " But " began Quilhan. 
 
 " You're not goin' to back out of it now ?" 
 
 " I was merely going to say I know so little about 
 dogs." 
 
 " Then you'd better come with us." 
 
 " To-day ?" 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Must you go ?" 
 
 " Of course," she declared, and as if not a little sur- 
 prised by his question. 
 
 " I was hoping you'd stay. And you might have some 
 tea." 
 
 " Impossible," she said decidedly. 
 
 " But, my dear !" feebly protested her father. 
 
 " You know we're late as it is." 
 
 " StiU !" 
 
 " Just look at Clement. Why don't you keep an eye 
 on him, father ?" she cried, and referring to a dog which 
 was bent on going up the stairway. 
 
 " He won't do any harm," said QuiUian. 
 
 " I know. I was frightened of losin' him," she re- 
 turned. 
 
 Sir Percy very energetically, and Chalfont languidly, 
 seciured the errant dog, and this accompUshed, Beatrice 
 said: 
 
 " We must be off. Are you comin' ?" 
 
 " I don't know what to say." 
 
 " Say you'll come, and it'U do you good, as you'll 
 pick up somethin' about dogs." 
 
 QuiUian could not make up his mind until decision 
 was taken out of his hands by Miss Philbrick, who said : 
 
CH. VI] 'COURTS' 73 
 
 " I want you to come. Now then, father: you and 
 Tommy see to the dogs." 
 
 There was no denying her. Quillian got mto a thick 
 coat for the ride, and upon his joining Miss Philbrick, he 
 said: 
 
 " Are you exhibiting to-day ?" 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 II At Ashford." 
 
 " Ashford !" she cried scornfully. 
 
 " I'm sorry if I've said anything amiss." 
 
 " As if I'd ' show ' at a rotten httle hole Uke that ! 
 I wouldn't even go to the judgin'. I'm only goin' to 
 look at a dog I'm thinkin' of buyin' for stud." 
 
 They and the dogs got into the car, ChaHont sitting in 
 front, and Quillian behind between Sir Percy and his 
 daughter. 
 
 One dog was given to Chalfont to nurse, another to 
 Sir Percy, and a third to Quillian; as Miss Philbrick 
 handed it to him, she said : 
 
 " You'd better look after Jessie." 
 
 " Am I competent to look after him ?" inquired 
 QiiiUian. 
 
 " It's a ' she ' ; Jessie is a bitch," she returned promptly. 
 
 " I'm sorry," he said. 
 
 " That's aU right. Keep an eye on father: he's always 
 so careless." 
 
 " My dear !" protested Sir Percy. 
 
 " If you live to a thousand, you'U never know how to 
 handle a dog," she declared. 
 
 QuiUian was more glad than otherwise he was going to 
 the dog show: in addition to cultivating the acquaint- 
 ance of his future neighbours, he might get an oppor- 
 tunity of asking someone's advice with regard to the best 
 means of obtaining congenial employment for Miss 
 FothergiU in the event of her failing to find her aunt. 
 
 " What dogs do you exhibit ?" he asked of Miss Philbrick. 
 
 " Don't you know ?" she asked in some surprise. 
 
 " Why should I ?" 
 
 " I thought everyone knew, at least, about here. 
 I'm in ' Poms,' and ' Skips,' and White West Highland 
 Aberdeen Terriers ; I was in ' Cockers ' and ' Flat- 
 
74 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. vi 
 
 Coated Retrievers,' and am thinking of goin' in for 
 ' Bedlington's.' " 
 
 " It's aU meaningless to me." 
 
 " You'll soon get into it if you've anythin' in you." 
 
 Qmllian made some commonplace remarks, to which 
 Miss Philbrick returned absent-minded replies, until she 
 suddenly said: 
 
 " Talk to father. A pedigree's worrjdn' me." 
 
 Quillian did as he was told, and Sir Percy seemed 
 thankful to have someone to speak to. 
 
 " Do you Uke motoring ?" he asked of Quillian. 
 
 " Yes. But it's all so new to me." 
 
 " So I understand." 
 
 " And one is always told to distrust the charm of new- 
 ness. Do you like it ?" 
 
 " When Bea,trice doesn't insist on going beyond the 
 speed limit." 
 
 They passed the entrance-gates of a park; the gate 
 pillars were surmounted by a heraldic device. 
 
 " Know who hves there ?" asked Sir Percy. 
 
 " The Lownes ?" hazarded Quillian. 
 
 " They live the other way. That's where Vaucourt 
 lives — Lord Vaucourt — Tommy's father." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Do you know the Lownes ?" 
 
 " Only from Father Akhurst having mentioned them." 
 
 " We may see some of them at the show." 
 
 " Isn't there a Miss Mercia Lownes ?" 
 
 " She's the eldest: then comes Maud; and then there's 
 Joan. Joan's sure to be at the show: she loves dogs." 
 
 " What's that ?" asked Miss Philbrick. 
 
 " I was speaking of Joan Lownes and sa5dng how 
 fond she was of dogs." 
 
 " Joan doesn't know a dog from an otter !" cried Miss 
 Philbrick scornfully. 
 
 " She has several, dear." 
 
 " If you caU them dogs. Don't argue: I'm tryin' to 
 think." 
 
 Sir Percy shifted nervously in his seat, and for a time 
 stared at the fields and woods the car was swiftly passing: 
 on approaching a quaint, ivy-covered house, with very 
 
CH.vi] 'COURTS' 75 
 
 tall chimneys, which faced them as they approached a 
 bend in the road, Quillian said : 
 
 " Who lives there ?" 
 
 "The Wenborn's: dehghtful old place," replied Sir 
 Percy. 
 
 " Father Akhurst spoke of them." 
 
 " He's always there." 
 
 " Dreadful people !" cried Beatrice. 
 
 " My dear !" 
 
 " Won't have a dog in the house." 
 
 Quillian had an impression that the man at his side 
 suppressed a sigh, and a httle later Miss Philbrick asked 
 of Tommy Chalf ont : 
 
 " Who was the dam of Canterbury Rival ?" 
 
 " Give it up," returned Tommy. 
 
 " Was it Beresford Jessie or Beresford Beauty ?" 
 
 " Give it up." 
 
 " I suppose you don't know, father ?" 
 
 "Let me see, was it er — er, was it Beresford 
 Beauty ?" he hesitated. 
 
 " You think it was ?" 
 
 " Y-yes, my dear." 
 
 " Then it's sure to be Beresford Jessie. You're always 
 wrong." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 NEIGHBOURS 
 
 On arrival at the Town Hall, where the dog show was 
 being held, Beatrice said that the men must take it in 
 turns to sit in the car in order to keep an eye on the 
 dogs, so that these last might not feel lonely; Tommy 
 Chalfont was deputed to stay first, and the Philbricks 
 and Quillian approached the building from which came 
 the incessant barking of dogs. 
 
 This noise increased as they came to the entrance, and 
 was almost deafening upon their getting inside, where 
 Miss Philbrick seemed to know all sorts and conditions 
 of men and women, many of whom crowded about her, 
 and asked her a thousand and one questions on doggy 
 subjects. 
 
 QuiUian and Sir Percy could hardly hear each other 
 speak. The former wondered how long he would be able 
 to stand the barking and the smell peculiar to dog shows, 
 and hoped his turn would soon arrive to take his watch 
 without. Miss Philbrick approached with a couple of 
 catalogues (she had a third under her arm), and after 
 giving one to her father and another to Quillian, she said : 
 
 " I want father to go round and mark those who're 
 ' in the money.' After he's done that, 1 want him to try 
 and learn the different dogs. Directly he sees a face, he 
 forgets all about it. Do try and keep him up to the 
 scratch." 
 
 Thus bidden, the two men set off, Sir Percy with an air 
 of determination to do his utmost to satisfy his daughter. 
 
 " Wonderful girl, Beatrice," he said, on coming to the 
 benches reserved for " Black Field Spaniels." 
 
 " She seems quite remarkable," assented Quillian. 
 
 76 
 
CH. vii] NEIGHBOURS n 
 
 " Astonishing memory for dogs. No matter where we 
 may be at a show, no matter what dog comes along, she 
 says, ' There goes so-and-so.' And she's always right." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " I'm not gifted to anything like the same extent : 
 indeed, scarcely at all; and that's where Beatrice has a 
 failing: she — she refuses to make allowances." 
 
 Qufllian made a non-committal reply. 
 
 " It's no use maintaining the contrary — as we're going 
 to be neighbours, and I hope to be friends — 1 may as well 
 make a clean breast of it : I'm not absolutely reliable for 
 making a note of who's who, as it were, to-day. I shall 
 get into dreadful trouble to-night, and — and " 
 
 " Yes ?" said Quillian, upon the other hesitating. 
 
 "If — if your head doesn't ache too much — mine's fit 
 to burst already; it always does — you might very kindly 
 keep a sort of an eye on me, and see I don't make too 
 many mistakes." 
 
 " I've had no experience at this sort of thing. But 
 I'U do my best." 
 
 " You really wiU ?" 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " That is good of you: 'pon my word it is ! You see, 
 Beatrice sometimes gets very nasty at my mistakes — 
 particularly if she's showing and only gets a ' V.H.C 
 or ' H.C: and — and sometimes the worry of it all keeps 
 me awake at night." 
 
 Quillian was surprised to find what a simple job it was: 
 it was merely a matter of comparing the number on the 
 bench with the numbered entry in the catalogue; and if 
 a card announced that the dog had secured a prize, to 
 make a note of what it had won against its name : with 
 his assistance, they made rapid progress — at least, so 
 thought Sir Percy, for he said : 
 
 " 'Pon my word, it's astonishing what we're doing ; 
 at least, what you are: for I don't mind telling you, I 
 shouldn't have got on nearly so fast by myself. " 
 
 "ReaUy!" 
 
 " You don't think so ! But then you haven't the fear 
 of Beatrice's displeasure hanging over your head. That 
 makes me nervous." 
 
78 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. vii 
 
 Later, and after Sir Percy's catalogue was scored with 
 quite a lot of marks, he said: 
 
 " Would you do me a favour ?" 
 
 " Of course I wiU if I can." 
 
 Sir Percy became confidential, and said : 
 
 " Don't — please don't say too much to Beatrice about 
 your having given me a hand. I should never hear the 
 last of it." 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 " Thank you: thank you: how lucky we were to find 
 you in !" declared Sir Percy, and added as an after- 
 thought: " Beatrice is the dearest girl in the world until 
 it comes to dogs: it's only then she's a ' bit difficult.' " 
 
 Now and again they would come upon Miss Philbrick, 
 who was usually laying down ' doggy ' law, often seated 
 sideways on a bench with a dog for object lesson, and 
 listened to with much respect by her mixed acquaint- 
 ances. 
 
 " How's your head ?" asked Sir Percy presently. 
 
 " I'm getting more used to it," returned QuiUian. 
 
 " I wish mine were. But, if you like, you can go out- 
 side now and take your turn. I don't see why Tommy 
 should have all the fun." 
 
 " The fun ?" 
 
 " The fresh air," quickly corrected Sir Percy. 
 
 " As your head's bad, you take your turn." 
 
 " Wouldn't hear of it; 'pon my word, I wouldn't ! 
 Should never forgive myself if I were so selfish." 
 
 Quillian had his way, however, for the other was not 
 very hard to persuade; Tommy Chalfont left the car 
 and remarked to Quillian, whom he joined: 
 
 " Old PhUbrick's ' fed up.' " 
 
 " He complains of his head." 
 
 " He always does in no time. He's not half a bad old 
 sportsman, but he can't stick dog shows and no wonder: 
 sort of has 'em in the house all the year round." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 " You haven't been there ?" 
 
 " I only met you all to-day." 
 
 "Stoopid of me to forget. Wait till you go there; 
 you'll see for yourself fast enough." 
 
CH. vii] NEIGHBOURS 79 
 
 " I don't suppose I shall just yet. I'm only here for a 
 short time." 
 
 "Goin' back to town?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I hope to run up next week. Feel I shall die if I 
 don't see a bit of life." 
 
 " Are you so fond of London ?" 
 
 " Ain't you ?" 
 
 " It has its drawbacks." 
 
 " You wouldn't say that if you knew my people." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " How long have you been in town ?" 
 
 " About a month." 
 
 " Seen much life ?" 
 
 " A great deal." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " One cannot help doing so if one keeps one's eyes 
 open in London." 
 
 " Wonder if you know as much of life in town as I do !" 
 said Tommy complacently. 
 
 " I've been to the Tower; Westminster Abbey; the Zoo; 
 and the National Gallery; Kensington Palace !" 
 
 " Good Lord !" ejaculated the other. 
 
 " I suppose you know them by heart!" 
 
 " To tell you the truth, I've never seen one of 'em. 
 I don't mean that sort of place at all: I mean where you 
 see Life." 
 
 " Oh !" said Quillian blankly: he was beginning to 
 divine what the other was driving at. 
 
 " Theatres; music-halls; all that sort of thing." 
 
 Undeterred by the other's silence, Tommy went on : 
 
 " You ma5m't believe it, but I know three actresses, 
 and any number of actors. And if it weren't such hard 
 work, I'd like to be on the stage myself." 
 
 " As an actor ?" 
 
 " Comedian. I'd hke to do a bit of that sort of thing 
 down here, but there's nothin' 'arty ever doin' in this 
 dull hole." 
 
 " Is it so dull ?" 
 
 " Wait till you've been here a month, if you can stick 
 it so long. That's why I'm off to town at the end of next 
 
8o THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. vii 
 
 week; and if you're on, I should be only too pleased to 
 show you round." 
 
 Rather to Chalfont's surprise, QuilUan did not jump 
 at this offer, and to turn a distasteful subject, and to 
 mention a matter that was of considerable interest to 
 him, he said: 
 
 " I suppose you know the Lownes ?" 
 
 " Rather !" 
 
 " Sir Percy mentioned some of them might be here 
 to-day." 
 
 " Shouldn't be surprised." 
 
 " Isn't there a Miss Mercia Lownes ?" 
 
 " She wouldn't be here," declared Chalfont, with con- 
 viction. 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Not that sort at all: sort of girl who's much too good 
 for this world," he said, with an inflection of disparage- 
 ment in his voice. 
 
 Quillian wondered if Chalfont's censure were in the 
 nature of a compliment to a high-minded young woman; 
 a moment or two later, his companion said : 
 
 " Here she is !" 
 
 " The one we were talking about ?" 
 
 " Lord no: her sister." 
 
 A rather horsily dressed young woman, with small eyes 
 and a large mouth, but who was otherwise rather nice- 
 looking, smiled at Chalfont, left a man who was with her, 
 and came over to Quillian's companion. 
 
 " Wondered if you'd be here," she remarked. " Seen 
 any thin' of Joan ?" 
 
 " Nothin'," replied Chalfont, and forthwith introduced 
 the second Miss Lownes to Quillian. 
 
 " We've heard a lot about you," she remarked in rather 
 a loud voice, at least, so Quillian thought. 
 
 " Is that so ?" he asked in some surprise. 
 
 " Father Akhurst; if it hadn't been for him, it would 
 have made no difference; news of one's neighbours so 
 quickly runs round." 
 
 Quillian made a commonplace remark, and the young 
 woman asked: 
 
 " But how on earth did you get to a ' show ' like this ?" 
 
CH. VII] NEIGHBOURS 8i 
 
 Quillian explained how he had come to be present, and 
 on asking her if she Uked dogs, she repHed: 
 
 " Only if they're well bred." 
 
 " Quillian was askin' if Mercia were likely to be here," 
 said Chalfont. 
 
 " What !" cried Maud in astonishment. 
 
 "Fact." 
 
 " Not really ?" 
 
 " Really." 
 
 " Mercia at a dog show ! That's the best joke I've 
 heard for many a long day." 
 
 " Thought you'd see it," grinned Chalfont. 
 
 QuiUian, who did not much care for the Miss Lownes 
 he had met, again wondered if the depreciation of her 
 sister implied by her manner of speech were a testimony 
 to Mercia's worth. 
 
 QuiUian was conscious of a lack of sjmipathy between 
 Maud Lownes and himself; he suspected her of being 
 material, and tried to think of a means of joining Sir 
 Percy who was still keeping watch without. 
 
 " Here's Joan !" cried Maud Lownes. " I've been 
 expectin' her all the afternoon; " and QuiUian was intro- 
 duced to Maud's yoimger sister. 
 
 In appearance, manner, and atmosphere, Joan was a 
 striking contrast to Maud; indeed, if QuiUian had not 
 been told, he would not have taken them for sisters: 
 Joan was shorter; had not unpleasing, irregular features, 
 which were set off with fine wUd eyes; and was dressed 
 anyhow with a tam-o'-shanter hat upon her masses of 
 red hair: she nodded and slightly smiled to QiiiUian, 
 and then looked away; she gave him the impression that 
 she was shy. 
 
 " Where have you been, Joan ?" asked Maud sharply. 
 
 " Been for a ride round." 
 
 " I expected you hours ago." 
 
 Upon her sister f aUiag to reply, Maud added : 
 
 " But it's just Uke you: you never can do anythin' like 
 other people." 
 
 The place seemed getting momentarily fuUer, and as 
 they made their way through the press, Quillian noticed 
 that Joan took every opportimity of fondling the dogs 
 
 6 
 
82 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. vii 
 
 on the benches, many of which ardently returned her 
 caresses. 
 
 Quillian, so far as he was able, kept by her side, and 
 sought to engage her in conversation; this was by no 
 means easy, as she replied in shy monosyllables to his 
 remarks: for instance, upon his asking: 
 " Do you like dogs ?" 
 " Rather !" she replied. 
 " Have you any ?" 
 " Several." 
 
 " Do you exhibit them ?" 
 " Never." 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " They're mongrels." 
 " Are you fond of them ?" 
 " Rather." 
 
 Notwithstanding this shortness, Quillian believed the 
 girl had an unusual nature and that her friendship was 
 worth the seeking. 
 
 On reaching the end of the hall that abutted on the 
 street, they ran into Miss Philbrick, who barely acknow- 
 ledged the greetings of the Lownes girls, and said to 
 Quillian : 
 
 " Where's father ?" 
 " Waiting outside." 
 " I've had enough if you have." 
 " I'm quite ready to go." 
 " Not a dog worth looking at in the place." 
 She communicated her intention to the others and, 
 leaving the building, they came upon Sir Percy standing 
 by the car; he was keeping an eye on the dogs, and 
 trying to look as if he liked it. 
 
 " We've met before to-day," he said to Joan. 
 " Where ?" asked Maud. 
 
 " She drove up while I was waiting here; didn't you, 
 Joan ?" 
 
 But Joan's attention was attracted by a dog that bore 
 a possible resemblance to a fox terrier; he was barking 
 with delight at catching sight of his mistress from the 
 seat of an adjacent car. 
 
 " Surely you didn't bring Jack !" cried Maud. 
 
CH. VII] NEIGHBOURS 83 
 
 " Why not ?" returned Joan. 
 
 " You ought to know it's very bad form to be seen 
 out of doors with a dog Uke that." 
 
 Joan was not deterred from caressing her pet; after 
 Maud had said good-bye to the Philbricks, Chalfont, and 
 Quillian, and Joan had waved a comprehensive farewell. 
 Sir Percy said: 
 
 " After we've dropped Tommy, we'll get back." 
 
 "Do let's hurry," urged his daughter. "I want to 
 know how Canterbury Susan and Canterbury Folly are 
 getting on." 
 
 " You're coming back to dinner with us !" said Sir 
 Percy to Quillian. 
 
 " But ■" began QmUian, and was interrupted by 
 
 Sir Percy, who said: 
 
 " Please don't disappoint us." 
 
 " But you dress for dinner, and " 
 
 " It's aU arranged," said Miss PhUbrick decisively. " I 
 wish you to come back, and someone will drive you home." 
 
 There was no denying Miss Philbrick; QmlMan, who 
 welcomed this opportunity of learning more of his neigh- 
 bours, said : 
 
 " It's very kind of you." 
 
 " You and father can amuse each other if I have any 
 dogs to see to." 
 
 It was some minutes before they started, for Miss Phil- 
 brick had much to say to ' doggy ' people who were 
 coming out of the hall ; most of their conversation was in 
 a language of which QuiUian understood Uttle, and had 
 to do with ' classes,' judges' faihngs and the best diet 
 for, and cures of ailments of, dogs. 
 
 He was amused by a Uttle man in high gaiters, who 
 touched his cap upon Miss Philbrick addressing him, and 
 said: 
 
 " Just off to the post-office, miss, to wire home." 
 
 " Your wins ?" she asked. 
 
 " Y-yes." 
 
 " But you're not ' in the money.' " 
 
 " I know, miss; but it looks weU for my kennel." 
 
 Miss Philbrick did not seem in the best of tempers on 
 the way home: she rated her father for any and every 
 
84 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. vii 
 
 thing; she did not know why she had gone to ' such a 
 rotten Uttle show,' or went in at all for dogs : the judges 
 were either unfair or incompetent ; and no breeder had a 
 good word to say for anyone else's dogs : Quillian, who 
 was doing all he might to increase his slender knowledge 
 of the eternal feminine, wondered what had brought 
 about her displeasure. 
 
 He was not left long in doubt, for she presently said to 
 her father : 
 
 " Why did you advise me to sell Canterbury Belle ?" 
 
 " But I didn't, my dear," he repKed. 
 
 " You didn't ! I'm certain you did." 
 
 " My dear !" 
 
 " It's no use den3dng it: I remember it all perfectly: I 
 couldn't quite make up my mind, and you said something 
 which made me decide." 
 
 " I told you not to sell her, as you might regret it." 
 
 " I know. And as you're always wrong, I got rid of her 
 at once." 
 
 " What's happened to Canterbury Belle ?" asked 
 Tommy Chalfont from his seat in front. 
 
 " She's winning everywhere. Two firsts and a special 
 at Bristol; and took everything at Birmingham." 
 
 The car pulled up outside a gate of Lord Vaucourt's 
 park, and after this was opened sped up an avenue of ehns 
 towards a house in the distance : Quillian noticed that 
 the grass was poor and' the road Hi-kept; away from the 
 drive, many of the trees had recently been feUed. 
 
 " Won't you come in ?" asked Tommy, on being set 
 down in front of a great, barrack-like house. 
 
 " Not now; we're late as it is," returned Miss Philbrick. 
 
 " Hope we'U see somethin' of you before you go," said 
 Tommy to Quillian. " I'm sure you and father would 
 hit it off : he's a sort of brainy hermit, if you can ' stick ' 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 " Strange man, Vaucourt," remarked Sir Percy, after 
 they were again off. " Shuts himself up and hardly ever 
 sees his own family; and he's impoverished himself for 
 the Church." 
 
 " My housekeeper was talking of him. He's an earl, 
 isn't he ?" 
 
CH. VII] NEIGHBOURS 85 
 
 " Yes : Tommy is the second son : Ashford, the elder, 
 lives there with his wife." 
 
 QuilUan might have learned further particulars of the 
 Vaucourt family had not Miss Philbrick again returned to 
 the subject of her hobby. 
 
 " Wonder if I shall have any luck when I get back!" 
 she began. 
 
 " With Canterbury Barbara ! I don't see why you 
 shouldn't," returned her father, who added for Quillian's 
 behoof: " Beatrice has a dog showing at DubUn to-day." 
 
 Before Quillian could offer any remark, she said : 
 
 " Challis is judgin', and he always ' judges at the other 
 end of the chain.' " 
 
 " What might that ijiean ?" asked Quillian. 
 
 " Don't you know ?" 
 
 " I'm afraid I don't." 
 
 " He gives a prize to a dog who's been shown by a 
 pretty face." 
 
 For the rest of the way Miss Philbrick urged QuiUian 
 not to ' go in for dogs,' teUing him novices a.t dog-breed- 
 ing were cunningly encouraged to extend their operations 
 by being given small prizes at third-rate shows; and that 
 afterwards, one had no chance of winning anything ap- 
 preciable unless one were appointed a judge, since judges 
 made a point of giving awards to those who would be 
 likely to do them a like service in return : she ended by 
 saying : 
 
 " Isn't that so, father ?" 
 
 " Scarcely so bad as that, my dear." 
 
 " You know it's ever so much worse." 
 
 " There's always the Kennel Club." 
 
 " Now you're really funny, father," she told him. 
 
 Elham Manor, where the Philbricks lived, seemed more 
 devoted to dogs than to human beings, for wherever 
 Quillian went, he came upon them. Several times he 
 nearly fell, from the fact of their getting between his legs : 
 there were aUing dogs before the logs in the drawing- 
 room; others were asleep on the chairs and settees (the 
 carpet and rugs were not good enough for them), and he 
 had to take incessant care in order to avoid treading on 
 innumerable puppies. 
 
86 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. vii 
 
 Happily for her father's peace of mind, a telegram 
 awaited Beatrice telling her she had won three firsts at 
 Dubhn with Canterbury Barbara. Quillian forthwith 
 learned that dog-showing was perfectly straight; that 
 Challis was the most upright of judges; and that he 
 (Quillian) could not find a better hobby than breeding 
 and exhibiting dogs; moreover, she nearly always spoke 
 civilly to her father. 
 
 There were the sick dogs to be dosed and attended to 
 before dinner, and the meals of the others to be given; 
 although Miss Philbrick retained the services of two smart 
 kennel-maids, she supervised everything herself; as a 
 mark of peculiar favour, QtuUian was permitted to assist. 
 
 He had not been long in the house before he noticed 
 something that amused him not a little; for aU that the 
 dogs had the run of the place and did pretty much as they 
 pleased, there were certain things they must not do; 
 fighting and scratching were strictly forbidden; neither 
 were they allowed to repose on certain settees which were 
 covered with priceless tapestry. 
 
 Should their mistress be about, their conduct was 
 exemplary, since they full weU knew that, if they strayed 
 from the path marked out for them, they would be sternly 
 chastised : if she were out of the room and her father were 
 there, however, they forgot their good manners, and 
 squabbled to their hearts' content and went where they 
 wanted, for all the reproof he might urge. 
 
 " It's no use," he admitted to Quillian on one of these 
 occasions. " They know I'm too soft-hearted to hit 'em, 
 and so they sort of see me coming." 
 
 But the sound of their mistress's step or voice recalled 
 them to a sense of the proprieties; and in spite of, or 
 because of, the discipUne she exacted, one and aU loved 
 her devotedly, and were quite pathetic in their demonstra- 
 tions of affection. 
 
 The dinner was more than once interrupted by Miss 
 Philbrick getting up to see to a sick dog which, wrapped 
 in flannel, was lying before the fire ; afterwards, her latent 
 good himiour was temporarily dissipated because her 
 father had forgotten a certain dog's pedigree. 
 
 She was telling Quillian, who did his best to appear 
 
CH. VII] NEIGHBOUKb 87 
 
 interested, how she nearly won a championship for one 
 of her Poms, at Crufts, and had had victory snatched 
 from her grasp by the judges' partiality for a dog named 
 Topsy Turvey. 
 
 " Who bred Topsy Turvey ?" she asked of her father, 
 who looked uncomfortably perplexed. 
 " Don't you know ?" she cried sharply. 
 " I'm afraid I don't at the moment, dear." 
 " Nor at any other time." 
 She addressed herself to Quillian, and said : 
 " That's the worst of father : he can never remember 
 anything useful. We shall be in town for the Westminster 
 Show — of course, you'll be there — and I really think I'll 
 take the opportunity of having his memory trained." 
 
 Upon the two men being left to themselves. Sir Percy 
 lost the nervousness he betrayed in his masterful 
 daughter's presence; moreover, he respected Quillian for 
 the way he took his wine (a nice discrimination in such 
 matters had been cultivated on Feast Days at the monas- 
 tery at Ypres), and his host's simple heart warmed to his 
 new-made friend. 
 
 " DeUghted to meet you, QuiUian : it was a stroke of 
 luck running against you to-day; and I hope we shall see 
 a lot of you when you finally settle here." 
 Quillian gravely expressed his thanks. 
 " After the life of learning and all that sort of thing 
 you've led, it will be very good of you to put up with old 
 buSers like some of us." 
 
 " I shall greatly esteem the honour of your friendship," 
 returned Quillian. 
 
 " Of course, there's old Vaucourt : he's reaUy a scholar 
 and all that; but goodness knows how long the old fellow 
 will last. And after all said and done, we're not wanting 
 in young society." 
 
 " The Lownes, for instance." 
 " How did you Uke 'em ?" 
 " I hked Joan." 
 
 " Nice girl, Joan : a bit pecuHar, though." 
 " In what way ?" asked Quillian, who was hoping to 
 leam more of Mercia. 
 
 " Seems to prefer animals to human beings : hkes to be 
 
88 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. vii 
 
 alone with horses, dogs, pet rabbits, and turkeys, good- 
 ness knows what. She actually told me once She would 
 hke to tame tigers and Uons." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " If the place were her own, I believe she'd turn it into 
 a menagetie." 
 
 " But — and then there's the eldest Miss Lownes," 
 hazarded Quillian. 
 
 " Mercia. I've an idea you'll be attracted by Mercia." 
 
 " Everyone who mentions her seems to think highly of 
 her." 
 
 " Mercia Lownes is too good for this world," declared 
 Sir Percy. 
 
 " I'm looking forward to meeting her." 
 
 " You won't have to wait very lon^," smiled the elder; 
 and, in response to a look of inquiry in Quillian' s glance, 
 he went on : 
 
 " As you can understand, there's been a lot of talk 
 about you." 
 
 " I'm afraid I don't understand," repUed Quillian in all 
 sincerity. 
 
 "What! Young; and rich; and a bachelor! And 
 then there's the past life you've led. All the girls are 
 naturally more than interested." 
 
 Following upon further expressions of goodwill on the 
 part of his host, Quillian mentioned his acquaintance 
 with May Fothergill, and added that he thought of asking 
 some of the women with whom he might be brought into 
 contact if they would do something to assist her to a con- 
 genial situation in the event of her ultimately failing to 
 find her aunt : rather to Quillian's surprise. Sir Percy's 
 honest face fell. 
 
 " Is she young ?" asked the latter after a silence. 
 
 " I should say seventeen or eighteen." 
 
 "Pretty?" 
 
 " Very; and graceful." 
 
 " Think she's— she's straight ?" 
 
 " I should not have taken her in if I did not beUeve her 
 to be honest." 
 
 " H'm !" 
 
 " You don't approve of what I've done I" 
 
CH. vn] NEIGHBOURS 89 
 
 " That's all right. It's the women I'm thinking of." 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 " I don't profess to know much about 'em — only a 
 man who is a fool does that sort of thing— but they won't 
 at all like being asked to help a ' flapper ' of whom 
 they know nothing. Their sympathies don't run that 
 way." 
 
 " Are they so selfish ? Surely not !" 
 
 " That I won't take on myself to say. But they've got 
 their own interests to consider." 
 
 " You have surprised me." 
 
 " I dare say even the best of 'em will give you a few 
 more surprises before you've quite done with 'em," 
 laughed Sir Percy. 
 
 " But Mercia Lownes ! Would she be like that ?" 
 
 The man addressed considered, before replying : 
 
 " There's no knowing, you know." 
 
 " You have given me quite a shock." 
 
 " About Mercia ?" 
 
 " About women generally. I never so much as dreamed 
 they could be like that." 
 
 " I dare say I'm wrong, Quillian. Old feUers do get 
 prejudiced, they say, when the girls won't look at 'em. 
 But I will say this about Mercia !" 
 
 Quilhan was all attention. 
 
 " She never contradicted her father," declared Sir 
 Percy gravely. 
 
 QuiUian enjoyed the drive home in the sweetness of the 
 summer night; his heart warmed to his new friends, and 
 his imagination was aglow at the probability of meeting 
 the Mercia whose praises everyone sang. 
 
 A vision of St. Teresa in the chapel in Ypres came into 
 his mind; he wondered if Mercia at all resembled her : a 
 procession of scents from pasture and hedgerow assailed 
 his nostrils, and these were responsible for his conjuring 
 up many romantic pictures in which, should she prove to 
 be the desire of his heart, he would do good deeds in order 
 to prove his worth. 
 
 Then, and not till then, could he presume to take with 
 both hands the gifts Providence had put within his reach; 
 and could reconcile it to his conscience to settle down in'his 
 
90 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [en vii 
 
 beautiful home and enjoy the friendship of his kindly 
 neighbours. 
 
 His house looked strangely venerable in the light of a 
 young moon; he did not at once go to bed, and wandered 
 about its many rooms until he came to one of which the 
 housekeeper had made mention, but which he had 
 scarcely entered; it was the state bridal chamber. 
 
 To-night he went in, and looked almost fearfully about 
 him. 
 
 The dim light just permitted him to discern the great 
 carved four-post bed in the middle of the room, while the 
 rest of the cumbrous furniture was barely outlined; he 
 went to one of the tall windows, and drew the curtains; 
 on perceiving the moonlight haunting the forecourt and 
 the sunken gardens beyond, he opened the window and 
 looked out into the night. 
 
 His senses were bewitched by the odour of the flowers 
 which, as if pining for appreciation, threw up their many 
 perfumes in his face; a stream that fed the lake made 
 murmuring music in his ears ; some poplars were bending 
 to each other as if they had much to say about their 
 raiment; while away on his left a group of elms took on 
 the semblance of a knot of discreet women who were 
 spreading their skirts in order to conceal some romantic 
 mystery. 
 
 Quillian's thoughts inclined to love; once more he 
 marvelled where the one he would make his own was now 
 sleeping. 
 
 But only for a very little while did he surrender to the 
 intoxication of the spirit of the night. 
 
 In an access of gratitude for the glory of the world, and 
 the opportunities that were his, he fell on his knees by the 
 window, and after giving thanks for the manifold mercies 
 which had been vouchsafed to him, he asked, fervently, 
 that he might be rightly guided in the choice of a mate, so 
 that he might win the fairest crown which earthly life 
 could offer. 
 
 Last of all, he beseeched blessings on the head of whom- 
 soever she might prove to be. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MERCIA LOWNES 
 
 ' Will kind-hearted lady and gentleman who know what 
 sorrow is send a contribution to the Princess Royal 
 Hospital, Fulham Road, London, S.W. ? Supported 
 entirely by voluntary contributions, and in dire need of 
 assistance. — Reginald Stone Hemmingay, Secretary.^ 
 
 Quillian read the above in the Morning Post, and some- 
 thing familiar in the appeal made him look through the 
 pile of correspondence at his elbow — correspondence which 
 mostly consisted of begging letters in all their infinite 
 variety. 
 
 He had spoken to such a few people, and had so kept 
 himself to himself, that he could not understand how the 
 fact of his being possessed of means had leaked out; but 
 there was no den5dng that every day brought an increased 
 delivery of letters which nearly all asked for assistance on 
 pleas that were transparently flimsy even to Quillian's 
 unsophisticated knowledge of the world's devious ways. 
 
 He found the communication he sought. It con- 
 firmed his impression that he had received a letter from 
 the same address. It was typewritten, and set out in 
 excellent, if somewhat long-winded, English, the desperate 
 case of the hospital from lack of funds for the barest 
 necessaries for the innumerable patients it constantly 
 succoured. It was signed ' Reginald Stone Hemmingay ' 
 in a big, sprawling signature. 
 
 Quillian put it aside for further consideration, with some 
 half-dozen others which seemed genuine on the face of them, 
 and bent his mind to a more immediate matter. 
 
 Two days after he had seen the Philbricks, Mrs. Lownes 
 had called, and had been accompanied by her second 
 daughter, Maud. 
 
 91 
 
92 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. viii 
 
 Mrs. Lownes had been something of a surprise to him, 
 as she was altogether different from what he had expected: 
 she was small, slight, almost girlish-looking; was quite 
 pretty, and had fine grey eyes, fringed with long, black 
 lashes, which were nearly always cast down: she said 
 little, leaving most of the talking to Maud, who was full 
 of a barbarously bloodthirsty otter hunt she had recently 
 enjoyed, and QuiUian might almost have thought her a 
 fool had he not perceived the width of her forehead, and 
 had not her infrequent remarks been greatly to the point. 
 
 If the truth were told, Mrs. Lownes was a bitterly dis- 
 appointed woman: she had started life with great ex- 
 pectations, and had married for love her boisterous, burly 
 husband, and had all too soon discovered that she was 
 mated to an irresponsible, impressionable boy. 
 
 At the time her children had been born (she had not 
 looked forward to motherhood) he had made a great 
 fuss over her, and this had done much to reconcile her to 
 the temporary suspension of her ambitions, chief of which 
 was to be a political force in the Conservative interest : 
 almost directly after Joan had seen the light, he had 
 become as clay in the hands of the potter with any 
 woman who was clever enough to discover his foibles, 
 and play at mothering him; these infatuations had 
 resolved themselves into prolonged absences from the 
 wife of his bosom, seemingly on fishing jaunts in Norway 
 or Finland. 
 
 Three years back he had seen himself in the reproduc- 
 tion of a photographed house-party which had appeared 
 in an illustrated journal; this had infected him with 
 the prevailing passion for publicity at any price; it had 
 got into his blood; and he had put himself to a lot of 
 trouble in order that snapshots of his doings should find 
 their way into periodicals that catered for this weakness 
 in people who should have known better : it was the 
 regret of his life that he had not won what he considered 
 lasting fame by marrying a much-advertised star of the 
 musical comedy firmament. 
 
 His wife had become cynical, embittered, and took a 
 morbid pleasure in an affectation of self-effacement; 
 although she made pretence of admiring her daughters. 
 
CH. VIII] MERCIA LOWNES 93 
 
 at heart, she despised them, and most of all the saintly 
 Mercia; she told herself that her remaining interest in 
 Ufe was to ascertain if any men would be fool enough to 
 take them off her hands. 
 
 QmUian had been pressed to retium the call before he 
 went back to town, and had arranged to go over this 
 afternoon. 
 
 He had thought much of edl he had heard of Mercia : 
 it seemed to him it was ordained that she could indeed 
 be none other than the wife he was to seek: if this should 
 be the case, he was devoutly thankful at so speedily 
 accomphshing his purpose, and at escaping the feminine 
 pitfaUs into which one so inexperienced as he could easily 
 be engulfed. 
 
 His excitement at what was toward was such that he 
 ate a poor luncheon; feeling the need of correspondence 
 between his emotional apprehensions and his physical 
 processes, he resolved to walk the fotir miles separating 
 him from his destination. 
 
 He greatly enjoyed the earlier part of this walk; the 
 gay June sun rioted in the hedgerows, and kissed the 
 ' ragged robbin ' and ' cuckoo ' flowers which bordered 
 much of the way; it all seemed a meet environment for 
 the romantic quest on which he had set out. 
 
 On nearing the abode of Mercia, however, he was con- 
 scious of a failing of spirit; of the fact that his heart was 
 a-beat : he began to realize the tremendous issues, so far 
 as his happiness was concerned, which waited on the con- 
 sequences of his visit. 
 
 The Lownes Uved at Derringstone Court, a large, not 
 over-pleasing looking, red brick house, dating from the 
 early seventeenth century; it was set in the middle of a 
 park. 
 
 While QuiUian waited for the door to be opened in 
 response to his ring, he was sensible of a melodious 
 throbbing which seemed to shake the building : there 
 was something pleasantly reminiscent about this, and a 
 few moments later it was evident that some one, doubtless 
 Mercia, was pla5dng an organ. 
 
 Upon the double doors being opened by a servant, he 
 was met by a flood of melody; on entering the hall, he 
 
94 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. viii 
 
 perceived that the sound came from a room on the 
 left. 
 
 He followed the man up the staircase, where he stopijed 
 to glance at a family tree, the members' portraits of which 
 were painted in miniature on the branches (he had not 
 time to look for a possible Mercia), to a drawing-room on 
 the first floor; here, there was no one to receive him, and 
 while he waited he looked about him with eager curiosity 
 at the things that were part and parcel of Mercia's life. 
 
 The room was of noble dimensions, and was sparsely 
 furnished with Louis Quatorze furniture, the gilt of which 
 was almost dazzling in the sunlight : there was some 
 tapestry and four or five fine oil-paintings on the walls; 
 the spaces between these, and the infrequent settees and 
 chairs, assisted the spacious dignity of the apartment. 
 
 The throbbing of the organ once more reached his ears; 
 in order to hear what was being played, he went to, and 
 just opened the door : it was a Mass of Mozart's, and 
 one he knew well : as he listened to the stately periods, 
 he had much ado to persuade himself that he was not 
 occupying his stall in the monastery chapel at Ypres on 
 the occasion of high festival. 
 
 This suggestion of the life he had left for ever dis- 
 quieted his thoughts and set him slowly pacing the room : 
 he had reached the further end, and had turned to reach 
 the door, when a woman entered, and one he intuitively 
 realized was Mercia : the organ went on playing. 
 
 She was very tall; her slight, almost too slight form, 
 was crowned with fair hair, which lay about her head as 
 might a halo : she had straight, regular features, and large 
 blue eyes, and was clothed in black with the exception 
 of a collar of lace about her neck. 
 
 And as she advanced with the sun shining on her hair, 
 and turning it almost to burnished gold, it seemed to 
 Quillian that she merely wanted a white robe and big 
 downy wings to complete her resemblance to the Pro- 
 testant conception of an angel. 
 
 She put out a fragile hand, and said in a voice that was 
 thinner than he had expected: 
 
 " Mr. Quillian !" 
 
 He had some difficulty in replying: 
 
CH. VIII] MERCIA LOWNES 95 
 
 " I know who you are !" 
 " Indeed !» 
 
 " I have already heard of you." 
 
 She dropped her eyes, and a slight smile touched her 
 Ups — a smile that for no reason that he could see gave 
 him the ghost of a disappointment. 
 
 She continued smiling; and to break the silence, he 
 said: 
 " I have been listening to the organ." 
 The smile widened. 
 
 " I was hoping — I beUeved it was you plajdng." 
 " Why ?" she asked. 
 " Such music seemed to be part of you." 
 Mercia's smile became set, and there was a further 
 silence. 
 
 " Do you play ?" he asked presently. 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " You give aU your time to good works !" he went on. 
 " There is so much to do, I wish I did. But I'm keep- 
 ing you standing; please sit down." 
 
 He waited for her to set the example; after he was 
 seated, she said: 
 
 " I do not know if you will see mother." 
 " I am sorry," declared Quillian. 
 " Mother has such funny ideas sometimes. She says " 
 — the girl sHghtly emphasized the second word — " she 
 always fears to bore people." 
 
 " I cannot imagine your mother doing any such thing." 
 " And that to bore people is the unforgivable sin." 
 Quillian smiled, and the girl glanced at him in some 
 surprise. 
 
 " And how are your sisters ?" 
 
 " Maud is about somewhere; she will be here directly. 
 As for Joan, one never knows what she'll be doing for two 
 minutes together." 
 
 " May I ask who it was who was playing ?" 
 " Joan." 
 " Joan !" 
 
 " Sometimes she spends nearly all her time at the organ 
 for days together; and then she won't touch it for weeks." 
 " But she plays so well." 
 
96 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. viii 
 
 "I believe she does," said Mercia, with no remarkable 
 conviction. " Father Akhurst is always asking her to 
 play the organ at chapel, but he hasn't persuaded her 
 so far." 
 
 While they talked commonplace, Quillian marvelled 
 why it was that the impression Mercia had made upon 
 him on entering the room had lost some of its vividness : 
 he had told himself she must indeed be the mate he sought 
 on meeting her; and now this first fine frenzy, which 
 he had taken to be love at first sight, had appreciably 
 lessened, and its place was taken by an approach to a 
 critical detachment. 
 
 This last was begotten of an analytic habit of mind he 
 had cultivated in some measure at the monastery, and 
 more particularly of late : not content with confining 
 itself to his historical studies, it had a disconcerting 
 knack of appl5dng to those he met with in his daily round. 
 
 Now, and in spite of himself, this was taken up with 
 Mercia; he was aware, and was not a little ashamed 
 of himself at the realization, that she was not so appeal- 
 ing as he had believed : her hair was lacking in warmth; 
 her eyes were round; her teeth were not very good; and 
 she was not in her first youth. 
 
 He resolutely put away such unworthy reflections; and 
 told himself that any comeliness she may have lost was 
 because she had spent herself in good works : he stoutly 
 held to this, but it did not stop him from having a dim 
 understanding that if he were deeply in love, he would 
 never admit a doubt of the loved one's perfections. 
 
 And as if to atone for his sorry thoughts, he said : 
 
 " I have been looking forward to seeing you." 
 
 " Indeed !" she returned. 
 
 " I have heard so much about you." 
 
 " Have you !" 
 
 " I understand you give your life to helping the help- 
 less." 
 
 " One must do what one can." 
 
 " Unfortunately very few think like that. It is women 
 such as you that atone for the indifference of the rest." 
 
 Mercia was silent; although Quillian strove valiantly, 
 he found conversation difficult; he tried to draw her 
 
CH. VIII] MERCIA LOWNES 97 
 
 out regarding her many activities and only succeeded in 
 getting nebulous generalities; he offered to assist her 
 charitable works; beyond thanking him, she did not give 
 him any suggestions of how he could help; he made 
 further efforts to come to grips with her personality, a.nd 
 was invariably repulsed by an indefiniteness of outline 
 which he could only put down to the fact of her living 
 her Ufe on a plane wholly removed from, and one that 
 was much above, his. 
 
 This elusiveness did something towards rekindling the 
 ardour that had been prone to languish: it stimulated 
 the elemental instinct of pursuit in the male. 
 
 This comparative fervour was qualified at realizing it 
 was largely made up of her atmosphere of other-worldli- 
 ness; with his passion for self-effacement, he told him- 
 self it was weU this was so, since the love of such a woman 
 as she was more meet for one who sought to tread the 
 narrow way than an affection that was adulterated with 
 everyday human attributes. 
 
 He was a little annoyed with himself at knowing a 
 slight relief upon the entrance of Mrs. Lownes; she 
 came into the room with an elderly, sweet-faced, white- 
 haired woman, who was introduced to Quillian as Miss 
 Eversley. 
 
 " How lucky I was to catch sight of you in the hall; 
 otherwise I don't believe I should have seen anything of 
 you," said Miss Eversley to Mrs. Lownes. 
 
 " I should always see you," returned Mrs. Lownes, in 
 her quiet voice. 
 
 " But hearing about what you call my inevitable 
 failures bores you." 
 
 " Not at all, dear. I love to breathe your atmosphere 
 of altruism; it brings home to me my worldliness." 
 
 It appeared that Miss Eversley, a sensible, kindhearted 
 woman, devoted much of her time, and a lot of her money, 
 to taking an intelligent interest in a mean street of 
 families in London; she was ever meeting with heart- 
 breaking disappointment, but did not give up the plough 
 to which she had put her hand, in the remote hope that 
 the good seed she had sown might some day make some 
 show of sprouting. 
 
 7 
 
98 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. viii 
 
 This afternoon, she related how she had got a starving 
 plumber a permanent job with a borough council in a 
 country town; and how, three days after, she had found 
 him smoking his pipe in his London tenement because 
 there was not the distraction of a music-hall in the place 
 where he had found work. 
 
 " Poor feUow !" commented Mrs. Lownes. 
 
 " My dear !" 
 
 " It's very human." 
 
 " Still " 
 
 " And he knows he's always you to fall back upon." 
 
 The coming of Maud, whose loud voice seemed in the 
 nature of an outrage on the reposeful dignity of the room, 
 was followed by tea; a few minutes later, Joan made a 
 furtive appearance; she seemed bent on avoiding the 
 others, and not infrequently regarded Quillian with ap- 
 praising eyes. 
 
 While Maud talked chiefly about herself to Miss 
 Eversley, Quillian was taken charge of by Mrs. Lownes. 
 
 " Well !" she said in her subdued voice, and with 
 
 her eyes persistently cast down. 
 
 He did not at all understand her, but directly she spoke, 
 he was aware of a common sjnnpathy between them; 
 this, in spite of the fact that her exclamation was in the 
 nature of a challenge. 
 
 Unconsciously catching her manner, he replied : 
 
 " Well !" 
 
 " Are you any farther with life ?" 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 " Disappointed or otherwise ?" 
 
 "Certainly not disappointed," he replied, and in- 
 voluntarily glanced at Mercia, who was raptly gazing 
 at the window: her mother followed the direction of 
 his look, and merely said: 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 There was a suspicion of contempt in this ejaculation, 
 and he went on : 
 
 " How could I be otherwise when everyone is so kind 
 to me !" 
 
 " Who ?" 
 
 " Everyone I have met." 
 
CH. viii] MERCIA LOWNES 99 
 
 " What did you expect them to be ?" 
 
 " I was surprised at receiving such kindness," he said 
 simply. 
 
 " Are you humble, then ?" she asked, and with an in- 
 flection of surprise in her voice. 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 " Don't you think a lot of yourself ?" 
 
 " How could I ?" he returned as before. 
 
 "Millions do who haven't an atom of your excuses 
 for vanity." 
 
 Incredulity and protest struggled in his mind; for want 
 of words (he had again been glancing at Mercia) he made 
 a gesture of demur. 
 
 " Anyhow, it will be interesting," she said. 
 
 " What will be interesting ?" 
 
 " You." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " To see what happens." 
 
 " You are not the first who has said that." 
 
 " I suppose all intelligent people are curious." 
 
 « But " 
 
 " Yes," she said, upon his hesitating. 
 
 " What I do not, cannot, understand is that with some 
 of those I have met, there seems a weariness — perhaps not 
 weariness, but a distaste for life. A good and wise man 
 where I came from said it was a well-known sickness of 
 the soul. But whatever it is, it appears to afflict those 
 who, on the face of it, should be the last to have it." 
 
 " Can you wonder ?" she quickly returned in her quiet 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That is because life is all new to you." 
 
 " I know there are pitfaUs, and snares, and disappoint- 
 ments." 
 
 " Particularly disappointments." 
 
 " But that — surely that — gives zest to the struggle." 
 
 She raised her fine grey eyes, and looked at him for a 
 moment with an immense curiosity before she dropped 
 them, and said: 
 
 " One thinks so when one is very — very young." 
 
 Quillian laughed lightly and incredulously. 
 
lop- THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. viii 
 
 " Mentally, I mean. But some of us so soon grow old 
 — I mean mentally." 
 
 " But people like yourself — mothers I mean — I read 
 the other day, they renew their youth in their children." 
 
 " Something of the sort is often said," she remarked 
 listlessly. 
 
 " But surely in your case," he continued, and once 
 more he glanced at her eldest daughter, " there is justi- 
 fication for that." 
 
 " What do you think of her ?" she asked in an under- 
 tone. 
 
 " Who ?" 
 
 " You know well enough whom I mean : Mercia." 
 
 " No one could help admiring her." 
 
 "So I'm constantly told," she said, and still without 
 any enthusiasm in her quiet, level voice. 
 
 ^' And— and " 
 
 "WeU !" 
 
 " I hope I shall see very much more of her." 
 
 " I hope you will." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 *' But my reason for wishing you to see more of her is 
 not the reason you may think I have in my mind." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " I am always very curious to know what anyone 
 I'm at all interested in thinks of Mercia; not at once, 
 but when they get to know her: I judge of them by 
 that." 
 
 " But what is there to know beyond that " 
 
 " I judge of them by that," she interrupted. 
 
 QuiUian had no further opportunity of talking to one 
 he considered an enigmatical woman, for Mrs. Lownes 
 turned to Miss Eversley and, seeing Mercia was by her- 
 self, he went over to her. 
 
 " I have been talking to your mother," he said. 
 
 Mercia smiled. 
 
 " She was very kind indeed, and gave me permission 
 to come again often." 
 
 " You are only here for a short time." 
 
 " I very much hope I shall see you at least once before 
 I go." 
 
CH. VIII] MERCIA LOWNES loi 
 
 " Are you going for long ?" 
 
 " That depends on many things." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 He would have liked her to have betrayed some interest 
 in his plans ; instead, she smiled as before. 
 
 Once more he found conversation hard; and since Joan 
 had disappeared, and Maud was fidgeting any and every- 
 where about the room, Quillian could not help hearing 
 snatches of Mrs. Lownes's and Miss Eversley's talk. 
 
 The latter was upbraiding her friend for not getting 
 more out of life. Upon Miss Eversley calling attention 
 to her (Mrs. Lownes) daughters in turn, and as a means 
 to this end, Mrs. Lownes interjected expressions that were 
 meant to sum up her opinion of them. Upon Maud 
 being referred to, her mother remarked, " Winter sports." 
 A little later, "Tomboy" was applied to Joan; and 
 Quillian waited in some suspense to hear what Mrs. 
 Lownes might say of Mercia. 
 
 Upon Miss Eversley urging, " What of Mercia, then ?" 
 the latter's mother retorted : 
 
 " Ministering Children !" 
 
 " My dear !" 
 
 " WeU, then, the ' Fairchild Family ' !" 
 
 Quillian was taken aback by this woman who could 
 judge her children with cold-blooded detachment: and 
 ias he regarded her sUght, comely figure, her sad grey 
 eyes, he marvelled what had given these last their ex- 
 pression. 
 
 The something he had already found enigmatical 
 attracted him; he could not think she had known great 
 trouble since this mother of big daughters still looked 
 youthful. 
 
 There was no denying the ability betrayed by the 
 width and depth of the white forehead; neither was there 
 any gainsaying the capacity revealed by her eyes on the 
 rare occasions she permitted them to be seen. 
 
 Once more what he considered his uncanny facility of 
 observation and comparison got the better of him; he 
 found himself thinking what a rare gift to a man would 
 be the love of such a woman. 
 
 For all her meike-believe of unassertive insignificance, 
 
102 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. viii 
 
 she had a vast sympathy, humour, understanding, and 
 tenderness, which would be lavished on one who could 
 kindle the embers of her emotion into flame: he had 
 been told there was a husband somewhere in the back- 
 ground; he wondered what manner of man he could 
 be since he did not appear to value the treasure that 
 was his. 
 
 He could not, and did not, seek to hide from himself 
 that she was a creature of stronger clay, and of a more 
 subtle mind, than the saintly Mercia: perhaps, because 
 such a woman could easily sweep a man from off his feet 
 and into the depths of life, his leanings swiftly inclined to 
 the far safer personality of her eldest daughter who, just 
 now, made much of her original appeal. 
 
 On finding himself again with Mrs. Lownes, he re- 
 solved to ask her advice, if not her assistance, with regard 
 to Miss Fothergill. 
 
 Directly he had an opportunity, he told her the whole 
 story, and of how deeply he felt his responsibility with 
 regard to the young woman. 
 
 After he had done, Mrs. Lownes glanced at him for the 
 fraction of a second with her capable eyes, and said : 
 
 " She is young ?" 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " And pretty ?» 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " And charming ?" 
 
 " I should say she could be." 
 
 " And you have every reason to think she was speak- 
 ing the truth ?" 
 
 " Every reason." 
 
 The ghost of a smile touched her lips; this, Quillian did 
 not see. 
 
 " Yes, I might certainly do something to help her if I 
 thought she'd work." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked Quillian quickly. 
 
 " What I say : if I thought she'd work." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " That we shall see if the necessity arises." 
 
 "You are very kind," he told her; "but it is only 
 what I should have expected." 
 
CH. VIII] MERCIA LOWNES 103 
 
 " Your appreciation is thrown away," she said in her 
 level voice. 
 " How so ?" 
 
 " Apart from assisting you, I should be acting more 
 from my morbid curiosity than anything else." 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " To see if you had been taken in; and to see how it all 
 turns out." 
 '"Taken in'!" 
 
 " I beheve men, particularly good men, have been 
 deceived once or twice by women since the world began." 
 Before he could say anything she went on : 
 " Very few women would help a young and pretty girl 
 for reasons you would never understand. To begin with, 
 she is very young, you say — the unforgivable sin in the 
 eyes of most of us — but apart from all that, a pretty girl 
 is a nuisance in a house for more reasons than one. 
 
 " I'm surprising you ?" she asked, upon his remaining 
 silent. 
 
 " In some respects." 
 
 " In any case, helping the helpless and all that sort of 
 thing is rather out of my line. It doesn't come naturally 
 to me, as it does to some people. One saint in a family 
 is more than enough." 
 " Although you tell me, I can scarcely believe it." 
 " I leave all that sort of thing to Mercia. She leaVens 
 my natural selfishness." 
 
 QuilUan glanced at Mercia, who was lost in thought, 
 and with her characteristic fixed smile on her lips. 
 " Why don't you ask her ?" continued her mother. 
 " Mercia !" 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " I should like to have done so, but after your men- 
 tioning the reluctance of some women — " 
 
 " Surely that does not apply to Mercia !" she inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 " I should have remembered that," he assented. 
 " Ask her by all means, if you care to." 
 " You have no objection ?" 
 " I want you to." 
 " Thank you." 
 
104 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. viii 
 
 " It will be a test of her character," she murmured. 
 
 QuiUian pondered the other's last words so far as he 
 was able; although he could not fathom Mrs. Lownes' 
 mind, he more than suspected the remark was in the 
 nature of a reflection upon Mercia. 
 
 Qmlhan was pressed to stay for dinner, but since he 
 wanted to be alone with his thoughts, more particularly 
 to appraise the significance of the undoubted impression 
 Mercia had made upon him, he refused; before he took 
 his leave, however, he had word with her regarding the 
 matter he had spoken of with her mother. 
 
 They had left the drawing-room, and were strolling in 
 the gardens; it was here that, on finding himself alone 
 with Mercia, he broached the subject. 
 
 She did not seem to give him any particular attention, 
 a thing that discouraged him, and made him think that 
 perhaps, after all, her mother had spoken truly, and that 
 her sex were indisposed to assist one of the less fortunate 
 among themselves who was young and pretty. 
 
 She was silent after he had done, and he said: 
 
 " Well !" 
 
 Mercia turned her round blue eyes upon him; a rapt 
 expression came into her face. 
 
 " I will do all I can," she said. 
 
 " You wiU !" 
 
 " I will do my very best." 
 
 " How good of you !" he cried. " I might have 
 known." 
 
 " It is my duty." 
 
 Partly because he had momentarily misjudged her; 
 chiefly on account of her angelic thought for another, his 
 second impressions of her appearance were forgotten. 
 
 He was very near to adoring her on the spot. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 AN UNDERSTANDING 
 
 QuiLLiAN sat at dinner at Mrs. Lownes' on the evening 
 of his departure for town; amongst others who had 
 been bidden was Lady Ashford; he had taken her down, 
 and she sat on his right. 
 
 The wife of Lord Vaucourt's heir was a little woman 
 with uncertain coloured hair and green eyes: she was 
 badly made up and, as if despairing of her handiwork 
 at the last moment, had smothered her face with powder. 
 
 Her handsome, stalwart husband, who was on the 
 farther side of the table, was seated beside Mercia, at 
 whom QuiUian repeatedly glanced. 
 
 If it had been at all possible, he would have got out of 
 this festivity, but his hostess had wished him to be 
 present, and there was no denjdng her : he would have 
 preferred a quiet evening with Mrs. Lownes and Mercia. 
 
 Since Quillian had met the latter, she had been rarely 
 if ever out of his thoughts; he had been striving to make 
 up his mind as to whether or no she was the desire of his 
 heart. 
 
 Away from her, he was ever so convinced he loved her; 
 should he be with her, however (one way and another 
 he had seen a good deal of Mercia since his first call), 
 there was a declension in his regard ; on such occasions, 
 he often found himself wondering if his affection were 
 merely compounded of respect and admiration for her 
 praiseworthy qualities. 
 
 He was hard put to it to reconcile these two phases of 
 mind, and could only account for the lessening of what he 
 called ' love ' in her company by ascribing it to an 
 innate sense of his unworthiness to aspire to such a pearl 
 above price. 
 
 los 
 
io6 THE HOHETJF THE ?EVEN DEVILS [cir. ix 
 
 In spite of being loth to tear himself away, he was 
 eager to return to town in order to commence the good 
 fight which would enable him to approach her with an 
 even mind. 
 
 And in Order to provide an inspiration for the struggle 
 that lay ahead, he had resolved, should opportunity offer, 
 to come to some sort of an understanding with her before 
 he went away. 
 
 He was not a bit interested in Lady Ashford, or in the 
 conversation of the table, which was chiefly of local 
 interests unless Miss PhHbrick, who was there with her 
 father, diverted it to the subject of dogs. 
 
 The serious bent of his mind was at issue with the 
 commonplace atmosphere which surrounded him, and he 
 not infrequently obtained a welcome sense of reUef by 
 meeting the eye of his hostess, who in her subtle, whim- 
 sical way seemed completely to understand his doubts 
 and desires. 
 
 Lady Ashford had called on him almost directly after 
 his first meeting with Mrs. Lownes; on his returning 
 the visit, he had been struck by certain aspects of her 
 father-in-law's home which stood for the respective tem- 
 peraments of her husband and herself. 
 
 Lord Ashford was a keen sportsman; mounted heads 
 of big game, and many fox masks and brushes upon the 
 walls, were evidences of his prowess. 
 
 His wife inclined to the stage; she was responsible for 
 the many photographs of theatrical celebrities which 
 littered the place; she could talk of little else beyond 
 current gossip about actors and actresses, and was ever 
 so disappointed with QuilHan at his failing to share her 
 appreciation of such people: if he had known someone 
 v^o knew a second-rate actor, she would have taken him 
 to her heart. 
 
 There was also an elderly relative, a queer old woman, 
 dressed in rusty black, who said little, and who, in spite 
 of the warmth of the day, crouched beside a blazing fire, 
 and warmed a woollen cap and mittens. 
 
 She had had a few words with QuiUian, and had 
 mysteriously alluded to handy methods of suicide; she 
 was not present this evening. 
 
CH. IX] AN UNDERSTANDING 107 
 
 Ashford had tried him with sport; and his wife, who had 
 long since got over her infatuation for her handsome, 
 not over quickwitted husband, with the stage, until 
 Quillian had despaired of making his visit a success. 
 
 Then Father Akhurst had called, and it was owing to 
 him that, as a special mark of favour, he had been intro- 
 duced to Lord Vaucourt, who led the life of a recluse, 
 and rarely saw the members of his family who, by his 
 desire, lived under the same roof. 
 
 Vaucourt occupied three or four rooms in a remote 
 wing of the house; on being conducted to him along 
 endless passages and staircases, Quillian found him to be 
 very old, and very shrivelled, and seeming to be little 
 beyond noble forehead, piercing dark eyes, and beautiful 
 white hands. 
 
 He had taken to Quillian, and on signifying to Father 
 Akhurst that he wished to be alone with the new-comer, 
 had asked him much regarding the Franciscan Order, 
 and the friary at Ypres. 
 
 Then he had questioned Quilhan about his intentions, 
 and had strongly urged his doing his utmost for the 
 honour and glory of the Church. 
 
 Several times Quillian had believed he had been tres- 
 passing too long on the venerable old man's time and had 
 made as if to go ; to be prevented by Vaucourt, who had 
 said it was a refreshing experience to meet with someone 
 of a serious turn of mind. 
 
 Finally, he had not a little surprised Quillian by almost 
 fiercely upbraiding the younger generation for the lack 
 of purpose and seriousness which he declared it exhibited 
 on every hand. 
 
 He had deplored in burning words the decay of re- 
 ligious belief; the growth of rationalism; the passion for 
 eating, drinking, and making merry, without taking 
 thought for the morrow: also, the pitiful absence of 
 patriotism, aU alarming symptoms of national de- 
 cadence. 
 
 He had ended by saying : 
 
 " I am a man of peace, and have given my long life 
 to good works so far as it has lain in my power. But I 
 have thought much of the things I have been telling you; 
 
lo8 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS \cu. ix 
 
 and I have come to the conclusion that the only thing 
 that can save this country is to be involved in a war for 
 its very existence. This trying by fire is the only means 
 that I can see for its regeneration. It's the supreme — 
 the ultimate test, and God in His infinite wisdom has 
 willed it so to be." 
 
 On returning to the drawing-room, QuUlian had found 
 that Mr., Mrs., and Miss Wenborn had called (they were 
 here to-night), and he had regarded them, and par- 
 ticularly the last, with some curiosity, since Father 
 Akhurst had spoken of her as a possible bride. 
 
 Mrs. Wenborn had seemed possessed of a desire to look 
 as much as possible like a nun; she had worn a plain black 
 dress unrelieved of ornament with the exception of a 
 big silver crucifix which hung about her neck. 
 
 Her husband, after the manner of many sincere con- 
 verts to Roman Catholicism, was far more bigoted than 
 the average run of his faith; he was a taU, stolid, morose 
 man, and quite believed that it was only the existence 
 of convents and monasteries which prevented the wrath 
 of God from consuming the dweUers in cities as a 
 punishment for their misdeeds. 
 
 Miss Wenborn did not appeal to QuUlian at all; she 
 was tall and awkward; and had unpleasant green eyes 
 in a pasty face: of seemingly set purpose, she had sat 
 rather apart from the others, and if spoken to appeared 
 to be startled from rapt meditation. 
 
 The effect she had on Quillian was to fix Mercia the 
 more firmly in his mind. 
 
 To-night, he noticed Mercia ate next to nothing; she 
 seemed more than commonly preoccupied; twice, on 
 catching his eye, her gaze faltered, and the blood came 
 into her face. 
 
 The second time she showed this embarrassment, Lady 
 Ashf ord said : 
 
 " So you are really going to town to-morrow !" 
 
 " Yes," returned Quillian. 
 
 " There is no chance of your changing your mind ?" 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 " How lucky — how very lucky you are !" 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
CH. IX] AN UNDERSTANDING 109 
 
 " I understand you know nothing at all of the stage ?" 
 " Nothing at all." 
 
 " And you have it all before you to find out !" 
 Quillian sniiled. 
 
 "I was like that once," she went on. " But then I 
 didn't know what charmin' people actors and actresses 
 were." 
 " I hear they're rather egotistical." 
 " Isn't it delightful of them ?" 
 " DeUghtful ?" 
 
 " If one's anxious to know everythin' one can of such 
 wonderful people, and all about the splendid things 
 they've done in their lives, it's more than good of them 
 to reveal their personalities." 
 
 " If they and you are satisfied, there's no more to be 
 said," remarked Quillian. 
 A little later, she said : 
 " Tommy's goin' up to town to-morrow." 
 " So I understand." 
 
 " He's goin' up by the two: it's the best train in the 
 day; so I dare say you will catch that." 
 ^' Very likely." 
 
 " I'll tell him to look out for you," she said, and added 
 in an undertone: " If you really want to know some 
 reaUy delightful theatrical people, Tommy can introduce 
 you." 
 " I'll bear it in mind if I do." 
 
 " They are so sweet to him. They're always ready to 
 throw up all sorts of things to lunch and dine with him. 
 If it weren't for Jack and his father, I'd have the house 
 full of them." 
 
 " Doesn't your husband care for them ?" 
 " Jack '." she exclaimed contemptuously, and glanced 
 at the wind-tanned face of her husband. " He can talk 
 of nothin' else but huntin' and shootin'; and that's one 
 of the reasons I'm so fond of actors." 
 
 " Ever heard Tommy sing ?" she asked presently. 
 
 " Not yet," returned QuiUian. 
 
 " A born comedian, if ever there were one." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " He's reaUy wonderful. I'm ever so proud of him; 
 
no THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. ix 
 
 and to think of all that fine talent being wasted is too 
 dreadful for words." 
 
 " Why doesn't he take it up 7" 
 
 " Professionally ?" 
 
 " Well— yes." 
 
 " His father wouldn't hear of it." 
 
 " I suppose not," assented QuiUian, who could well 
 believe that scholarly Lord Vaucourt would offer the 
 strongest objections to a scion of his house clowning upon 
 the boards of a playhouse. 
 
 Quillian was, perhaps, more pleased than otherwise at 
 the withdrawal of the women; and though, for the time 
 being, he lost sight of Mercia and could no longer exchange 
 understanding glances with her mother, he was spared 
 Lady Ashford's theatrical talk. 
 
 Quillian would have liked a chat with Sir Percy Phil- 
 brick, for whom he had a liking, but wafs prevented by 
 Father Akhurst, who came over and sat beside him. 
 
 " I shaU not see you before you go," said the priest. 
 
 " Not !" 
 
 " I had intended coming over to-morrow, but I have a 
 funeral, and many cases of sickness." 
 
 " I am sorry," said Quillian, with no particular convic- 
 tion. 
 
 " You will at once see Father Horan at Wapping !" 
 
 " Directly I return, if he is back." 
 
 " He is probably there now. And I should like to hear 
 from you as often as you can find time to write." 
 
 There was more than a suspicion of a command in this 
 remark — a command that Quillian secretly resented, 
 perhaps, because he was not overmuch in sympathy with 
 the hard-and-fast ecclesiasticism of the priest's mind. 
 
 Doubtless Father Akhurst perceived this antagonism, 
 for he said : 
 
 " Father Timothy, your Guardian at Ypres, would 
 prefer it." 
 
 " I shaU certainly write to you," returned QuiUian, 
 and as civilly as he might. 
 
 " And that other matter. Have you yet made up your 
 mind ?" 
 
 " You mean " hesitated Quillian. 
 
CH. IX] AN UNDERSTANDING in 
 
 " With regard to marriage," said the priest in an under- 
 tone. " Have you made up your mind about Mercia ?" 
 
 " I have, and I have not." 
 
 " Undecided ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Doesn't she appeal to you sufficiently ?" 
 
 Quillian glanced about him, and, perceiving that the 
 other men (excepting Wenborn, who sat gloomily apart) 
 were rather loudly discussing politics, he turned to the 
 priest and communicated his doubts of his worthiness 
 to seek such feminine perfection for his own. 
 
 " What are you going to do then ?" asked the priest 
 after he had done. 
 
 " I thought of explaining much of what I have told you 
 to her mother, and of asking her if I have her permission 
 to speak to Mercia with a view of getting some sort of an 
 understanding." 
 
 " With the idea of ultimate matrimony ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Would it not be wiser to secure such a prize as she 
 would be once and for all ?" 
 
 " How do I know that she would be wiUing ?" 
 
 " If she realized it were her duty " 
 
 " Duty !" interrupted QuUlian sharply. 
 
 The word jarred his romantic imaginings. 
 
 " Duty to herself: duty to the Church," continued the 
 priest. 
 
 Quillian glanced at the cold eyes of Father Akhurst; 
 just then they wore a calculating expression. 
 
 " In a matter of this nature I should very much prefer 
 to leave duty out of it," said Quillian gravely. 
 
 " Please yourself," returned the other, and rather 
 irritably: it did not occur to Quillian until some hours 
 after that Father Akhurst had probably been urging much 
 the same thing upon Mercia. 
 
 On going to the drawing-room, Quillian found himself 
 by Mrs. Lownes; it was as though they were both eager 
 for the other's company. 
 
 They talked commonplace should anyone be immediately 
 within earshot ; directly they could speak without fear of 
 being overheard, their conversation became more intimate. 
 
112 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH.ix 
 
 " You have enjoyed yourself this evening !" she said 
 in her low voice, and with her eyes on the ground. 
 
 " Naturally," he returned. 
 
 " I knew you would be fascinated by Lady Ashford." 
 
 " I beg your pardon." 
 
 " You heard what I said." 
 
 " stm " 
 
 " Admit you were fascinated.^' 
 
 " Nothing of the kind." 
 
 " Weren't you ?" 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 " ReaUy ?" 
 
 " I should not say what I did not think." 
 
 " I know you wouldn't," she said, and slightly empha- 
 sized the pronoun. " And I'm glad to hear it." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " I don't like her at all. One would think she was born 
 and brought up in West Kensington." 
 
 Quillian, for want of something better to say, remarked : 
 
 " I thought you were such friends." 
 
 " I could never be friends with a woman who made up 
 so badly." 
 
 QuiUian was hard put to it to keep back a smile, and 
 Mrs. Lownes said: 
 
 " How do you think Mercia is looking this evening ?" 
 
 " As she always does: wonderful !" returned QuiUian. 
 
 " Do you know what I should have said if anyone had 
 asked me ?" 
 
 " No !" 
 
 The reply came with more than a suspicion of contempt : 
 
 " As she always does : wonderful !" 
 
 QuiUian glanced at Mercia, and saw that she was listen- 
 ing to Father Akhurst ; her face wore its most rapt expres- 
 sion; her lips were parted in their characteristic smile. 
 
 He would have feasted his eyes on her in whole-hearted 
 admiration, had he not been a little disconcerted by the 
 bitterness underlying her mother's remark; he glanced at 
 the latter, and, at the same moment, she raised her eyes to 
 his, whereupon he was moved by their melancholy expres- 
 sion. 
 
 Neither of them spoke for a while, until he said : 
 
CH. IX] AN UNDERSTANDING 113 
 
 " May I ask you something ?" 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " It is ahnost an impertinence on such a slight ac- 
 quaintance " (she again raised her eyes) — " on such short 
 acquaintance; but are you happy ?" 
 
 " Who is ?" she returned quickly. 
 
 " I should have thought you would have been if any- 
 one." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " You have so much in life." 
 
 " Have I ?" she said indifferently. 
 
 " Haven't you ?" 
 
 " Most people would think so." 
 
 " Including myself." 
 
 Mrs. Lownes slowly shook her head. 
 
 " I don't mind your knowing," she said. " But I'm 
 not: anything, anything but." 
 
 " I am sorry," he declared in all sincerity. 
 
 " I'm glad of that. Perhaps I expect — ^rather I should 
 say expected — too much. Anyhow, the depressing fact 
 remains." 
 
 " It's a grievous pity." 
 
 " Why ?" she asked sharply. " Why do you think it 
 is?" 
 
 " If I may say so, you seem on a different plane from 
 most of the women I have met." 
 
 " Including Mercia ?" 
 
 " Mercia occupies a niche to herself, so to speak." 
 
 " A plaster saint." 
 
 Again QuOian was disturbed by her lack of enthusiasm 
 where her daughter was concerned. 
 
 He was sUent, and she said, and much as if she were 
 eager to make their conversation entirely relevant to 
 themselves : 
 
 " Perhaps I am too critical to have the average every- 
 day happiness most people more or less have. I pull 
 motives to pieces too much, and am cursed with a morbid 
 habit of self-analysis which never leaves one alone." 
 
 " Is that so ?" 
 
 " It is so, unhappily. And yet, in spite of what brains 
 I am blessed or cursed with, and the interest I may take 
 
 8 
 
114 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. ix 
 
 in things most women could not so much as understand, 
 I will surprise you by telling you what in my inmost heart 
 — and I have got a heart, although very, very few suspect 
 it — I believe to be the only complete happiness, however 
 transient it may be." 
 
 " Tell me." 
 
 " I win. And there's not a soul alive — except one — 
 to whom I would admit so much." 
 
 " I am honoured." 
 
 " You are, and I'm not by any means vain. Have you 
 ever read Omar Khayyam ?" 
 
 " Who is he ?" 
 
 " You have never heard of him ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " That's refreshing. He was a Persian poet and philos- 
 opher, who lived ever so long ago. He wrote many wise 
 and beautiful things; but they have been spoken and 
 written about so much, they have almost become trite." 
 
 " But if they are wise and beautiful " 
 
 " I know what you would say — ^they would never be- 
 come stale : I suppose it's the depressing people who write 
 and quote them. Anyway, the most familiar quatrain runs : 
 
 " ' Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, 
 A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse — and Thou 
 Beside me singing in the Wilderness — 
 And Wilderness is Paradise enow.' 
 
 I quote it to tell you that that sums up my conception of 
 happiness." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " ' Beside me singing in the wilderness,' " she repeated. 
 
 QuiHian looked at the woman beside him — at her frail 
 figure ; her sweet fair hair ; and the almost arrantly inno- 
 cent expression of the face with its small, regular features 
 — and even as he looked, he was aware, in spite of the lie 
 her appearance might give to his conviction, that she was 
 endowed with a wealth of tenderness and an infinite capa- 
 city for passion: he was, also, consciofus that, for aU the 
 calmness of her voice and the placid expression of her 
 face, she was unusually moved. 
 
 He was infected by the emotion that possessed her, 
 but in his case it inclined his thoughts to Mercia: at the 
 
CH. IX] AN UNDERSTANDING 115 
 
 same time, he was not blind to the fact that to mention 
 her just then would be in the nature of offering a stupid 
 violence to her mother's thqughts. 
 
 Perhaps she, with her woman's intuition, suspected 
 what was toward in his mind or, with her natural humility, 
 she believed she had said quite enough about herself; in 
 order to divert the conversation, she remarked : 
 
 " And I suppose I am boring you to tears, since you 
 would much rather talk about Mercia." 
 
 " It would be impossible for yoli to bdre me," he 
 returned simply. 
 
 " Do you mean that ?" she asked; and before he could 
 reply, she added: " I know you do, and I am glad you 
 think so." 
 
 For all this suggestion of speaking of Mercia, she went 
 off at a tangent, and talked of every other subject, until, 
 fearing that, if he further delayed, he would not get 
 another such opportunity, he said: 
 
 " I should like to speak of Mercia." 
 
 " Oh !" she exclaimed shortly. 
 
 " That is, if I may." 
 
 " I know what is in your mind." 
 
 " You do !" 
 
 " I am not blind. And " 
 
 " Yes 1" he said upon her pausing. 
 
 She involuntarily glanced at Father Akhurst, and went 
 on: 
 
 " Other things have come to my knowledge. And I 
 suppose you want to propose to her, is that it ?" 
 
 " Not exactly." 
 
 " Indeed 1" she asked with quickening interest. 
 
 QuiUian told her in as few words as possible of his 
 doubts respecting his worthiness of Mercia. 
 
 Mrs. Lownes listened with a disturbing ghost of a smile 
 upon her lips ; after he had done, she asked : 
 
 " Are you serious ?" And again before he could reply, 
 she added : " Of course you are. You, of all people, would 
 not mention such a matter if you were not. But before 
 ydu say any more, let me tell you this : You speak of your 
 worthiness. I don't believe there's a woman in the 
 world good enough to marry a reaUy good man." 
 
ii6 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. ix 
 
 " Mrs. Lownes !" 
 
 " I mean it ! When I say goodness, I don't mean 
 namby-pamby, plaster-saint goodness. I mean a man 
 who is good in spite of himself; for, after aU said and done, 
 the best man in the world is capable of being the worst." 
 
 " You astonish me more and more." 
 
 " I don't suppose I shaU be the only woman who wiU 
 do that," she remarked bitterly. 
 
 " You think so poorly of your sex I" 
 
 " I am a woman," she retorted. " But to ' return to 
 our muttons.' About Mercia: so far as I'm at all inter- 
 ested, there's only one thing." 
 
 " And that ?" he asked quickly. 
 
 " Will she make you happy ?" 
 
 " Mercia '." he exclaimed, and wondered if he had 
 heard aright. 
 
 " Mercia," she returned in her quiet, even voice. 
 
 " I cannot conceive of anyone expressing such a doubt, 
 least " 
 
 He stopped short, and she finished the sentence for him. 
 
 " Least of all her mother." 
 
 " I admit it was in my mind." 
 
 " Can you conceive of Mercia ' Beside me singing in the 
 wilderness ' !" 
 
 Quillian again glanced at the girl; it seemed to him that 
 she, more than anyone else, demanded for her environ- 
 ment an awry civilization in which she must always be 
 denying herself to put things right. 
 
 " Can you ?" pursued her mother. 
 
 " It is the last thing I should expect of her," he returned 
 coldly. 
 
 She perceived his resentment, and said : 
 
 " So far as I am concerned, say what you please to her. 
 And if I may say so, I think she is very, very lucky." 
 
 For all his displeasure at Mrs. Lownes' implied criticism 
 of her daughter, Quillian more than once, and in spite of 
 himself, found himself picturing Mercia in the situation 
 the elder woman had suggested, and could not deny its 
 incongruity. 
 
 In order to stiU these disturbing fancies, he kept on 
 telling himself that he and Mercia were the last people in 
 
CH. IX] AN UNDERSTANDING 117 
 
 the world to want to lead such a lotus-eating existence; 
 and that he could select no better life-long companion 
 than she for the work that lay to his hand. 
 
 The opportunity he sought did not come so readily as 
 he had hoped, for upon his repeatedly seeking to be with 
 her, she was claimed by first one and then another of her 
 mother's guests, until, at last, he despaired at his iU- 
 fortune. 
 
 Several times he came in contact with Mrs. Lownes ; 
 once, upon her asking if he had yet spoken, and his telling 
 her of his bad luck, she had replied : 
 
 " There's nothing to worry about; Providence always 
 forgets to watch over those who want to get engaged." 
 
 But towards the end of the evening the fates relented ; 
 the chance he had waited for came readily enough. 
 
 The night was fine and warm, and some left the drawing- 
 room and dispersed themselves about the hall and the 
 great terrace without the front-door; the Honourable 
 Thomas Chalfont, who had been itching to show of what 
 comic stuff he was made, was about to sing, and Mercia, 
 disliking such frivolous entertainment, had stroUed 
 downstairs with Father Akhiurst. 
 
 Quillian, close upon this departure, had caught her 
 mother's eye; he had made so bold as to follow her 
 downstairs, and it had come about that directly the 
 priest had seen him, he had left his charge ; and Quillian, 
 with heart abeat, had been quick to seize his opportunity. 
 
 This was in the hall ; as if they were of one mind on the 
 matter, they left the house and stroUed out into the 
 summer night. 
 
 From the drawing-room on the first floor came the noise 
 of voices and laughter ; a little later. Tommy Chalfont's 
 voice, in a song from a popular musical comedy : almost 
 at the same moment, the playing of the organ by Joan was 
 borne to where they stood, and the sound of two instru- 
 ments and the voice worried each other in his ears. 
 
 Quillian and Mercia moved farther away ; wheresoever 
 they went, they were pursued by jarring notes. 
 
 He listened in spite of himself, and the lilt of the song 
 and the majestic throbbing of the organ seemed symbols 
 of the conflicting purposes he had encountered in life: 
 
ii8 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. ix 
 
 on the one hand was light-hearted frivolity; on the other, 
 solemn, elemental things which were the very woof of 
 existence. 
 
 " Joan plays well," he remarked, for want of courage 
 to make a beginning with the resolve he had in mind. 
 
 " You think so !" 
 
 " Don't you !" 
 
 " I — I suppose she does." 
 
 " And the first time I heard her, I was sure it must be 
 you !" 
 
 There was a silence; he was seeking for fitting words 
 with which to voice his heart when she slightly shivered 
 and said: 
 
 " It is cold." 
 
 " Too cold to stay out a little longer ?" 
 
 " I— I think so." 
 
 She would have moved towards the house had he not 
 laid a detaining hand upon her arm ; she stayed her steps, 
 and by some subtle telepathy he was aware she was respon- 
 sive to his mood. 
 
 He looked her hard in the face, and sought to catch 
 and hold her eyes; but these were steadily averted from 
 him, and looked wistfuUy over the expanse of gardens and 
 park which were just discernible in a rising moon ; her 
 face wore its characteristic smile. 
 
 The influences of hersex,personality, andtheyoung,star- 
 gay night emboldened him, and gave rein to his tongue. 
 
 " Do you know why I want you to stay ?" he began. 
 
 She did not reply ; and her smUe became more fixed. 
 
 " I wiU teU you," he went on; and with words that 
 carried conviction, since they appeared to come from his 
 heart, he told her how he believed she had been selected 
 by an allwise Providence to be his mate ; of how his heart 
 clave to her; of his many certainties regarding his unfit- 
 ness to win such a one; and of his daring to hope she 
 would consent to be his should he prove meet for such a 
 priceless treasure. 
 
 He had been carried away by the fervour of his words, 
 and dared to expect a warm response. 
 
 All she said was : 
 
 " I wiU think over everything you have said." 
 
CH. IX] AN UNDERSTANDING 119 
 
 " Is that aU ?" he cried impatiently. 
 
 " You do not let me finish. And I will try very, very 
 hard to discover if what you suggest will be good for us 
 both." 
 
 " Is — is that all ?" he repeated. 
 
 " Is not that enough ?" 
 
 He was aU too painfully aware of how meagrely her 
 words satisfied his heart-hunger ; and was conscious of a 
 sense of disconsolateness : a moment's reflection, how- 
 ever, told him that her remoteness from the clay of every- 
 day humanity was a further proof, if one were needed, 
 of her saintliness and, therefore, of her surpassing value. 
 
 " You had better come in," he said. " You are too 
 precious to risk catching cold." 
 
 Again she did not speak ; upon his glancing at her, he 
 perceived she was once more gazing with her round blue 
 eyes across the gardens and park, and with the smile that 
 was seemingly inseparable from her upon her lips ; in 
 spite of himself, it flashed into his mind that she was 
 looking almost plain. 
 
 Almost the first person he encountered after he had left 
 Mercia was her mother. 
 
 " Any luck ?" she asked, and without raising her eyes. 
 
 " The best of luck," he returned. 
 
 "I do so hope it wiU make for your happiness," she 
 said, and permitting herself to betray warmth. 
 
 " I do not see how it could possibly do otherwise." 
 
 " If a bad man marries, it doesn't matter very much 
 how it turns out ; he's happy either way : but a good man 
 hasn't his consolations." 
 
 He did not speak, and she added : 
 
 " I never thought Mercia would ever " sing in the 
 wilderness.' " 
 
 For the rest of the evening, and until he fell asleep, 
 Quillian repeatedly told himself how dearly he loved 
 Mercia, and that he was ever so happy and ever so fortunate : 
 perhaps this was because his fancy kept on playing him 
 tricks, and making him see pictures of himself in a roman- 
 tic wilderness, where the woman who was singing out her 
 heart to him had a disconcerting knack of changiag from 
 Mercia to her mother. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED 
 
 ' There are two Wings by which a Man soars above the 
 World — Sincerity and Purity. The former regards the 
 Intention, the latter the Affections; That aspires and 
 aims at a Likeness to God ; This makes us really like Him. 
 We should find no difficulty in any good Action, were 
 but our Minds free from aU intemperate Passion and 
 Desire.' 
 
 " I say, old chap." 
 
 " Yes," from QuUlian, who was striving to bring his 
 thoughts to bear on the foregoing ; this was no easy 
 matter since Tommy Chalfont, who sat in the opposite 
 corner of the railway carriage (they had met at the 
 station), kept on interrupting him about anything or 
 nothing. 
 
 Tommy handed an open illustrated weekly journal to 
 QuiUian, the page displaying a fuU length portrait of a 
 musical comedy actress who, dressed as a dairy-maid 
 (the letterpress said she had been brought up on a farm 
 and loved the country), was represented as milking a cow 
 on the wrong side; and said: 
 
 " There's a smart girl !" 
 
 QuDlian, who from his habit of mind suffered bores 
 gladly, took the journal, and replied non-comanitaUy : 
 
 " Is she ?" 
 
 " I should just think she was. She comes of an awfully 
 good family — for an actress. Her father is a sportin' 
 publican, and I happen to know he's fixed her up with a 
 pretty little flat in town." 
 
 " What for ?" 
 
 " Eh ? So she can marry a ' nut.' " 
 
 QuiUian, who had his own views on the propriety of the 
 
CH. X] A FRIEND IN NEED 121 
 
 sporting publican's behaviour regarding his daughter, 
 handed back the journal. 
 
 " What d'ye think of her ?" asked Tommy. 
 
 " I was thinking the girl's father is allowing her to run 
 grave risks." 
 
 "Those sort of things don't count with artistes, old 
 sport." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Free and easy: art for art's sake: go as you please, 
 don't you know !" 
 
 QuiUian resumed his reading of Chapter IV. of the 
 ' Imitation.' 
 
 ' And this Perfectibn of Freedom we should not fail to 
 attain, did we, in all our Designs and Undertakings, pro- 
 pose no other Ends than Obedience to the Will of God, and 
 promoting the Good of our Neighbour. 
 
 ' Were but our Minds thus fixed, and our Intentions 
 regulated, everything would strangely contribute to our 
 Edification.' 
 
 " What ho !" cried Tommy. 
 
 QuiUian lifted his eyes. 
 
 " Here's BeUa St. Ives ! Suppose you know all 
 about her ?" 
 
 " I've never heard of her." 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 " Not." 
 
 " I'm forgettin' where you've come from, so there's 
 some excuse for you. She's awfully well known." 
 
 QuOlian dropped his eyes on his book ; the other went on : 
 
 " I'U tell you, as it's useful information in case you hear 
 her talked about. Six months ago, or thereabouts, the 
 sprinkler — ^used for puttin' out fires— went wrong while 
 the show was on, and she was one of the girls that got some 
 water on her neck. There was a lot of talk about it, and 
 she was interviewed ' no end ' : made her a celebrity." 
 
 QuiUian made a further effort to read. 
 
 ' We should study the Volmne of Nature with Profit, 
 and every Line in that large Book would tend to our 
 Instruction. The very smallest, and, in common Esteem, 
 most despicable Creature would represent, as in a Glass, 
 the Goodness of God to us.' 
 
122 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH.x 
 
 " I say !" from Tommy. 
 
 Quillian closed his book. 
 
 " Gladys Montmorency has got her chance at last." 
 
 " Whb might she be'?" 
 
 " She's just got promoted from the " two two's " 
 
 " The what ?" 
 
 " The chorus, two guineas a week — two two's, see ? — 
 to a small part and understudy. Here's an interview 
 with her." 
 
 " Is that usual or unusual ?" 
 
 " It's usual enough if she can guarantee the sale of so 
 many hundred copies of the Giddy Globe," said Tommy, 
 who added rather self-consciously : 
 
 " I happen to know her." 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " FuU of ambition, that girl: used to tell me how when 
 she was on the stage, she felt so chock full of genius, and 
 all that sort of thing, that she always felt she was goin' to 
 soar off the earth." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " And did it all on ginger-beer: never looked at any- 
 thin' stronger." 
 
 " That's to her credit." 
 
 " I know. Any thin' stronger used to bring her out in 
 spots," declared Tommy ingenuously. 
 
 Upon Quillian remaining silent, the other went on: 
 
 " Now we're up in town together, I'U show you round 
 if you like." 
 
 " Thanks, but I don't think I'U trouble you." 
 
 " No trouble — a pleasure, if not a duty." 
 
 " Duty !" 
 
 " Does a man good to see a bit of Life." 
 
 " I dare say I shall see enough before I have done." 
 
 " Still, if a fellow's goin' to get married, he ought " 
 
 " Who is going to be married ?" 
 
 " Ain't you ? Thought it was all fixed up with you 
 and Mercia." 
 
 PuiUian was disposed to resent this intrusion into 
 things of the spirit, but it was impossible to be annoyed 
 with one who was so transparently honest as Tommy 
 Chalfont. 
 
CH. X] A FRIEND IN NEED 123 
 
 " Nothing is definitely settled." 
 
 " Sorry; thought it was. She isn't to my taste, but 
 she's awfully good and pi., and aU the rest of it. Don't 
 think I want to lead you from the narrow way and aU 
 that sort of thing. But comin' from where you do, and 
 thrown clean on the world, the more one knows what's 
 what the better." 
 
 " We are none of us so helplessly innocent as you 
 think," said QuiUian, with a grave smile. 
 
 " Glad to hear it. One can't know too much in 
 London; and that is where I thought I'd come in useful." 
 
 " Father Timothy, the Superior of my monastery, was 
 very worldly wise. He had a theory that every beautiful 
 woman had seven devils in her heart." 
 
 " He wasn't wrong about a good many of 'em." 
 
 " Is that your experience ?" 
 
 " StiU, it don't apply to actresses." 
 
 " Doesn't it ?" 
 
 " Not a bit. And that's where I felt quite safe in givin' 
 you one or two introductions." 
 
 " I should have thought they were subject to many 
 temptations that the everyday woman doesn't get." 
 
 " Don't you b'lieve it, old pal. Take my case, f'r 
 instance. Hope I shan't shock you but, although I ain't 
 a saint or a sinner, an' no worse than anyone else, I've 
 knocked about a lot, and know what I'm talkin' about," 
 said Tommy, before pausing for breath, and impressively 
 continuing: " I've taken out lots of girls from the 
 Frivolity and spent tons of money on 'em. Straight ! 
 Straight isn't in it ! Unless you've a weddin' ring in 
 your pocket, and mean to do the right thing, there's 
 always a dear old ' mar ' who pops up at critical moments, 
 and sees her daughter through." 
 
 Quillian smiled in spite of himself. 
 
 " I say, we're gettin' near town. Where do you hang 
 out ?" 
 
 Quillian told him. 
 
 " I go to the Grosvenor, so we shan't be far away from 
 each other. What are you doin' to-night ?" 
 
 " I've several things to see to," returned Quillian, who 
 reflected that he was faced by the problem of May 
 
124 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. x 
 
 Fothergill, since this young woman had not yet suc- 
 ceeded in discovering her aunt. 
 
 " Let's go out somewhere to feed." 
 
 " I don't think I will to-night, thank you." 
 
 " And we could wind up at the Albert Hall if there's 
 anythin' on. I'm always willin' to drop in to anyone 
 else's line." 
 
 Before QuiUian could refuse the offered dissipation, 
 Tommy said : 
 
 " Forgot though. Bobbie Wiltshire is puttin' up at 
 the Grosvenor to-night. I'm fixed up with him." 
 
 " Then my staying at home won't inconvenience you ?" 
 
 " Not a bit. Would otherwise though, as I'm one of 
 those fellows who hate bein' alone." 
 
 QuiUian could well believe it, and said : 
 
 " Perhaps I shall see something of you before you go 
 back." 
 
 " Course you wO," said Tommy, and, as if surprised 
 at such a tentative suggestion. " I hope you'U always 
 be lookin' me up." 
 
 " It's very kind of you." 
 
 " Any advice ; any hole you get into ; you sprint along 
 to me. I'm the man to see you through." 
 
 " I won't fail to." 
 
 " And whatever anyone may think, no one can ever say 
 I've ' been had for a mug.' " 
 
 QuiUian turned over in his mind whether or no he 
 should tell Tommy Chalfont his dilemma regarding Miss 
 Fothergill; he decided to say nothing untU after he 
 had got back and seen for himself if she would accept 
 work Mrs. Lownes might secure for her. 
 
 They arrived at the London terminus, where the two 
 men occupied the same taxi-cab as they were both going 
 in the same direction. 
 
 Tommy let down the window, and took deep breaths 
 of the London air. 
 
 " Does me good to breathe it again," he remarked. 
 " Sort of tonic after vegetatin' in the country for so 
 long." 
 
 " Why don't you live in London altogether ?" returned 
 QuiUian. 
 
CH. X] A FRIEND IN NEED 125 
 
 " I'd love to. But it's father. He's an awful old 
 autocrat in his way. Seems to think I'd do somethin' 
 foolish in town." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Just imagine it ! My comin' a cropper ! There's 
 no wider feller goin', as I dare say you've twigged for 
 yourself." 
 
 The cab stopped at the Grosvenor, and Tommy got 
 out; he did not leave QuUlian untU the latter had 
 promised to look him up on the earliest opportunity. 
 
 The nearer Quillian got to his flat, the more his 
 misgivings concerning May FothergiU increased; his 
 horizons had considerably widened during his short stay 
 in Kent ; and for all his desire to assist the girl, either to 
 find her relations, or to earn her living respectably, his 
 newborn affection for the peerless Mercia made him care- 
 ful of doing anything that might assist the undoing of 
 his future happiness. 
 
 He had heard nothing from Grumby for three or four 
 days, and could only hope that nothing untoward had 
 happened. 
 
 Quillian noticed that the lift man looked at him with 
 some curiosity on arriving at his destination; and on 
 opening the door of his flat, his sensitive nostrils were 
 assailed by a reek of tobacco ; a moment or two later, he 
 was aware that this was compounded of two distinct 
 odours ; one suggestive of shag, while the other was the 
 aroma of a good cigarette. 
 
 Quillian was about to enter the drawing-room, but his 
 attention was arrested by the handwriting of a letter 
 amongst a pile of correspondence which awaited him on 
 the hall table ; he was about to disregard it for the present 
 when something in its delicate distinction (it was plainly 
 written by a woman) made him seize and tear open the 
 envelope. 
 
 It contained a long letter signed by another hand; a 
 hasty glance told him it was from the secretary of the 
 Princess Royal Hospital, who had sent a communication 
 to his Kentish home: he thrust it into his pocket for 
 future consideration, and went into the dining-room. 
 
 An unexpected sight met his gaze. May FothergiU 
 
126 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. x 
 
 lay curled up on a Chesterfield couch ; she was fast asleep, 
 and looked like a crumpled roseleaf: a box of gold- 
 tipped EgjTjitian cigarettes, and a large, beribboned box 
 of sweets were at her elbow. 
 
 The girl made such a sweet picture with her long eye- 
 lashes and disarranged hair that Quillian was interested 
 in spite of himself; after regarding her for some moments, 
 he resolved to seek out Grumby or Mrs. Gassmann before 
 awaking her. 
 
 He stole from the room and made for the kitchen, 
 where there was nothing to be seen of the charwoman; 
 he would have concluded that Grumby was absent too, 
 had not a snore proceeded from a latge basket chair; he 
 went to this, and found the insignificant form of the ex- 
 sacristan also asleep; he had evidently been indvilging in 
 his conception of the flesh-pots, for his pipe had fallen 
 from his mouth und lay on the floor; a beer -stained 
 glass was beside it. 
 
 QuiUian shook the sleeper. 
 
 It was no easy matter arousing him; first he opened 
 one eye and cocked it at his master without appearing 
 to recognize him; then he opened the other, and, on see- 
 ing who was before him, he made a pathetically trans- 
 parent effort to awaken from a decorous and hardly 
 earned slumber. 
 
 " You, sir ! Bless my soul I" cried Grumby, and made 
 unsteady efforts to rise to his feet. 
 
 " Yes. What does this mean ?" asked Quillian sternly. 
 
 " M-mean, sir !" faltered Grumby: his utterance was 
 thick and his breath beery. 
 
 " Yes, mean." 
 
 " Sir !" said Grumby, who tried hard to sort out his 
 muddled wits. 
 
 Quillian opened the closed windows to let in wholesome 
 air; by the time he again faced Grumby the latter had 
 contrived to get on to his feet, but took the precaution 
 of supporting himself by resting one hand on the chair. 
 
 " Well !" said QuiUian. 
 
 " Sir !" returned the other, and rapidly blinked his eyes. 
 
 " You've been drinking !" 
 
 " M-me, sir ?" 
 
CH. X] A FRIEND IN NEED 127 
 
 " The place smells of it. And where's Mrs. Gassmann ?" 
 
 " Now you're asking me something, sir." 
 
 " Is she out ?'■ 
 
 Grumby made as if to look round the kitchen in order 
 to find her ; in so doing he released his hold on the chair ; 
 he would have fallen had not QuiUian clutched him by 
 the arm. 
 
 The old man looked such a pathetic picture of misery 
 at being thus found out that QuiUian was moved to say : 
 
 " Grumby I Grumby I How could you !" 
 
 Grumby shamefacedly hung his head. 
 
 " I gave you a chance, and so wanted to find you 
 trustworthy." 
 
 The old man put the hand that was free to his eyes. 
 
 " I hope this isn't a habit of yours," continued QuiUian. 
 
 The air coming in at the window was doing something 
 to reyive the backslider. 
 
 " Yes, sir. I'm afraid I have erred and strayed: and 
 to-day is a fast day too : mercy on me, a poor, miserable 
 sinner, for what wiU become of me ?" 
 
 " PuU yourself together, Grumby " 
 
 " And with such a shining example as you, sir, before 
 me 
 
 " I shall be angry if you talk like that." 
 
 " Very good, sir; I'll try and not remind you of it. 
 And as for what I've done, I'll freely admit there isn't 
 the shadow of an excuse. I'm a poor miserable sinner, 
 and I shall never, never forgive myself tiU the last breath 
 my frail body takes." 
 
 " TeU me this," said QuiUian. " Is this usual or 
 exceptional ?" 
 
 "Quite exceptional, sir. And that's what makes it 
 such a steep descent. If it were a 'abit, there'd be nothing 
 to be said: as it is, it's a deliberate plunge into sin, sir. 
 And ladies have seen in me a distinct likeness to St. 
 Thomas Aquinas !" 
 
 " It's not so bad as you make out." 
 
 " Sir !" exclaimed Grumby, who strove to appreciate 
 the fact of his master's leniency. 
 
 " And if it doesn't happen again, we'U say no more 
 about it." 
 
128 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch.x 
 
 Grumby stared at his master with incredulous eyes; 
 directly he was sensible of his good fortune, his conscious- 
 ness of grievous sin was apparently forgotten; he became 
 quite cheerful for an ascetic-looking man. 
 
 " Now you seem to understand what I'm talking about, 
 tell me about Miss Fothergill," continued QuUlian. 
 
 " Miss FothergiU ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "There, sir; how stupid of me to forget! Till you 
 mentioned her name, I forgot she was the cause of my 
 backsliding." 
 
 " How can that be ?" asked QuiUian quickly. 
 
 " The trouble she's been, sir, and the constant anxiety 
 she's been to me, let alone Mrs. Gassmann." 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 " It aU began over finding her aunt. She objected to 
 my going with her; and when I reminded her it was by 
 your orders, she gave me the slip and disappeared aU 
 day." 
 
 " Perhaps she tried to find her herself." 
 
 " Anyway, sir, she always came back with sweets and 
 smokes; and never so much as offered me one." 
 
 " Is that so ?" 
 
 " Not that I should take anything if she had, being 
 uncertain of how she came by them." 
 
 " I mean, is it so that she came back with sweets and 
 cigarettes ?" 
 
 " May I suffer all the tortues of the damned, sir, 
 which is only what they deserve, if I'm not speaking the 
 truth. And if you doubt my word, sir, ask Mrs. Gass- 
 mann, who says she's found five - pound notes in the 
 young lady's room." 
 
 " She says that !" 
 
 " Ask for yourself, sir." 
 
 " But where is Mrs. Gassmann ?" 
 
 " Gone to her husband, sir, who, she says, is not long 
 for this deceiving vale of tears." 
 
 QuiUian was sorely troubled by this information, which 
 he was disposed in some measure to believe since he had 
 seen for himself some of the sweets and cigarettes men- 
 tioned by Grumby : and if he (QuiUian) had been taken 
 
CH. X] A FRIEND IN NEED 129 
 
 in by a cleverly told tale, he was faced by a further diffi- 
 culty — this, deciding what he should do with her. 
 
 If she were a designing minx, she would in all likeli- 
 hood turn up her dainty nose at any situation Mrs. 
 Lownes might offer her; on the other hand, he could not 
 lightly send her about her business as, in washing his 
 hands of her, he might be a means of assisting her to 
 walk more devious ways than those she had already trod. 
 
 Quillian began to think that it would be as well if 
 Tommy Chalfont were with him in order to supply 
 worldly-wise advice from the storehouse of his experi- 
 ence ; he had some thought of ringing him up upon the 
 hotel telephone, but gave up the idea at reflecting that, 
 in all probability, he was already tasting the sweets of 
 London life with his friend. 
 
 There was evidently nothing for it but to tackle Miss 
 Fothergill himself; he had no relish for the job; the more 
 particularly since he had a suspicion that she would be 
 more than a match for him. 
 
 He entered the room in which he had discovered her; 
 apparently she had been aware of his return, for she was 
 intent on a book; her hair was smoothed, and the sweets 
 and cigarettes had been put away. 
 
 She started in mock surprise on hearing his footstep, 
 and rose to greet him with a charming confusion which 
 appalled him on account of its seeming artlessness. 
 
 " Good-afternoon," he said gravely, and merely touched 
 the little hand she had put out. 
 
 " I didn't expect you back till much later," she began. 
 
 " I have been back some time," he said as before. 
 
 " Have you !" 
 
 " I came in here ; but as you were asleep I did not like 
 to disturb you." 
 
 " Yes ; I'd been looking for work, and was rather tired." 
 
 " I've been talking to Grumby," he went on. 
 
 The girl's face clouded. 
 
 " And Mrs. Gassmann appears to be out." 
 
 " It's about time you did come back," declared Miss 
 Fothergih; before he could teU her that he could only 
 agree with her on top of all he had heard from Grumby, 
 she continued: 
 
130 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. x 
 
 " They do nothing but gossip and eat from morning to 
 night ; and Grumby is hardly ever sober. He smokes the 
 most horrid tobacco all over the flat; indeed, you can 
 smell it in here." 
 
 But for the sweets and cigarettes, QuiUian would have been 
 disposed to believe this innocent-looking girl before Grumby. 
 
 He was wondering how best to refer to the subject of 
 these indulgences, when she said : 
 
 " Have you had tea ?" 
 
 He told her he had not." 
 
 " What a shame ! Why didn't you tell me before ? 
 I'U see about it at once." 
 
 " Thank you, but " 
 
 " I know what you would say; it's no trouble at aU; 
 really it isn't." 
 
 She gave him the softest of glances ; and he the more 
 realized his helplessness, both with regard to her, and with 
 what he should do in the event of Mrs. Gassmann con- 
 firming Grumby's allegations. 
 
 He realized that if he permitted her to put herself out 
 for him in the matter of getting tea, he might be more 
 disposed to overlooking her behaviour than the circum- 
 stances might warrant (he had quite made up his mind 
 to be just in face of the appeal made by the girl's youth 
 and comeliness), so he said: 
 
 " Thank you, but I won't trouble you." 
 
 " But it's no trouble," she protested. 
 
 " Grumby can very well get it, or I can go downstairs 
 to the restaurant." 
 
 " No trouble at aU," she went on; and smilingly passed 
 by him on her way to the door just as this opened to 
 admit Grumby. 
 
 " Mr. Thomas Chalfont," said Grumby. 
 
 " HuUo, old sport !" cried Tommy, as he entered. 
 " Lucky " 
 
 He said no more, and stared in undisguised astonish- 
 ment at seeing Qufllian's companion. 
 
 QuiUian, who heartily wished Tommy had not called 
 at that moment, turned to the girl and said : 
 
 " Now my friend has come, perhaps you would kindly 
 get us some tea; and Grumby can bring it in." 
 
CH. x] A FRIEND IN NEED 131 
 
 Miss Fothergill tripped from the room ; directly the two 
 men were alone, Tommy hastened to explain his appear- 
 ance, and with a manner suggesting that finding a man 
 like Quillian alone with a young and pretty girl was all 
 in the day's work to him. 
 
 " Sorry to bump into you so quickly, old dear " 
 
 " I'm very glad you came," interrupted QuiUian, 
 "because !" 
 
 It was now his turn to be cut short by the other, who 
 said: 
 
 " Directly I got to the ' show,' there was a wire waitin' 
 for me from Wiltshire, who was goin' to paint the town 
 red with me : somethin' wrong with an aunt he's expecta- 
 tions from, and so I'm aU on my ' ownio.' " 
 
 " As things have turned out, it's very fortunate," 
 returned QuUlian, who could not help noticing Tommy's 
 increased indulgence in slang since he had come upon 
 his friend and Miss Fothergill. 
 
 " I'm one of those fellows who can't stick bein' alone, 
 an' so directly I heard Wiltshire was off, I came on to you." 
 
 " I was in such a quandary I thought of ringing you 
 up," declared QuiUian, who wished Tommy would give 
 him a chance of explaining the girl's presence in his flat. 
 
 But Tommy was not to be withstood; he insisted on 
 giving Quillian a life-history and character-sketch of his 
 friend (apparently his most remarkable endowment was 
 that he boasted of summing up a man by his ties) , perhaps, 
 because he prided himself on his nether-worldly-wise tact, 
 and wished to give Quillian breathing space in which to 
 make up a likely enough story regarding the girl. 
 
 At last Tommy had done with Wiltshire, and before he 
 could start another subject, QuiUian said : 
 
 " Now you must listen to me." 
 
 Tommy assumed his most credulous expression, and 
 said: 
 
 " Fire away, old sport." 
 
 " I want to ask your advice about the young woman 
 you saw here, and before she comes back." 
 
 " The pretty flapper ! You've come to the right shop, 
 old man; it's darned lucky for you Wiltshire's aunt has 
 got the rickets or somethin'." 
 
132 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. x 
 
 QuiUian told his story as shortly as was possible ; when 
 he had finished, Tommy lit and reflectively smoked a 
 cigarette. 
 
 " WeU !" said QuiUian. 
 
 " It's aU as plain as a pikestaff to me." 
 
 " I'm very glad to hear it." 
 
 " You've been had, old man; mercilessly had. The 
 girl is a designin' adventuress," 
 
 " You think so 1" 
 
 " Think ? Certain. AU that old yarn about the aunt : 
 thought she could have invented somethin' better." 
 
 " The next thing to decide is, what am I to do ?" 
 
 " Eh !" 
 
 " I can't turn the girl out upon the streets: it would 
 be on my conscience." 
 
 " Goin' to keep her here, then ?" grinned Tommy. 
 
 " I spoke to Mrs. Lownes about her, and she promised 
 to do her best to find something for her if the girl wiU 
 work." 
 
 " I can see that little flapper doin' it." 
 
 " Then what do you suggest ?" 
 
 Tommy was reflectively sUent, before impressively 
 saying: 
 
 " Do you feel inclined to leave things to me ?" Before 
 QuiUian could so much as reply, the other went on: 
 " Because, if you wUl, I'U do my best for you on three 
 conditions." 
 
 "And those?" returned QuiUian quickly: he feared 
 Miss FothergiU might return any moment now. 
 
 " First, that you let me have ten minutes with her 
 alone — that's easily worked." 
 
 " Yes, weU " 
 
 "That you do exactly as I advise; and, thirdly, that 
 if I see you through, you'U admit I'm a friend in need." 
 
 " But you mustn't be too hard on her, and " 
 
 Further conversation on the subject was prevented by 
 the entrance of Miss FothergiU with tea. 
 
 QuiUian soon found an excuse to leave the two together; 
 upon again contriving to be alone with Tommy, he was 
 much surprised by the latter saying: 
 
 " I'm altogether in the wrong, old dear." 
 
CH. X] A- FRIEND IN NEED 133 
 
 " About Miss FothergiU ?" 
 
 " If I make a ' bloomer,' particularly over a young and 
 pretty girl, I ain't the chap to try and cover it up: I'm 
 the first to admit it." 
 
 " Very creditable, but " 
 
 " Isn't it ! I could kick myself for ever havin' doubted 
 her." 
 
 " I'm very glad to hear she isn't what you thought." 
 
 " I questioned her aU about herself, and without givin' 
 her the least idea I was pumpin' her, and every answer she 
 gave me was gospel itself." 
 
 " Including the aunt !" 
 
 "That's all right: take the word of one who knows 
 what he's talkin' about, about that. And as for the 
 sweets and cigarettes, she found half a quid in the lining 
 of her skirt — ^lost it a month ago yesterday — and bought 
 the cigarettes for you and the sweets for herself." 
 
 " There's Grumby's story." 
 
 " You can understand why he's up against her. Take 
 my word — and I know what I'm talkin' about — she's a 
 helpless, innocent young thing." 
 
 "Then what does she propose doing?" 
 
 " I'm comin' to that. I mentioned to her you might 
 get her a job; she'd simply jump at the chance. Quite 
 pathetic to see how she's eager to do everythin' we wish." 
 
 Quillian did his best, and almost succeeded, in being of 
 the same mind as Tommy regarding the girl ; in order not 
 to embarrass her after the former's suspicions and ques- 
 tions, the two men decided to go out for the evening: 
 before they set out, Grumby was sent for Mrs. Gassmann, 
 who promised to return from her husband's sick-bed with 
 all despatch. 
 
 Thus it came about that Quillian got his first glimpse 
 of what Tommy called ' Life ' : this consisted of dining in 
 a smart restaurant, of spending two hours in the stalls of 
 a music-haU, and of finishing up by having supper at a 
 cabaret club — experiences QuiUian found even duller than 
 he had expected. 
 
 His boredom was mitigated at perceiving the abiding 
 gusto with which Tommy Chalfont played showman to 
 these particular booths of Vanity Fair. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 SISTER JANE 
 
 QuiLLiAN sat on a chair in the Park. 
 
 He had had a further talk with Miss Fothergill before 
 he had come out, and had told her of a situation that Mrs. 
 Lownes had offered her in a letter that had come by the 
 first post : the duties were light (they were to assist Mercia 
 in her charitable works, and to write Mrs. Lownes's letters) 
 and the pay adequate: the girl had professed eagerness 
 to work, and she was to leave for Kent in two days' time. 
 
 QuiUian had made a point of leaving her as much as 
 possible to herself, in order to escape the least breath of 
 scandal — this more particularly since Tommy Chalfont 
 had waxed eloquent on her attractions during the latter 
 part of the evening the two men had spent together. 
 
 Directly an opportunity had presented itself in the 
 morning Quillian had had a word with Mrs. Gassmann 
 regarding Miss FothergUl's conduct during his absence, 
 and had soon given up the attempt at arriving at the 
 truth of the matter as a bad job. Should he mention 
 what Grumby had said, she confirmed his statements; 
 on the other hand, should he give Miss Fothergill's version 
 to Tommy, Mrs. Gassmann immediately declared it was 
 nothing other than gospel; the fact of the matter was 
 that a lifetime of charing had engrained in her the habit 
 of crying ditto to everything her employers said. 
 
 Mrs. Lownes's letter was characteristic. 
 
 It mentioned the thankless task it was to help anyone; 
 and that she had only put herself out of the way in this 
 respect in order to oblige Quillian and to discover how far 
 he had been imposed upon. 
 
 She could not understand at aE why she did anything 
 for him, because as a rule she detested religious men; she 
 
 134 
 
CH. XI] SISTER JANE 135 
 
 believed she made an exception in his favour because he 
 belonged to the only possible faith, since it had a great- 
 hearted tolerance for the so-called ' wicked,' who were 
 the salt of life. 
 
 She concluded by expressing interest in all the harm 
 he and Mercia would bring about with their benevolent 
 plans, which would simply encourage the lazy, the im- 
 provident, and the shifty to prey on the foolish-hearted. 
 
 There was more to the same effect, and running through 
 it all was a vein of infinite sadness, together with concern 
 for himself. 
 
 Beyond the foregoing, there was no mention of Mercia. 
 
 Quillian frankly liked Mrs. Lownes: for all her per- 
 versity of thought, he was sure that at heart they had 
 much in common; she acted as a mental stimulant upon 
 him, and he hoped to see a lot of her when he was married 
 to Mercia. 
 
 This allusion to the young woman to whom he was 
 practically engaged reminded him how comparatively 
 little she had been in his thoughts — this in spite of the 
 fact of his having come to the Park, and to a secluded part 
 of it at that, in order to indulge in romantic imaginings 
 concerning her. 
 
 Directly he had sat down, his attention had been taken 
 up by the irresponsible joyousness of the sunshine; the 
 passing motor-cars and carriages containing smart men 
 and women; perhaps most of aU in the happy, chubby 
 children, who walked or played under the more or less 
 watchful eyes of nursemaids. 
 
 He found it necessary to remind himself that it was his 
 duty to think of Mercia as much as it was humanly pos- 
 sible ; in so doing, he discovered how hard it was for him 
 to recall her features : try as he might, she seemed more 
 an abstraction of fine qualities than a creature of flesh 
 and blood, and he was not a little troubled by this 
 nebulousness : he was certain he loved her, and that 
 she was the one woman in the world for him (had not 
 Father Akhurst as good as said so ?) ; on the other hand, 
 he wished in the secret places of his heart that she had a 
 more vivid personality, so that she covld be with him, as 
 it were, for all their separation. 
 
136 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xi 
 
 Once more he put down this inability to visualize her 
 to his lack of worthiness for such an one as she ; directly 
 Miss Fothergill was packed off to Kent, he would set about 
 fighting the good fight which would justify his claiming 
 Mercia's hand. 
 
 Quillian pondered these things, and almost before he 
 was aware of it, he was attracted by a bright-eyed little 
 girl; she was clambering about a young woman, who was 
 sitting a httle distance away, and was intent on a 
 novelette. 
 
 The child was daintily dressed, and was overflowing 
 with health and high spirits : since she could not engage 
 the attention of her nurse, she talked lightly to herself; 
 now and again she sang snatches of nursery rh5anes. 
 
 She perceived Quillian's interest in her; and glanced 
 first shyly, and then boldly at him. 
 
 He fondly regarded her pretty movements; and fell 
 to thinking of the exquisite blessing these girl children 
 were ; and of the fine part they were allotted on the stage 
 of life. 
 
 To begin with, they were treasures above price to their 
 parents ; and upon their attaining adolescence, apart from 
 being the pride of their respective fathers and mothers, 
 they would be the lode-star of some honest man, whose 
 days would be undefiled owing to the love that welled in 
 his heart. 
 
 In the course of time, they would fulfil their natural 
 destiny and would becomes wives; later, the mothers of 
 such as they were in the long ago: then, upon their 
 children attaining years of discretion, they, as wise 
 mothers, would give them good counsel, and their de- 
 clining days would be gladdened by the love and honour 
 with which they were cherished by those to whom they 
 had imparted the peerless gift of life. 
 
 Thus reflected Quillian, who only saw one side of the 
 matter, and that the most romantic, before his thoughts 
 sharply reverted to Mercia, since it occurred to him that 
 his union with her would give him children of his own. 
 
 Somehow, and he was angry with himself for the sug- 
 gestion, the irresponsible fancies that had a knack of pre- 
 senting themselves when they were least wanted, hinted 
 
CH. XI] SISTER JANE 137 
 
 that there was something a little incongruous in the fact 
 of the SEiintly Mercia being a mother; mothering orphan- 
 less little ones, perhaps, and teaching them the rudiments 
 of her creed; but as the female of the male of her 
 species 
 
 QuiUian was grateful his attention was claimed by the 
 pretty child who was shyly approaching where he sat: 
 she almost came within reach ; but upon his putting out his 
 arm, she laughingly drew back; encouraged by his smiles, 
 she again came towards him; upon Ms succeeding in 
 catchmg her, he stroked her hair before kissing her on the 
 forehead. 
 
 Something made him look in the direction of the road- 
 way, where he perceived a pair of dark feminine eyes 
 regarding him from a luxurious motor-car which was 
 slowly passing; their owner smiled and bowed, and his 
 hand went to his hat: it was only after she had gone 
 some way that he recollected she was none other than 
 Mrs. ChatiUon, the woman he had come to know in the 
 train on joume5nng from Dover to London. 
 
 He had forgotten her existence, and never expected to 
 see her again: strange she shoiHd have come upon him 
 when he had fondled a child for the first time in his life. 
 
 The latter was sharply called by her nurse just then; 
 she reluctantly left QuiUian, and was conducted away 
 (she repeatedly looked back), and he was once more free 
 to indiiige his recollections of Mrs. ChatiUon. 
 
 He had instinctively recognized that she was a com- 
 bination of soul and body, and an alluring one at that; 
 the mere fact of her having passed and smiled urged his 
 thoughts in her direction; it was only upon his realizing 
 that these were in the nature of a disloyalty to Mercia, 
 that he was aware of the indefiniteness of outline presented 
 by his betrothed by the side of ilrs. ChatiUon. 
 
 Then it occurred to him how different were some of the 
 women he had met from his former ecclesiastical estimate. 
 
 Not long back, he had divided them into sheep and 
 goats; now he was certain that Mrs. Lownes and Mrs. 
 ChatiUon could not come iinder either of these heads, 
 and were an elusive mingling of clay and gold: he did 
 not seek to deny that if, from one point of view, he was 
 
138 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. XI 
 
 disturbed by this discovery, there was no gainsaying 
 their individual fascination. 
 
 Quillian put his hand in his pocket for Mrs. Lownes's 
 letter, which he wanted to reread; he puUed out instead 
 the envelope containing the further appeal from the 
 Princess Royal Hospital, and was again interested in the 
 handwriting in which it was written and addressed. 
 
 He gazed at it for some moments, and had he not made 
 up his mind to call on Father Horan at the Wapping 
 Mission in the afternoon, for want of something to do, 
 he might have decided to caU at the hospital : as it was, 
 it was more likely than not that he would go there on the 
 morrow. 
 
 He knew that, considering the nature of his relations 
 with Mercia, he had no business to be interested in the 
 feminine owner of an unusual hand, but told himself that 
 his visit might mean the beginnings of the social service 
 to which he ached to devote himself for the next few 
 months. 
 
 At something after three, QuiUian got out at Wapping 
 Station, and was at once sensible of the unrelieved 
 squalor which obtained on every side: the meanest of 
 mean streets alternated with grim warehouses; and the 
 men and women he saw were weighed down with a 
 poverty that was naked and unashamed. 
 
 There seemed very much that was wanting in the 
 arrangement of things whereby he had more than he 
 knew what to do with, while here was abject want; it 
 was with a heavy heart that he asked the way to Father 
 Koran's presbytery. 
 
 On getting there, he saw a stout, jolly-looking priest 
 talking to a poor woman; something she said before 
 taking her leave made the former laugh loudly and long. 
 
 " Father Horan ?" asked Quillian. 
 
 " You've just missed him," replied the other, who spoke 
 with a strong Irish accent. " And is there anything I 
 can do for ye ?" 
 
 Before Quillian could reply, the other was again held 
 by laughter; presently he said: 
 
 "There's Mrs. O'Hara was asking for him just now; 
 and she mentioned the illness of Father Murphy, and she 
 
CH. XI] SISTER JANE 139 
 
 said: ' Shtire, there's Father Murphy always telling us 
 what a blessed place heaven is, and now he's ill, he's got 
 three doctors to keep him from going there.' " 
 
 Quillian laughed, before asking where he might be likely 
 to find Father Horan. 
 
 _ He was told he might be at the chapel, and upon being 
 directed thither, he made for this place ; on entering the 
 tiny place of worship, which was situated next door to 
 a chandler's shop, there was no one to be seen. 
 
 He knelt for a while in prayer ; on rising from his knees, 
 he sat for a while on the prie-Dieu, and was lost in medita- 
 tion. 
 
 Then he was aware of another presence in the church; 
 on looking about him, he saw that he was being narrowly 
 eyed by a short, thick-set, middle-aged woman, who was 
 dressed, in black. 
 
 On seeing that she had been perceived, she moved a 
 little away, and appeared to be busy with the rearrange- 
 ment of a tiny side-altar; in spite of her occupation, 
 she repeatedly glanced at QuiUian. 
 
 It occurred to him that she would be likely to know the 
 whereabouts of Father Horan; rising from his seat, he 
 approached her, and made known his request. 
 
 " Do you want him badly ?" she asked, in a refined 
 and rather deep voice. 
 
 " I should like to see him if it's possible." 
 
 " He was here about twenty minutes ago, but was 
 called to a sick parishioner." 
 
 " I must have just missed him." 
 
 " Perhaps, if you are in no great hurry, you may care 
 to wait," said the woman, who rarely took her black eyes 
 (her most attractive feature) from his face. 
 
 " I'm rather anxious to see him, so think I will." 
 
 " He works so hard, it's not an easy matter to catch 
 him." 
 
 " I should think there was plenty to do in Wapping," 
 remarked Quillian grimly. 
 
 " Even at the best, it's like a drop in the ocean." 
 
 " I saw another priest at Father Horan's house." 
 
 " Father Barry. He's a friend of Father Horan's, and 
 often comes over." 
 
140 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xi 
 
 " I should have been here some time back, but Father 
 Horan was away." 
 
 " We had to take him by the shoulders and make him 
 go. He would have completely broken down other- 
 wise." 
 
 QuiUian resolved to send Father Horan a handsome 
 cheque. 
 
 There was a silence, during which he noticed that the 
 woman was attentively regarding him; presently she 
 said: 
 
 " Are you Mr. QuiUian ?" 
 
 "Yes; how do you know?" he returned in some 
 surprise. 
 
 " Father Horan has often spoken of you since he has 
 been back. He heard from Father Timothy, the Guardian 
 of the Monastery at Ypres." 
 
 " I understood he was going to write." 
 
 " I have often thought of you and wondered what you 
 were hke." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " It's — it's such a strange experience for a man." 
 
 Upon his making no reply, she said : 
 
 " If we go to Father Horan's lodging, there is a chance 
 he may go straight back there." 
 
 They left the chapel, and on getting into the sunUght, 
 QuiUian saw that his companion was plainer than she had 
 seemed in the dim light of the chapel. She had more 
 than a suspicion of a moustache ; and had quite a large 
 mouth — indeed, her face would have been unpleasant but 
 for her black eyes, which were instinct with emotion. 
 
 " Strange I should meet you like this," she said, after 
 mentioning she was a member of the Third Order of 
 Women affiliated to the Franciscan Fraternity; and that 
 she was called " Sister Jane." 
 
 Before he could reply, she went on: " When I saw you, 
 I wondered if it were you !" 
 
 " Indeed !" remarked QuiUian. He was not a Uttle 
 surprised at the interest she appeared to take in him. 
 
 Perhaps she had an inkling of his thoughts, for she 
 said : 
 
 " The Guardian at Ypres spoke so highly of you, and 
 
CH. XI] SISTER JANE 141 
 
 was so fearful of what would happen to you, that I was 
 anxious to see what you were like." 
 
 " There is no occasion for him to worry." 
 
 " Are you so worldly-wise ?" she asked, and bent her 
 black eyes on his face. 
 
 " If I'm not, I'm rapidly becoming so." 
 
 " I doubt it." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " I've an unhappy knack of reading people." 
 
 " Why unhappy ?" 
 
 " Isn't it better to take everything and everyone at 
 their face value ?" 
 
 Once more, QuiUian was aware of a certain bitterness 
 of outlook; he voiced his thoughts, and said: 
 
 " Nearly everyone I meet seems to suffer from some 
 sort of disillusion." 
 
 " Naturally, unless one happens to be one of the happy, 
 irresponsible children of all ages." 
 
 " There you go again," he remarked. 
 
 " One can't work in a place like this and keep one's 
 ideals." 
 
 " It's the saddest place I've seen so far." 
 
 " And then the rich and idle wonder why there's social 
 discontent. 
 
 " Who are the people who live here ?" 
 
 " The poorest class of dock and casual labourer: men 
 who are willing and eager for work which isn't too often 
 forthcoming. It's places such as this which make one 
 doubt the reahty of civilization so-caUed — and many 
 other things." 
 
 " What other things ?" he asked sharply. 
 
 " I mustn't start our acquaintance by depressing you. 
 How did you get on with Father Akhurst ?" 
 
 " Very weU." 
 
 " Isn't he rather the typical ecclesiastic ?" 
 
 " You know him !" 
 
 " I've never met him, but I've seen his letters which 
 have been about you. Perhaps you're surprised at my 
 knowing so much about Father Koran's affairs. He's so 
 simple in some things that I have to mother him." 
 
 " I hope I shaU see him to-day." 
 
142 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xi 
 
 " He's the dearest, kindest man in the world; and 
 although his mission is very, very poor, it's wonderful 
 the money he gets, and mostly from practising the most 
 hard and fast self-denial. Over and over again, he's been 
 in actual want from giving to those he thinks are in 
 greater need than himself." 
 
 They had reached the door of Father Koran's lodging ; 
 on entering the Hving-room, Quillian was surprised at its 
 bareness. There was a deal table; three or four Windsor 
 chairs; a few books on a home-made shelf; a large crucifix 
 on the wall; and that was practically all. 
 
 " I don't suppose he'll be long, if you can find time 
 to wait," remarked the woman; on noticing QuLhian 
 looking round the apartment, she added : " And this is a 
 man who comes of a good English family." 
 
 They sat (Quillian's chair was rickety), and his com- 
 panion said : 
 
 " How long have you been in England ?" 
 " Over a month now." 
 
 " And you have spent most of the time in London ?" 
 " AU of it, except when I was in Kent." 
 " Did you meet many people there ?" 
 " Far more than I expected." 
 " Lord Vaucourt ?" 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Sir Percy Philbrick ?" 
 " You know, then ?" 
 
 " I once stayed in that part of the world. Mrs. 
 Lownes ?" 
 " Y-yes." 
 
 " You hke her ?" said the other woman quickly. 
 " Why do you say that ?" 
 " I can see you do." 
 " She was very kind to me." 
 " Naturally." 
 " Why ' naturally ' ?" 
 
 " You will find that most women you meet will be 
 interested in you." 
 " I don't see why." 
 " ShaU I tell you ?" 
 " More cynicism !" 
 
CH. XI] SISTER JANE 143 
 
 " Not because you have money and all that sort of 
 thing — that would only be an obvious and, therefore, a 
 vulgar reason — but because the very nature of your ceh- 
 bate life is, at once, a challenge to us." 
 
 " Why a chaUenge ?" 
 
 " As a sex we are very vain; it's implanted in us to 
 allure and conquer with the weapons — such as they 
 are — with which nature has endowed us. You, with 
 your past profession of celibacy have, as it were, told us 
 that, so far as you are concerned, we do not count in the 
 scheme of things, and surely that is more than enough 
 to — to provoke our resentment and, perhaps, make us 
 like you." 
 
 " Do you know, you have greatly astonished me ?" 
 
 " By what I have told you ?" 
 
 " Not so much that as the fact of your saying it." 
 
 " I wasn't always what I am now." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " If you care to know "■ 
 
 " Of course I do," said QuiUian, upon her pausing. 
 
 " I didn't think you'd be interested. Once upon a 
 time I was of the world, and very, very worldly. And 
 then " 
 
 " And then- 
 
 But I was not happy. And then I found this." 
 
 " You gave up everything to work for the poor and 
 needy ?" 
 
 " I assure you there was no particular virtue in my 
 doing so " 
 
 " That is what you say." 
 
 " Anything but. We are all out for happiness, and 
 this happens to be where I, personally, am able to get the 
 most." 
 
 Here was a further surprise for Quillian, inasmuch as a 
 woman who appeared of the type that was content to 
 devote its days to good works was admitting to a desire 
 for happiness that was of the world, worldly. 
 
 He must have shown his thoughts in his face, for she 
 said : 
 
 " I've surprised you." 
 
 " I must confess you have." 
 
144 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xi 
 
 " Who was it who said ' that the last thing that will 
 be civilized by man is woman ' ?" 
 
 " Someone who has a very low estimation of your sex." 
 
 " As it happens, it was someone who, perhaps, knew 
 
 more about them than any man of his time. But I 
 
 mustn't help to disillusion you. And I've spoken quite 
 
 enough about myself for one day. Why are you here 
 
 and not with one of Mrs. Lownes's attractive daughters ?" 
 
 " I have come back to work." 
 
 " To work ?" 
 
 " Since you know so much of my affairs, you are, 
 doubtless, aware why I left the monastery at Ypres." 
 " I gathered the reason." 
 
 " Before I can accept what is, perhaps, the greatest of 
 God's blessings, I want to do something to deserve such 
 a gift." 
 
 She looked at him sharply, appraisingly, much as if 
 to discover if he were whoUy sincere ; there was not the 
 least reason for doubt, she told herself, indeed, she was 
 not a little ashamed of her suspicion, and she said: 
 " I suppose you know what you're up against !" 
 " You are not the first person who has said that," he 
 returned; " and I can only reply what I did before — that 
 I had ample warning from the good Guardian at Ypres." 
 
 " As if anyone ever listened to advice when " 
 
 " When " he repeated as she paused. 
 
 " When they love a woman." 
 He was silent, and she went on : 
 " And as you would love a woman if ever you did 
 love." 
 
 " Would it be so serious ?" he asked. 
 " I don't think I would be far wrong in saying it would 
 be body and soul with you." 
 
 His thoughts flew to Mercia; he was by no means sure 
 he could tell himself that such was the case where she was 
 concerned. 
 
 " Are you certain ?" he asked. 
 
 " Certain. And for all my work here, I'm ever so 
 worldly-wise apart from my woman's instinct in such 
 matters." 
 
 Quillian was disturbed by the fact of his affection for 
 
CH. XI] SISTER JANE i45 
 
 Mercia not being of the world-well-lost-for-love order; 
 he was wondering if time would strengthen it until it 
 reached such formidable proportions, when she said: 
 
 " And what work do you propose to do ?" 
 
 " That is where I am so helpless." 
 
 " Is it that you can't find anything to do in the world ?" 
 she asked grimly. 
 
 " You must surely know it's not that," he returned. 
 " There is so much, one doesn't know where to make a 
 start." 
 
 " I know what I should do if I were a man of your stamp 
 and with your opportunities." 
 
 " My Guardian told me I should do well if I succeeded 
 in plucking but one brand from the btirning." 
 
 " One !" she cried scornfully. 
 
 " It doesn't seem very much." 
 
 " Individuals must look after themselves; it's the 
 millions I'm thinking about," she declared, and with a 
 warmth of which he had not thought her capable. 
 
 " Whom do you mean ? The millions of unconverted 
 humanity ?" 
 
 " Indeed no !" she cried scornfully. " They have re- 
 ligions suited to their needs, and get along well enough in 
 their own way. It's the millions in this England of ours 
 I'm thinking about, not so much their spiritual salvation 
 — that can come later — as having the bare human rights 
 here on earth." 
 
 " Are things so bad ?" 
 
 " Look at Wapping." 
 
 " Surely Wapping is — must be — exceptional." 
 
 "Anything but: and your mission should be, not to 
 the poor, but to the rich, frivolous men and women, who 
 live a round of dull pleasures in the vain hope of escap- 
 ing from themselves. Go to them and ask them why they 
 are doing nothing for their country; for their down- 
 trodden, sweated brothers and sisters — ^you would only 
 be laughed at for your pains — and see if you can influence 
 them one whit." 
 
 " What would it avail if, as you say, they would not 
 listen ?" 
 
 Apparently she did not hear, for she went on as before : 
 
 lO 
 
146 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xi 
 
 " And the butterflies of life are by no means the worst, 
 let me tell yon. There are thousands of dull, stupid, 
 well-meaning people, who salve their conscience by giving 
 much to alleviate misery which is largely caused by the 
 conditions under which their wealth is produced. They 
 want to be roused and — and " 
 
 " Yes," he said, upon her stopping for breath. 
 
 " And these are by no means all. There are the com- 
 fortable beneficed dignatories in all denominations who 
 do their narrow little round of duty ; they either shut their 
 eyes to the terrible evils which exist, or tell themselves 
 that, since everything is ordered by Providence, they may 
 be safely ignored." 
 
 The unorthodox complexion of her last words aston- 
 ished him; he looked at the flushed face, which was now 
 almost handsome, and said : 
 
 " Do you know what you are saying ?" 
 
 " I think so," she returned calmly. 
 
 " But " 
 
 " You won't be surprised if you know me better — that is, 
 if you ever do. But women who think and feel, par- 
 ticularly those who feel, often get out of hand; and the 
 best of them never really know themselves." 
 
 She realized she had given him much of a shock ; in the 
 effort to efface the impression she had made, she talked 
 of everyday things, including the prolonged absence of 
 Father Horan. 
 
 " I suppose he will be back sometime," he said. 
 
 " Are you in a hTorry ?" 
 
 " Not particularly." 
 
 " Perhaps I bore you ?" she urged. 
 
 " Indeed no." 
 
 " Sure ?" 
 
 " Ever so sure." 
 
 " I'm not asking for vain reasons — at least, I don't 
 think so — ^but if I don't, I should like the opportunity of 
 hearing what you are doing from time to time, and, if I 
 might, of advising you." 
 
 " You are very kind." 
 
 " And if I bored you now, I should never be able to 
 help you." 
 
CH. XI] SISTER JANE 147 
 
 QuiUian thanked her; a few minutes later, a knock 
 was heard at the door ; and upon the Sister saying " Come 
 in," a ragged little girl entered, and said that Father 
 Horan had been summoned to a parishioner who had met 
 with a bad accident ; that the priest was accompanying 
 the injured man to the hospital; and that he wanted Sister 
 Jane to come to the child's mother whom he had been 
 previously attending. 
 
 " Go at once, and don't mind me," said QuiUian. 
 
 " I'm afraid it is not much use your waiting now," she 
 returned. " And you wiU come again soon ?" 
 
 " Very soon," he assured her. 
 
 " Thank you," she said. 
 
 QuiUian put money into the child's hand ; took leave 
 of Sister Jane, who seemed a little reluctant to let him 
 go ; and, pondering over all he had seen and heard, took 
 his way homeward. 
 
 A surprise awaited him at the fiat, where Mrs. Gass- 
 mann and Grumby, both speaking at once, told him that 
 Miss Fothergill had disappeared since the morning: she 
 had left no word ; and had taken her few belongings. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 ST. TERESA IN THE FLESH 
 
 " She ain't come back, sir." 
 
 " Miss Fothergill ?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " I didn't expect she would." 
 
 " And me laying awake, an' worrying about the poof 
 dear all night." 
 
 " I suppose she had a good reason for going ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, sir; still, I wasn't surprised." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " A picter fell down yes'day mornin' ; an' that's always 
 a sign somethin's going to happen." 
 
 " You surely don't believe such nonsense, Mrs. Gass- 
 mann !" 
 
 " I can't 'elp believin' it, sir, seein' its true. Jess 
 before my 'usband were took bad wif his last iUness, I 
 see one sparrer 'op over the back of another. That's 
 always a sign the doctor '11 be called in." 
 
 " Your husband is no better !" 
 
 " An' never will be, sir," returned Mrs. Gassmann 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " I'm sorry." 
 
 " An' there's one thing; when he do go, he'll die up- 
 pards." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Most when they ' lays down their knife and fork ' 
 dies downwards. But from the nature of Gassmann's com- 
 plaint, Gassmann will die uppards," she declared proudly. 
 
 Quillian kept back a smile. 
 
 " Still, I don't mind, sir," she went on. " I've a good 
 pair of arms that ain't afraid of work, an' I can always 
 earn my bit of bread and cheese," 
 
 148 
 
CH. XII] ST. TERESA IN THE FLESH 149 
 
 " What caused his illness ?" 
 
 " Gassmann's too fond of a drop of drink, sir. 'Ee's 
 already had two strokes, and his face is all twisted ; and 
 the doctor says he mustn't touch another drop." 
 
 " I hope he won't then." 
 
 " He's promised me faithful, sir, he won't look at a 
 pot o' beer. But there ! 'Ee's said that so many times." 
 
 " Can he get about ?" 
 
 " With a couple of sticks, sir." 
 
 " How do you know he won't get out and drink while 
 you're here ?" 
 
 " I'll watch that, sir." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " 'Ee's given me his word he won't, and I've pawned 
 'is boots an' coat so 'ee can't get out, sir," declared Mrs. 
 Gassmann triumphantly. " An' Gassmann's too proud 
 to be seen in the street without 'is coat, let alone 'is 
 boots." 
 
 The entrance of Tommy Chalfont interrupted the con- 
 versation, a Tommy Chalfont who looked rosy and cheerful 
 compared with his overnight anxiety at learning from 
 Quillian of Miss Fothergill's disappearance. 
 
 " Hullo, old sport: how goes it ?" he cried on catch- 
 ing sight of Quillian. 
 
 " Heard anything ?" asked Quillian, directly the two 
 men were alone. 
 
 " N'no." 
 
 " You seemed so cheerful, I hoped you had." 
 
 " I've been thinkin' things over: laid awake last night 
 ever so long — quite half an hour — worryin' about it, and 
 if I think everything's all right, you've no reason to be 
 upset." 
 
 " My responsibility is scarcely on all fours with yours," 
 returned Quillian. 
 
 " Don't forget you put the whole thing into my hands, 
 and that I told you to trust her implicitly." 
 
 " That's true." 
 
 " Well, there you are. It's my opinion she didn't fancy 
 the job with Mrs. Lownes, and has got on to somethin' 
 else more congenial, and didn't like to own up." 
 
 " That's a bit optimistic," declared Quillian. 
 
150 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xii 
 
 " Trust me for knowin' what's what." 
 
 " I'm divided between two opinions." 
 
 " Let's have 'em," said Tommy, and in the manner of one 
 who is anxious to show his toleration of points of view for 
 which he has scant regard. 
 
 " Either she's fallen into one of the snares set for pretty 
 girls ■' 
 
 " She took her belongin's with her," interrupted 
 Tommy. 
 
 " Or both of us have been sadly taken in." 
 
 " Impossible !" cried Tommy. 
 
 " You really think so ?" 
 
 " I don't think: I know." 
 
 " It's all very perplexing." 
 
 " To you perhaps, old chap; women are strange cattle 
 to you. But you forget we. I read 'em like a book; and 
 she was as good and true as gold. Take my word for it." 
 
 " If that's so, it only makes me the more anxious." 
 
 " She's all right," declared Tommy confidently. 
 
 " I still think we should have told the police last night." 
 
 " Eh ?" 
 
 " And I've half a mind to now." 
 
 Tommy became considerably excited, and said : 
 
 " They're ' no earthly.' It's no use botherin' with 
 them. They'd want to know all sorts of things, an' 'ud 
 
 think it d n — beg pardon — funny your takin' her in 
 
 at all." 
 
 " I shouldn't care what they thought." 
 
 " Perhaps not. All the same, don't you go to them. 
 Take it from me: and if she has gone to another job, it 
 won't do her any good havin' all sorts of inquiries made 
 about her." 
 
 Tommy said much more in the same strain, and Quillian, 
 rather against his will, suffered himself to be convinced by 
 the other's argument. 
 
 " Then you agree with me ?" said Tommy, after he had 
 reduced the other to silence. 
 
 " I suppose I do." 
 
 " Now I'll be off." 
 
 " It's a very short stay." 
 
 " Dare say you're busy !" 
 
CH. XII] ST. TERESA IN THE FLESH 151 
 
 " Not partic;ularly." 
 
 " Anyway, I am. Old friends to look up, and all that. 
 See you again soon." 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " And have another giddy evenin' ! What !" 
 
 Tommy went off; immediately he had gone, Quillian 
 sat down to the ever-increasing post which awaited his 
 attention: as he had expected, it mostly consisted of 
 begging appeals in formulas he was getting to know by 
 heart. 
 
 He again sorted out the few that appeared genuine from 
 the others, and before replying to the former resolved to 
 take either Sister Jane's or Father Koran's advice ; he also 
 wrote to both of these (he enclosed a substantial cheque 
 as his contribution towards the expenses of the Mission) 
 and asked for an early appointment. 
 
 He had not forgotten the Princess Royal Hospital, 
 and more with the idea of killing time than anything else, 
 he set off in the direction of the Fulham Road at some- 
 thing after three : he took a 'bus to the Oratory, and on 
 getting down, asked to be directed to his destination. 
 
 Rather to his surprise, those he spoke with knew nothing 
 about it, even a hospital nurse professed blank ignorance ; 
 he walked the Fulham Road a long way, and not dis- 
 covering what he sought, he entered quite a lot of shops ; 
 those behind the counter could give him no information 
 until a milkman told him he believed the Princess Royal 
 Hospital was at the Walham Green end, which was still 
 some distance away. 
 
 On nearing RedcUffe Gardens, he was passed by a 
 motor-bus; his attention was attracted by the figure of 
 a girl who sat on top: she was tall, and shapely, and 
 young; and her head of chestnut-coloured hair was covered 
 by a large straw hat, trimmed with a red riband. 
 
 Something about her held his interest; he wondered 
 who and what she was. 
 
 The bus slowed down before stopping; on seeing her 
 rise from her seat, preparatory to getting off, Quillian 
 quickened his step. 
 
 She seemed ever so taU standing up there ; and for all 
 the awkwardness of the descent, there was no denying 
 
152 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xii 
 
 the prettiness of her movements : he wished the big hat 
 did not hide her face so that he could see if this were any- 
 thing hke so charming as her figure. 
 
 She reached the pavement before he caught her up, and 
 set off in the direction in which he was going : and for all 
 his telling himself he had no business to be interested in 
 any woman other than Mercia, he could not help noticing 
 that she wore a tight-fitting skirt which called attention 
 to her shapehness ; that she had the slimmest of ankles ; 
 and little feet. 
 
 The constraint of her frock caused her to take short 
 steps ; these, when aUied with her graceful motions, were 
 of a provoking daintiness ; indeed, she walked in a manner 
 that was so alien to the shamble of the everyday Enghsh- 
 woman that Quillian began to wonder if she had Latin 
 blood in her veins. 
 
 Quillian strode forward and was soon at her heels ; he 
 did n6t care to pass her, since he did not wish to lose sight 
 of her without seeing her face should opportunity offer: 
 it went much against the grain for him to get before her, 
 and stare round, as he had seen so many do in like cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 And as he followed her, most of those they encountered, 
 and almost irrespective of sex, stared hard at her; and 
 from this he believed she must be unusually comely to 
 look upon. 
 
 He became sharply aware of what an unseemly thing he 
 was doing in dogging the footsteps of an unprotected girl; 
 and almost stopped; even as he did so, she turned and 
 looked him in the face. 
 
 QuiUian was conscious of sweet, if sad, hazel eyes ; of a 
 fleeting memory of the saint in stained glass above the 
 high altar in the chapel at Ypres ; of the quick beating of 
 his heart. 
 
 For the fraction of a second, they looked upon each 
 other, and by the time Quillian had found his mental 
 bearings, she was some way off and was about to disappear 
 in a bend of the road. 
 
 He was violently moved to follow her; at the same 
 time, he withheld his eager steps: he was aware that 
 the mere sight of this young woman, whomsoever she 
 
CH. XII] ST. TERESA IN THE FLESH i53 
 
 might be, had made a profound appeal to him, and one 
 that was wholly removed from anything he had yet ex- 
 perienced; upon his seeking to tell himself that surely 
 such an interest justified his indulging a harmless curiosity 
 with regard to seeing what became of her, conscience 
 reproved him for anything in the nature of a mental 
 infidelity to the one to whom he was practically betrothed. 
 
 Quillian was pulled this way and then that; by the 
 time he again set off in the direction he believed the 
 hospital to be, there was small possibility of his over- 
 taking her. 
 
 QuiUian duly found the hospital on the farther side of 
 the way : it was an -ordinary, three-storied, basemented, 
 semi-detached house, and a large board behind the railings 
 announced in big lettering the name of the institution; 
 the fact that it was entirely supported by voluntary con- 
 tributions of which the smallest would be thankfully 
 received ; and the name of the secretary, Reginald Stone 
 Hemmingay. 
 
 There was an atmosphere of drabness about the place 
 which, had not QuiUian been discomposed by his recent 
 experience, in aU likelihood would have decided him to 
 let the hospital and its works severely alone; as it was, 
 he opened the gate, and went up the not overclean steps 
 with no very clear idea of what he was at. 
 
 There were three bells, one above the other, and re- 
 spectively marked 'Day;' 'Night;' 'House:' he pulled 
 the first, and not hearing an answering sound, he tried 
 the last : even then he had to try again before there were 
 signs of life. 
 
 He had an impression that the window-blind was shifted, 
 much as if someone were seeking to discover whom the 
 caller might be ; a few moments later, the opening of a 
 door was followed by a hesitating step in the hall, and 
 Qiiillian was faced by a middle-aged man who, notwith- 
 standing much that was objectionable in his appearance, 
 had a distinct suggestion of refinement. 
 
 He was taUish ; and stout ; and flabby ; and bald ; he had 
 greenish eyes, which had a trick of looking anywhere than 
 at the man who stood on the threshold. 
 
 " Good-afternoon," he said to QuUlian. 
 
154 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. xii 
 
 " Good-afternoon. My name is Quillian." 
 
 " Quillian!" returned the other; and as if seeking to 
 recall the name. 
 
 " You wrote to me several times." 
 
 This further information apparently conveyed nothing 
 of moment, for the one addressed said: 
 
 " We are doing such a er — er noble work that we er — er in 
 the nature of things issue many appeals to the er — er 
 benevolent." 
 
 " I had one or two letters in Kent ; and the other to my 
 flat in Westminster." 
 
 "Oh! Ah! Yes. You are Mr. Paul Quillian. For- 
 give me if it escaped my memory, but I am so overburdened 
 with work this morning, it's perhaps excusable. But 
 come inside. Delighted to meet you." 
 
 Quillian was not further disposed in the man's favour 
 by the artificial cordiality with which these words were 
 said. 
 
 " If you are so busy " he began, 
 
 " We are never too busy to acquaint the public with the 
 philanthropic nature of our work. Come inside, my dear 
 sir. As I dare say you've guessed, I'm Reginald Hem- 
 mingay, the Secretary of the institution." 
 
 So saying, he led the way into the room on the left, 
 where Quillian had only eyes for the surprising fact that 
 seated and writing at a table littered with papers was none 
 other than the young woman he had seen get oE the bus, 
 and who had so powerfully attracted him in the street. 
 
 QuiUian was again aware of the thumping of his heart 
 against his ribs; he stood stock-still, and infrequent 
 words and phrases of Hemmingay's pierced his blurred 
 understanding. 
 
 " Really delighted to meet you — ^my daughter Vesper 
 — assists me in my good work — ^heart and soul in it — she 
 thought you might be the new visiting physician. " 
 
 QuiUian had only eyes for Miss Hemmingay, who, after 
 glancing with an impersonal curiosity at the new-comer, 
 went on with the work his entrance had interrupted; 
 she was writing envelopes, and took the addresses from a 
 seedy-looking Post Office Directory. 
 
 " Sit down, my dear sir; sit down," was the next thing 
 
CH. XII] ST. TERESA IN THE FLESH I55 
 
 he was conscious Hemmingay was saying : upon his 
 doing as he was bid, the other added: " I presume you 
 called to make a few inquiries ?" 
 
 Upon Quillian admitting this was so, Hemmingay 
 said: 
 
 " Quite right, my dear sir; quite right. In these days 
 of bogus charities and fraudulent benevolent institutions, 
 one cannot be too careful where one gives; that is, of 
 course, provided one is a — er — giver." 
 
 He cast a sidelong glance at Quillian ; apparently satis- 
 fied with his scrutiny, he went on : 
 
 " Such similar institutions as the London ; Guy's ; 
 Bart's ; and so on, get most of the popular support that is 
 going ; discriminating givers, however, do not forget 
 those hospitals which are not doing less good work, even 
 if their light is somewhat hid under a bushel." 
 
 " Quite so," assented QuiUian absently ; while Hem- 
 mingay had been speaking, his attention had been held 
 by the girl's face which, with the delicate correspondence 
 of its expression to her thoughts, had become hard and set. 
 
 " Just ' down ' from Oxford ?" asked Hemmingay. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 " I was not educated at Oxford." 
 
 " Could have sworn you were. Thought you were a 
 New College man. I was at New College in the late 
 seventies." 
 
 Quillian, perhaps from his proximity to Miss Hemmin- 
 gay, was thereupon moved to a like confidence. 
 
 " I was educated abroad," he said, and even as he spoke 
 was aware of the girl pausing in her addressing and of 
 giving heed to what he said. 
 
 " May I ask where ?" from her father. 
 
 " At Ypres." 
 
 " Ypres !" 
 
 " In Belgium. South Flanders, to be more particular." 
 
 " I had no idea there was any sort of school there " 
 
 " It was not a school in the ordinary sense," interrupted 
 Quillian. 
 
 " Unless it was a monastery !" 
 
 Quillian would not have replied, and would have left it 
 
156 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xii 
 
 at that, had not Miss Hemmingay lifted her sad eyes to 
 his face. 
 
 " It was a monastery," he said quietly. 
 
 " Ah, of course ! Where is my memory ! Now I 
 know something of the facts." 
 
 " You do ?" asked QuilUan in surprise. 
 
 Hemmingay was conscious of a note of displeasure in 
 the other's voice, for he said : 
 
 " Unless I'm muddling them up with something else. 
 Men in my responsible position hear so much about 
 others, and all that sort of thing, that one must not be 
 surprised at anything I may know or the tangles I get in." 
 
 " Quite so," said Quillian, who was taking more and 
 more of a dislike to Hemmingay, and would ha,ve shaken 
 the dust of the hospital from his feet as soon as maybe, 
 had it not been for the girl at the table. 
 
 There was a silence during which Quillian furtively 
 watched Miss Hemmingay, who went on with her address- 
 ing, while her father stood with his back to the fireplace, 
 and swelled with self-conscious importance. 
 
 Quillian found himself involuntarily contrasting the 
 girl with Mercia; it seemed to him the former made an 
 appeal to the senses which was strangely lacking in the 
 young woman to whom he was practically betrothed; 
 he wondered if Miss Hemmingay possessed any of the 
 noble qualities which distinguished the eldest Miss 
 Lownes, and in his fervent admiration of her comeliness 
 was disposed to credit her with a full measure. 
 
 Hemmingay interrupted his thoughts. 
 
 " Now, my dear sir, as I presume that you have called 
 to inquire into the merits of our work, perhaps you would 
 like to have some particulars." 
 
 " It might be as well," assented Quillian. 
 
 " And I take it that as — ahem, seeing for yourself is 
 more convincing than assertions, you might care to look 
 over our hospital. Facta non verba. Eh ?" 
 
 " If I should not be in the way." 
 
 " Vesper, my dear " (Quillian pricked up his ears at 
 hearing this name), " tell the — er — ^head matron that I 
 shall shortly conduct a distinguished visitor round the 
 wards." 
 
CH. XII] ST. TERESA IN THE FLESH i57 
 
 The girl rose to her gracious height (in so doing, she 
 seemed to dwarf her objectionable father) and left the 
 room without so much as glancing at Quillian, a fact he 
 was quick to notice: directly she haa gone, it seemed 
 to him as if the sunlight had gone out of the sky. 
 
 Thereupon Hemmingay, who had not failed to notice 
 Quillian's interest in Vesper, talked and talked pre- 
 sumably about the hospital, for Quillian did not give 
 him any heed; his thoughts were with the absent girl; 
 he marvelled how a man like her father could have such 
 a daughter, whom Quillian's quick fancy endowed with 
 a consuming passion to heal the sick and tefid the infirm : 
 doubtless, he told himself, it was she who was the guiding 
 spirit of the work; and the force of her sweet personality 
 had enlisted Hemmingay's co-operation. 
 
 At last, after what seemed an interminable interval, 
 the girl came back, and the world to Quillian was a very 
 different place. 
 
 " Well, my dear " said Hemmingay affectionately. 
 
 " You'd better see Mrs. Hunt," she returned in a voice 
 that, for all its listlessness, was low and musical, and of 
 a quaUty that further stirred Quillian: she stUl kept 
 her eyes to the ground. 
 
 " Are we able to proceed ?" 
 
 " You'd better see Mrs. Hunt," she remarked as before. 
 
 " Excuse me, QuilMan," said the Secretary, and left 
 the room. 
 
 Quillian had risen at Vesper's entrance ; he still stood, 
 and watched her listless progress to her seat, where she 
 went on with her interminable addressing: nothing was 
 heard for some moments but the scratching of her pen. 
 
 He watched her so far as he dare, and almost fearfully 
 noted her delicate features, which would have given her 
 the face of a sweet-looking child were it not for a slightly 
 large mouth ; the upper lip was curved in a set disdain. 
 
 Quillian regarded the slim fingers at their seemingly 
 endless task; presently, upon the pen making a slip, 
 she made a little cry of annoyance. 
 
 " May I help you ?" he said. 
 
 " Why should you ?" she replied, and without looking up. 
 
 " You have so much to do." 
 
158 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xii 
 
 " It is my job," she declared coldly. 
 
 " That is no reason why I shouldn't help." 
 
 " If you want to help, father will see to that." 
 
 A spice of contempt in her voice somewhat rebuffed 
 Quillian; for want of something better, he said: 
 
 " Your father seems very enthusiastic." 
 
 '' NaturaUy." 
 
 " It isn't given to aU of us to spend our lives in good 
 works." 
 
 The girl looked sharply at him (Quillian thriUed at the 
 glance), and after dropping her eyes, she said: 
 
 " It's his job." 
 
 This was in the nature of a poser to Quillian, who 
 looked for more than a little keenness in the work of the 
 hospital. 
 
 A further silence was broken by her saying: 
 
 " Do you really want to help ?" 
 
 " It is the reason why I came." 
 
 " To help me, I mean." 
 
 " Of course," he declared, and ever so quickly. 
 
 " Then read out these infernal addresses." 
 
 " You read and I'U write." 
 
 " Writing's a bother." 
 
 " It's assisting you," said Quillian, who aU but blushed 
 at his forwardness. 
 
 The girl took off her hat and threw it in a corner of the 
 room ; Quillian stood stock-still, and stared at the masses 
 of rich hair which were coiled about her head. 
 
 " Come along," she said in a business-like way; 
 Quillian took her seat. 
 
 " Where are you going to sit ?" he asked, at noticing 
 she stood. 
 
 " I'm sick of sitting. It wiU do me good to stand. 
 Ready ?" 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " Now, then. ' J. F. C. Mudd, Esq., J.P., M.V.O.' 
 Put it all in, otherwise they won't open it. ' 17, King's 
 Gate, S.W.' " 
 
 Quillian wrote hard for some minutes; beyond the 
 dictation of the names and addresses nothing was said, 
 until he remarked : 
 
CH. XII] ST. TERESA IN THE FLESH 159 
 
 " I'm afraid I don't write nearly so well as you do." 
 
 " Rot !" 
 
 " You write such a beautiful hand." 
 
 " Why do you say that ?" she asked lifelessly. 
 
 " Because I think so. It is one of the reasons — if not 
 the chief — why I came here." 
 
 " How can that be ?" she asked as before. 
 
 " It attracted me." 
 
 She gave him another appraising glance, and he 
 said: 
 
 " Steange I should have seen you get off the bus." 
 
 " You noticed me !" 
 
 " Of course; I was behind you for some time." 
 
 " I beheve I saw you." 
 
 " You noticed me ?" he asked eagerly. 
 
 " I've a memory for faces," she rephed in her spiritless 
 voice. 
 
 Notwithstanding her depressing lack of interest in him, 
 QuiUian went on: 
 
 " I little thought then that you were one of those who 
 give their life to doing good." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" she asked, and almost sharply. 
 
 " Doing your utmost for the sick." 
 
 The girl's face hardened. 
 
 " Don't you love your work ?" he went on. 
 
 The girl laughed discordantly. 
 
 " In the consciousness that you're doing something to 
 relieve the burden of the world's misery !" 
 
 She again glanced at him, and reflected for a moment, 
 before saying: 
 
 " Do you think that of me ?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Then you may as well know I loathe the sick; I hate 
 the infirm; and despise invahds," she cried, and with a 
 disquieting note of passion in her voice. 
 
 " I don't beheve it !" he replied hotly. 
 
 " You must. I do this because father has taken it on, 
 and we must do something. But I hate it; hate it; 
 hate it ! And if I had my way, I'd never look at a sick 
 person again. Do you believe me now ?' 
 
 QuiUian shook his head: he was moved to further 
 
i6o THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xii 
 
 denial, while his ears were echoing with the exquisite 
 modulations of her voice. 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 " A thousand times no." 
 
 " Why don't you believe it ?" she asked in aU astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Because something within me I implicitly trust says 
 it is not so, and tells me you are good, and kind, and 
 tender — and ' ' 
 
 Emotion bridled his tongue; the next thing he was 
 conscious of was that she was staring at him in sheer 
 amazement: he boldly met her look, and succeeded in 
 holding her glance unm he noticed a helplessness dawning 
 in her eyes. 
 
 He was embarrassed by his outburst; in order to put 
 their relations on their former footing, he said : 
 
 " What about our addressing ?" 
 
 " What about it ?" she said hesitatingly. 
 
 " I'm doing nothing. I'd got to ' John Muddock." " 
 
 " No," she said. 
 
 " But " 
 
 " You shan't do any more." 
 
 " Why not ?" he asked in surprise. 
 
 " Why ? Because I don't wish it," she replied, and 
 resolutely shut the dog's-eared directory. 
 
 " You've lost the place !" he cried. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! And if you reaUy want to do me a 
 turn, take that cursed directory and burn it." 
 
 QuiUian's astonishment lasted until the return of 
 Hemmingay, who came back with a worried expression, 
 and said : 
 
 " I'm sorry, my dear sir, but one of our patients has 
 been taken suddenly worse. I've just telephoned for the 
 doctor." 
 
 Quillian rose to his feet. 
 
 " There's no occasion for you to go," remarked Hemmin- 
 
 " I couldn't think of staying," returned Quilhan 
 decidedly. 
 
 " If that's the case, take this, and this, and this," said 
 Hemmingay, selecting odd documents from the littered 
 
CH. XII] ST. TERESA IN THE FLESH i6i 
 
 table. " They will give you the amplest details of the 
 institution." 
 
 Quillian took the pamphlets, said " Good-morning ' to 
 Vesper, whom he noticed did not raise her eyes at return- 
 ing the salutation, and went into the hall accompanied 
 by the Secretary. 
 
 Here, and for all the urgency of the sick patient's con- 
 dition, he continued talking to Quillian; and somehow 
 (the latter was too confused to notice how it came about) 
 his attention was attracted to a box fastened to the wall 
 and labelled: 
 
 ' Visitor's box.' 
 
 Quillian dropped in a sovereign (Henmiingay pre- 
 tended not to notice), shook hands with the Secretary, 
 and left the house. 
 
 He had not gone very far before he found he had for- 
 gotten his stick and gloves. 
 
 He went back, hoping against hope that he would see 
 more of Vesper (the name lingered on his tongue). On 
 mounting the steps of the house he had recently quitted, 
 he found the door open, and Hemmingay just inside, and 
 in the act of abstracting QuiUian's sovereign from an 
 otherwise empty box. 
 
 II 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE "princess ROYAL " 
 
 " How are you getting on ?" 
 
 " Extremely well." 
 
 " I thought so." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " You seemed different," said Sister Jane, who, to-day, 
 had put on over her ordinary sober frock her attenuated 
 Franciscan habit of brown, which signified she was a 
 member of the Third Order of women affiliated to that 
 Fraternity. This she would wear on her death-bed and 
 in her grave, since it was commonly affirmed that such 
 a garment would go a long way to assist the soul's salva- 
 tion of one thus clad. 
 
 " In what way ?" asked QuiUian quickly. 
 
 " I don't know that I can explain. But I can see 
 something has happened." 
 
 " It's only that I've come upon an opportunity of doing 
 something definite." 
 
 " May I ask what it is !" 
 
 " C-certainly," faltered Quillian. 
 
 " WeU " 
 
 " Would it interest you ?" 
 
 " Very much." 
 
 " I'll teU you some time." 
 
 " Why not now ?" 
 
 " You say Father Horan may be here any moment !" 
 
 " That may mean any time. This may be the only 
 chance we may get." 
 
 Thus pressed, Quillian spoke of his secular leanings at 
 the monastery, and of his desire to bear a part, either 
 in awakening the dormant patriotism of his countrymen, 
 or in the domain of social politics; also, of his present 
 
 162 
 
CH. xiii] THE " PRINCESS ROYAL " 163 
 
 difficulty in arriving at the truth in these matters, since 
 the party newspapers, and those whose advice he had 
 sought, had urged opinions that were violently opposed: 
 then, with a self-consciousness that would not have 
 deceived a sheep, he explained that the chance of doing 
 the something tangible he had mentioned was owing to 
 his meeting with Hemmingay of the Princess Royal 
 Hospital, and of his having learned of its lack of 
 funds. 
 
 Quillian did not once refer to Vesper. 
 
 " Is that all ?" she asked, after he had done. 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 She gave him a quick, hard glance, and said : 
 
 " Hemmingay 1 I seem to know the name. Is he 
 straight ?" 
 
 " So far as I know." 
 
 " I suppose it never occurred to your innocent mind 
 that he might be an adventiurer." 
 
 " I'm going into the matter thoroughly. I'm going to 
 the hospital this afternoon." 
 
 " And no one in the world could deceive such a sharp 
 person as yourself !" 
 
 " We are all liable to err," returned Quillian. 
 
 " Some more; some less." 
 
 There was a silence, during which Quillian bridled an 
 inclination to fidget; it was interrupted by Sister Jane, 
 who suddenly asked: 
 
 " Is there a Miss Hemmingay ?" 
 
 " Why do you ask ?" he returned somewhat shame- 
 facedly. 
 
 " I only wondered. I see there is." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " What is she like ?" 
 
 Quillian confusedly reflected, before replying: 
 
 " She wotild be hard to describe." 
 
 " Is she so charming ?" 
 
 " She is certainly very remarkable-looking." 
 
 " Now I understand," said Sister Jane grimly. 
 
 " Understand what ?" 
 
 " The — ^the good work the hospital is doing." 
 
 " You misjudge me — indeed you do," declared Quillian 
 
i64 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xiil 
 
 with some heat. " I should be quite the last man in the 
 world to be influenced by such a consideration." 
 
 " No doubt," smiled Sister Jane. 
 
 " Besides, anything of that sort would be quite 
 impossible so far as I'm concerned." 
 
 " With an impressionable young man all things are 
 possible." 
 
 " I don't, for one moment, suppose she would ever be 
 the least interested in me." 
 
 Sister Jane was quick to notice the despondency in his 
 voice ; with something of an effort, she said : 
 
 " You would certainly be severely handicapped if you 
 start by crying down yourself." 
 
 Before he cotild speak, she went on : 
 
 " Our sex is taken by the blustering, swaggering, bully- 
 ing sort; and that only goes to prove what adorable 
 creatures we are and " 
 
 " I don't believe that for one moment," he interrupted. 
 " Apart from all that, what you insinuate is quite out of 
 the question." 
 
 " Because you are so foolish as to believe you are not 
 good enough for her ?" 
 
 Quillian shook his head. 
 Well, what is it ?" she persisted; upon his hesitating, 
 she said : 
 
 " Surely you can tell me. I am not curious, as most 
 women would be; I only want to smooth rough ways, 
 and one with my experience of life, who is only anxious 
 for your welfare and happiness, may be useful." 
 
 QuilUan thanked her, and told her in somewhat round- 
 about fashion of the nature of his engagement to Mercia 
 Lownes. 
 
 " One question, and I have done," said Sister Jane upon 
 the completion of his story : " Of course, you love Mercia ?" 
 
 " Y-yes," he replied. 
 
 " You don't seem over certain about it." 
 
 " She is so good and noble minded, no one could help 
 loving her. I am certain I do." 
 
 " If that's the case, I'll find out what I can about this 
 Mr. Hemmingay. And you must let me advise you in 
 other matters." 
 
CH. XIII] THE " PRINCESS ROYAL " 165 
 
 " You are very kind." 
 
 " Haven't you any man friend ?" 
 
 Quillian told her of Tommy Chalfont. 
 
 " If he's Vancourt's younger son, he's not the kind of 
 man I mean at all. I was wondering " 
 
 " Yes," from Quillian as she paused. 
 
 " I was wondering if I should introduce you to a relation 
 of mine. People say things about him, and he hasn't 
 made the best use of his many gifts. But he would do a 
 lot for me." 
 
 Before Quillian could agree or otherwise to this sugges- 
 tion, Father Horan had entered his room, and the dis- 
 cussion came to an end. 
 
 Father Horan was tall, slight, and pale, and looked as 
 if the next strong wind must blow out the wan flame of 
 his life, which flickered up to burn luminously in his dark 
 eyes ; these were aglow with a cheery desire to bring light 
 into the many shady places of his mission in the face of 
 every conceivable discouragement ; it was evident he was 
 wearing himself out in his unequal tussle with poverty 
 and ignorance. 
 
 He warmly greeted Quillian, and directly the priest 
 touched his hand, it was as though Quillian were conscious 
 of a human sympathy which was over and beyond that of 
 the orthodox sentiment of an ecclesiastic for a member 
 of his Church. 
 
 " How unfortunate I should have missed you. And 
 how kind of you to help us as you have done, and come 
 so far to see me !" 
 
 He went on talking, and in the manner of one who is 
 living on his nerve force; he had not got very far, how- 
 ever, before Sister Jane insisted on his seating himself, 
 and on not saying any more until she had brought him 
 a glass of milk. 
 
 " I'm glad you have made friends with ' mother,' " 
 laughed Father Horan upon being permitted to open his 
 lips. 
 
 " Is that what she is to you ?" replied QuilHan. 
 
 " To all of us who are privileged to come under her 
 wing. From all she has told me of you, I dare say she'll 
 be trying to ' mother ' you one of these days." 
 
i66 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xiii 
 
 " I'm not sure she hasn't begun already," said Quillian. 
 
 " Take my advice, and don't have it. She's a terrible 
 nuisance sometimes. I quite believe she would add the 
 wearing of damp socks to the seven deadly sins." 
 
 " I would to such men as you," declared Sister Jane 
 stoutly. 
 
 " No flattery," returned the priest lightly. 
 
 " It happens to be true in your case." 
 
 " Please don't," laughed Father Horan. " If you talk 
 like that, it will make me ever so vain, and I shall be 
 coming out in a new cassock." 
 
 " Isn't it about time you had one ?" asked Sister Jane. 
 " I've darned that, until I believe there's more darning 
 than the original stuff." 
 
 " It's correct to wear darned clothes in Wapping, and 
 I'm sure you wouldn't have me out of the fashion," 
 replied Father Horan, before tmrning to Quillian and 
 gently asking him about his doings since he had been in 
 England. 
 
 " He hasn't told you anything about the hospital that's 
 got hold of him," said Sister Jane presently. 
 
 " And what might that be ?" asked Father Horan. 
 
 Quillian gave some sort of description of the place in 
 question; after he had done, Father Horan asked of Sister 
 Jane: 
 
 " And what is wrong with it, pray ?" 
 
 " That I'm going to find out." 
 
 " Don't you listen to her," said Father Horan to 
 Quillian. " She's jealous of other charities, and wants 
 everything she can get for her soup-kitchens, boot and 
 coal clubs, and goodness knows what." 
 
 " I'll see she wants for nothing," said Quillian. 
 
 The conversation, which then took a more serious turn, 
 was chiefly conducted by the priest and Sister Jane, and 
 consisted in the former relating the results of his morning's 
 visits to his parishioners: he sought to make light of the 
 ceaseless disappointments he received, but Quillian was 
 not blind to an undercurrent of disillusion that almost 
 amounted to hopelessness. 
 
 He had barely done, when a knock was heard on the 
 door; upon whomsoever it might be being told to come 
 
CH. xiii] THE " PRINCESS ROYAL " 167 
 
 in, a tousled young woman, who was seventeen and 
 looked thirty, entered to say that her father was knocking 
 her mother about, and would Father Horan come at 
 once, as he was the only man who could influence the 
 wife-beater. 
 
 Although wellnigh exhausted with his morning's work, 
 Father Horan promised to come with all despatch; 
 Quillian offered to go with him, but was told his presence 
 would do far more harm than good; he accompanied the 
 priest to the door, made a hasty arrangement for the 
 hearing of his confession, warmly shook his hand, and 
 watched him hurry along the mean street with a flock of 
 unkempt urchins, who evidently looked on him as theii 
 friend, at his heels. 
 
 " There went a good man," said Sister Jane upon 
 Quillian's return to the room. 
 
 " I see that for myself." 
 
 " You feel it, don't you ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly." 
 
 " That is why I work for him as I do, and shall for so 
 long as he lives." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked Quillian quickly. 
 
 " He's killing himself as fast as he can. Before I met 
 him and made up my mind to look after him, they say 
 he lived on three pennyworth of brisket of beef on ordinary 
 days, and five pennyworth on Feast days; and that to 
 save money for the mission, he took a room near a street 
 lamp, so he could read at night by this and economize 
 the gas." 
 
 " Good heavens !" 
 
 " I can well believe it." 
 
 " Won't anything stop him from working so hard ?" 
 
 " Nothing at all. I've talked to him for hours, but 
 it's only so much wasted breath," said Sister Jane, to add 
 in an undertone: " It's men like him who help one to 
 believe." 
 
 Quillian regarded her curiously; not caring to intrude 
 into the privacies of her thoughts, he said nothing, and 
 presently she remarked : 
 
 " I suppose you are itching to pay your afternoon's 
 visit to the hospital !" 
 
i68 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. xiii 
 
 " Why should you think that ?" 
 
 " I'm not a fool." 
 
 " I was not aware that I was so very eager," said 
 Quillianj and sajdng the thing that was not from a 
 chivalrous desire to prevent Miss Hemmingay from being 
 slightingly spoken of. 
 
 " You are : you know you are. And I won't keep you," 
 said Sister Jane as she rose to her feet. 
 
 " I'm in no hurry to go," he declared, and followed her 
 example. 
 
 " That is what you say." 
 
 " But if I am keeping you from your work " 
 
 " It's no use trying to deceive me," she laughed. 
 " And you should take three mothers and, at least, five 
 chaperons." 
 
 " I'm quite capable of taking care of myself," he assured 
 her, and not being disinclined to start on his long journey 
 to Walham Green, he edged towards the door. 
 
 " What is her Christian name ?" asked Sister Jane 
 suddenly, and after looking at him much as she had done 
 on their first meeting in the chapel. i 
 
 " You know it is Mercia." 
 
 " I don't mean her." 
 
 " Oh ! Vesper." 
 
 " Vesper ! How do you know ?" 
 
 " It's what her father called her." 
 
 " Anyway, I have your address," she said, and going off 
 at a tangent. " Don't be surprised if I look you up one 
 of these fine days." 
 
 " At my flat ?" he asked in some surprise. 
 
 " Don't worry. I'm much too old to cause scandal," 
 she said bitterly. 
 
 " Why do you speak like that ?" 
 
 " No woman is particularly cheery at reaching the 
 ' safe ' age. Good-bye. I won't keep a fool from his 
 folly any longer." 
 
 Quillian turned (he had been preceding her to the 
 door), and her face looked both hard and tender. 
 
 Perhaps there was reproach in his eyes, for she 
 said: 
 
 " Don't forget I'm ' mothering ' you; or, if you prefer 
 
CH. xiii] THE " PRINCESS ROYAL " 169 
 
 it, ' sistering ' you, as the heroine says in feeble plays 
 when she refuses a man who hasn't enough money." 
 
 " You surprise me !" remarked Qmllian. 
 
 " You're that much interested in me," she remarked 
 musingly. " Why ?" 
 
 " You seem the kindest woman alive, and some- 
 times, if I may say so, there is an undercurrent of bitter- 
 ness." 
 
 " Thereby hangs a tale. Now, good-bye. And think 
 of m — ^us here, should you ever get Mercia out of your 
 mmd." 
 
 Unaware that Sister Jane was watching him from the 
 door, QuiUian hastened to Wappihg Station, striving the 
 while to conceal from himself how much he was looking 
 forward to his forthcoming meeting with Miss Hem- 
 mingay : when he could no longer hide from himself how 
 aKve was this anticipation, he told himself, and quite 
 believed, his eagerness was caused by the wide gulf there 
 was between her occupation and admissions. 
 
 He made a hasty luncheon at his flat (it was well past 
 two), and after putting on with considerable care some 
 of the smart clothes he had obtained at a fashionable 
 tailor's in London, he set out for his destination. 
 
 He had not gone very far before he was sure it was 
 later than it was, consequently, he took the first taxi-cab 
 which came along, and was speedily without the shabby 
 hospital, the steps of which he went up two at a time 
 and with heart a-beat. 
 
 On this occasion, the door was speedily answered by a 
 sullen-looking woman, who from the make of her apron, the 
 chatelaine at her side, the cap, shaped like a culinary 
 mould, upon her head, he took to be a common sort of 
 nurse; at the same time, something about her had an 
 indefinable suggestion of general servant. 
 
 " Mr. Hemmingay was in," he learned in reply to his 
 inquiry, and on being ushered into the front-room, which 
 he had to himself, he stared blankly at the chair Vesper 
 had occupied during his last visit. 
 
 " She was not very far off," he assured himself, for the 
 frowsy directory was open in front of the place where 
 she had sat; there was a pile of addressed envelopes 
 
170 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xiii 
 
 by its side; and nearer inspection told him that the 
 ' J ' nib of the pen she had been using was yet wet 
 with ink. 
 
 Apart from all these evidences of her recent presence, 
 there was a subtle aroma of her personality in the air he 
 breathed. 
 
 Two minutes later, his hand was warmly shaken by 
 Reginald Stone Hemmingay, who said: 
 
 " Delighted you've come, my dear Quillian. Should 
 have been ever so disappointed if you had not* Hope 
 you are well." 
 
 " Quite, and you ?" returned Quillian, who was im- 
 patiently wondering what had become of Vesper. 
 
 " So-so: so-so. But it would be a sad thing if you 
 were not: youth; riches; brains; ideals !" 
 
 " They are much, but they are not everything." 
 
 " Because it is decreed that most of us are never 
 satisfied." 
 
 " Who are the exceptions ?" 
 
 " Those, if I may say so, who can congratulate them- 
 selves that they are practical philosophers." 
 
 " I once read somewhere that ' Philosophy is the 
 essence of sour grapes.' " 
 
 " That must have been said by someone who was too 
 small-minded to practise it." 
 
 They talked further commonplace, during which 
 Quillian became more and more uneasy at Vesper's 
 absence; he bore himself with what patience he might 
 until he could no longer restrain himself. 
 
 " I hope Miss Hemmingay is well," he said, and 
 anxiously awaited her father's reply. 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " I hope she has not been working too hard." 
 
 " She has been at it all day," said Hemmingay, who, 
 for all the carelessness of his speech, was narrowly eyeing 
 the other. 
 
 " I hope she doesn't do too much," went on Quillian. 
 
 " Trust her father to see to that." 
 
 " Philosophers have a way of taking things as they 
 come." 
 
 " Not when their own flesh and blood is concerned." 
 
CH. XIII] THE " PRINCESS ROYAL " 171 
 
 Quillian was minded to add: " And with such flesh and 
 blood," but held his peace. 
 
 " Now, would you Hke to have a look round our 
 hospital ?" said Hemmingay briskly. 
 
 " By all means," returned Quillian, who hoped to come 
 upon Vesper in his progress. 
 
 Hemmingay ostentatiously rang the bell; there was 
 an astonishingly smart response in the person of the 
 sullen-looking woman who had opened the door to 
 QuiUian. 
 
 " This is our head matron, Mrs. Hunt," said Hem- 
 mingay; before Quillian could say anything, the former 
 added: " All ready, nurse ?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied off-handedly. 
 
 " Then come along." 
 
 Instead of going up the shabbily carpeted stairs, as 
 Quillian had expected, the head matron led the way along 
 the passage by the staircase to a room at the back of 
 the house which was meagrely (at least, so it seemed to 
 Quillian) fitted up as a surgery: there were some three 
 dozen quarter or so filled bottles on deal shelves; some 
 lint, ointment pots, a bottle of carbolic acid, and a few 
 medical appliances on a table; a chair bedstead, and 
 two or three chairs which were in sad need of re-covering; 
 and that was pretty well all. 
 
 " Surgery !" cried Hemmingay with a comprehensive 
 wave of his arm, which was, doubtless, calculated to 
 remove any doubts of its adequate equipment. 
 
 Mrs. Hunt opened a door in the farther end of the left- 
 hand wall, and they all descended wooden steps, which 
 were protected by an awning, to a portable iron building; 
 this covered most of the garden that stretched its dreary 
 length behind the house. 
 
 On entering this erection, Quillian discovered it was 
 not by any means so large as he had expected by reason 
 of the structture being partitioned for the respective uses 
 of male and female patients. 
 
 There were eight beds in the part reserved for men, 
 and five of these were tenanted : down the middle of the 
 apartment ran a table laden with dishes of fruit and 
 bowls of flowers. 
 
172 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xiii 
 
 " Men's Ward," remarked the Secretary, and as osten- 
 tatiously as before. 
 
 " How is your very serious case ?" inquired Quillian 
 in an undertone. 
 
 " Eh !" from Hemmingay in surprise. 
 
 " The patient who was in danger !" 
 
 " All our patients are more or less in danger." 
 
 " The one who was so Ul on my first visit 1" 
 
 " Oh — ah : yes. Wonderfully better, thanks to the 
 nourishment and skilful treatment he received," said 
 Hemmingay in an undertone. 
 
 Quillian, who would have liked to have said a few words 
 of sympathy to the wan occupants of the beds, was 
 hurried into the farther Ward ; this was much as was the 
 other (including the flowers and fruit), but that three of 
 the beds were occupied by women, who followed the little 
 group with big, suffering eyes. 
 
 If Quillian had looked to find Vesper in the ' Female 
 Ward,' he was disappointed. 
 
 Once more it was as though there were objections to his 
 lingering; he was conducted through yet another door 
 to a bit of derelict garden behind the building; here, 
 there were a wooden form, and one or two down-at-heel 
 basket-seats. 
 
 " Our convalescents' garden," said Hemmingay. 
 
 " Not a very cheery prospect," Quillian could not help 
 remarking. 
 
 " When one rises from a sick-bed, anything is a para- 
 dise," returned the Secretary, and as if he meant it. 
 
 They started to go back as they had come; and if the 
 truth be told, Quillian was nothing loath, since he counted 
 on running into Vesper somewhere or another; they had 
 hardly reached the door separating the two Wards, when 
 a woman's voice came from one of the beds : 
 
 " WTiat about my medicine !" 
 
 Hemmingay indignantly turned. 
 
 " What about my medicine !" repeated the voice. 
 
 " It's been ordered," said Hemmingay sharply. 
 
 His hand had touched the door-handle, and another 
 voice, this one with an angry touch of shrillness, said : 
 " What about my dressing .'" 
 
CH. XIII] THE " PRINCESS ROYAL " 173 
 
 " It's been ordered," retiimed the Secretary as before. 
 
 Quillian was not certain, but he almost believed he 
 caught the mutter of " I'm sure " from the woman who 
 had spoken last. 
 
 Hemmingay assumed his most dignified manner, and 
 hurried Quillian into the ' Male Ward ' ; the latter's ears 
 caught a tittering from the room they had quitted. 
 
 " The poor are always ungrateful," said Hemmingay 
 to Quillian in order to explain this unseemliness. 
 
 Quillian made no reply; perhaps to correct an un- 
 pleasant impression, Hemmingay stopped by the bed 
 nearest to the door that communicated with the wooden 
 steps. 
 
 " And how are you, my man ?" 
 
 " Better, sir," replied the patient, who was a timid- 
 looking man. 
 
 " Ah ! I'm glad of that." 
 
 " No, 'ee ain't no better," said a surly voice from the 
 next bed. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," icUy from Hemmingay. 
 
 " 'Ow can he be ?" 
 
 " Isn't everything being done for him ?" 
 
 " No, it ain't: or for me, or any of us." 
 
 " Scandalous !" cried Hemmingay. 
 
 " The doctor said Jim was to 'ave all sorts of coddUng; 
 an' me too; an' all of us blokes. Where is it, guv'nor ?" 
 
 " It's been ordered," said Hemmingay shortly. 
 
 " Not ' 'arf,' " scornfully returned the other. 
 
 " I'll conduct my visitor to my of&ce, and then I'll 
 return and speak to you," declared Hemmingay. 
 
 " What did I tell you !" he said to Quillian, on being 
 free of the ' Male Ward.' " The more you do for the 
 poor, the more you may; and they think nothing's been 
 done for them unless you pour into them quarts of evil- 
 smelling, nasty-tasting drugs." 
 
 Quillian was conducted to the room on the left of the 
 front-door, where he was left to kick his heels, and wonder 
 what had become of Vesper: her father had returned to 
 give a piece of his mind to the ungrateful patients. 
 
 While he was gone, Quillian gave scarcely a thought to 
 the suspicions that might otherwise have arisen vnth. 
 
174 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xm 
 
 regard to the proper conduct of the hospital; he was 
 worried by Vesper having failed to put in an appearance. 
 
 He could not keep still, and fell to pacing, first the 
 room, and finding this not large enough for his move- 
 ments, from the farther wall to the other side of the 
 hall: it was in one of these progresses that he caught 
 sight of Mrs. Hunt through the open door of the surgery; 
 she was in the act of bringing up from the Wards (in one 
 of which she had remained) the flowers and fruit which 
 had decorated the tables. 
 
 Quillian stored this sorry incident in his mind for 
 ftirther consideration, and was forthwith sorely troubled 
 by fearing that Vesper had gone out of doors on some 
 errand, and that something untoward had befallen her, 
 most probably in connection with a motor-bus or cab. 
 
 Then, in pacing from the room into the hall, he all but 
 ran into Hemmingay, whose face was flushed with anger, 
 doubtless from his recent upbraiding of the recalcitrant 
 patients. 
 
 " Come inside, and sit down, my friend," he said with 
 all the cordiality he could muster ; having got Quillian into 
 the room, he almost banged the door. 
 
 Forthwith he made detailed excuses for the ungracious 
 complaints ; finding that the other did not seem the least 
 put out by what had happened, he speedily became his 
 pompous, exuberant self. 
 
 " Upstairs, apart from the rooms we occupy, is a 
 private nursing home. But I won't trouble you to see 
 that to-day. And it is scarcely advisable: nerve cases 
 and all that: need special rest as you can imagine." 
 
 Quillian could no longer contain himself. 
 
 " Perhaps that is where Miss Hemmingay is," he 
 said. 
 
 " Bless my soul I I'd qmte forgotten dear Vesper," 
 cried her father, who was thankful for finding a subject 
 that might divert the other's mind from what had 
 occurred. 
 
 " I should not hke to go without seeing her." 
 
 " And you shall not." Quillian knew a great relief. 
 " I can't make out what's become of her. She was so 
 looking forward to seeing you." 
 
CH. XIII] THE " PRINCESS ROYAL " 175 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Fact. Often spoke of you; said quite a lot, for her. 
 And she was in this very room five minutes before you 
 came." 
 
 " I hope nothing has happened." 
 
 "So do I, my dear Quilhan; most profoundly. My 
 right hand; inspiration and — and all the rest of it. You'll 
 excuse a father's pride, but Vesper is a most unusual 
 girl. Fit to take her place in any society." 
 
 " I can well believe it," assented Quillian. 
 
 " And the chances that girl has had of a brilliant 
 marriage !" Quillian listened with aU his ears. " But 
 no. She prefers to stay on with her father and continue 
 her good work." 
 
 This last statement was at issue with the girl's admission 
 to Quillian upon his last visit; he looked with curious, 
 if not critical, eyes at Hemmingay, and for a time the 
 conversation languished. 
 
 " I have carefully read the papers you gave me," said 
 Quillian in order to break an unusually long silence. 
 
 " Glad you didn't forget us." 
 
 " And if you would let me " continued Quillian, and 
 
 produced his cheque-book from his breast-pocket. 
 
 On catching sight of it, Hemmingay 's shifty eyes 
 widened; notwithstanding this evidence of gratification, 
 he held his hand on high. 
 
 " Not ?" from Quillian, who was greatly surprised at 
 Hemmingay's refusal of his offer. 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " We are not like that, my dear Quillian. We do not 
 come upon our friends, if Vesper and I may dare to call 
 you that, so suddenly." 
 
 He said more in the same strain; QuUlian had almost 
 recovered from his astonishment, when the other said : 
 
 " If you wish to be generous, there is a scheme afoot, 
 and in which I may be selected to have a voice, that 
 will offer a magnificent opening for a young man inspired 
 by the noblest ideals." 
 
 " Oh I" 
 
 " Vesper is more than interested in it." 
 
176 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch.xiii 
 
 " I should like to hear all about it." 
 
 Hemmingay again held up his hand. 
 
 " Mum's the word, for the present. But I promise you, 
 you shall be the first to know about it; and if you are 
 mterested, I wUl give you an introduction to a Personage 
 — a very considerable Personage — who is the life and 
 soul of the matter." 
 
 Quillian expressed his thanks (his thoughts were more 
 taken up with Vesper) ; and, presently, the other said : 
 
 " I was wondering if you would care to come and have 
 a bit of dinner one night next week \" 
 
 Qxiillian jumped at the invitation. 
 
 " I should be delighted," he said. 
 
 " Just ourselves ; and I'm sure Vesper would be ever so 
 pleased. And perhaps I may have more to tell you then." 
 
 " You will let me know ?" 
 
 " Vesper shall not fail." 
 
 Quillian waited and waited, but without seeing any- 
 thing of Vesper; his anxiety increased at seeing that her 
 father was genuinely uneasy at her long absence. 
 
 It was only the arrival of divers youngish women with 
 collecting-boxes which, at last, persuaded him to go: 
 youngish women with bold eyes (their faces were not 
 innocent of paint and powder), who had been padding 
 the City streets all day, and entering innumerable offices, 
 where they had begged, coaxed, and wheedled men into 
 parting with small coins for the upkeep of the hospital; 
 and with a whole-hearted energy since they more or less 
 got their living from the twenty per cent, they received 
 of their takings. 
 
 Quillian sadly betook himself in the direction of his 
 home; he was burdened with an unaccountable depres- 
 sion; mingled with this was an anxiety with regard to 
 the thousand and one misfortunes that might have over- 
 taken Vesper. 
 
 So cast down was he that, for some space of time, he 
 failed to open a letter from Mercia which awaited him at 
 the flat; a letter that was in somewhat belated reply to 
 the two last he had sent. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 AN EXPOSURE 
 
 " What is it, Grumby ?" asked Quillian impatiently. 
 
 " Letters, sir." 
 
 " Don't you see I'm busy ?" 
 
 " Very sorry, sir," said Grumby, who made as if to 
 retreat. 
 
 " Never mind: put them down somewhere. And — 
 can you tie a tie ?" 
 
 " Very sorry, sir, but that sort of thing never comes 
 much in my way. Vestments is more in my line," 
 returned Grumby, with a suspicion of reproach in his 
 voice. 
 
 "That'll do. Get out; you fidget me," said Quillian 
 irritably ; he had the excuse that he had already crumpled 
 three ties in his efforts to tie them neatly, and now 
 nervously fingered the fourth. 
 
 By dint of almost superhuman patience, he contrived a 
 fairly presentable bow; although by no means satisfied 
 with his handiwork in face of what was toward (it was 
 the evening he had eagerly accepted Miss Hemniingay's 
 formal invitation to dinner, an invitation which had 
 relieved his mind of his apprehensions regarding all that 
 might have happened to her) he went on with his prep- 
 arations, as it would never do to be late. 
 
 He carefully put on a smartly cut coat, and caught 
 sight of the letters Grumby had brought and had left on 
 a corner of a chest of drawers: a few moments later he 
 looked through these; his experienced eye telling him 
 which were begging appeals, he put these on one side and 
 glanced at the one or two that were left. 
 
 One of these was from Sister Jane (he had already 
 heard from her), and the gist of her four-paged letter was 
 
 177 12 
 
178 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xiv 
 
 that she sent by the same post the current number of 
 Truth; and that this contained something about Hem- 
 mingay and the Princess Royal Hospital, which he 
 should not fail to read. 
 
 Qiiillian undid and' read the journal with trembling 
 fingers; it was no hard job to find the matter referred to, 
 for two pages were turned down and some half-dozen 
 paragraphs were scored with blue pencil. 
 
 In the plain-spoken, racy style for which this periodical 
 is justly famed, attention was called to a professional 
 philanthropist, Reginald Stone Hemmingay by name, 
 who battened on the generosity of the credulous, and 
 whose present occupation was the conduct of the Princess 
 Royal Hospital; and since a big fraction of the income, 
 such as it was, was swallowed up by the salary of the 
 Secretary, who was Hemmingay, it would seem that the 
 institution was mostly run for his own purposes. 
 
 It went on to complain of the neglect with which 
 patients were treated; and alleged that some had all but 
 died from lack of nourishment; after declaring that the 
 name of the hospital decorated Truth's black list, it 
 strongly advised the charitably disposed to let it severely 
 alone. 
 
 Bad as this was, there was more that made a specific 
 appeal to QuUlian. 
 
 It gave a summary of the various shady concerns with 
 which Hemmingay had been mixed up; among these was 
 a Society for the Conversion of Italian Roman Catholic 
 Priests to Protestantism; this had existed in Malta, and 
 depended for its support on contributions from the 
 rabidly evangelical, whose name is legion. 
 
 It declared that the Society had received a large 
 sum in alms; but that, for a period of three years, the 
 ' College ' had not contained a single convert ; and that 
 it was only the exposure of this scandal which put an 
 end to its career. 
 
 There was more, but what Quillian had already read 
 was more than enough for the present. 
 
 Although rubbing shoulders with a broad-minded 
 world had done much to remove the more angular of his 
 ecclesiastical prejudices, many of the habits of thought 
 
CH. XIV] AN EXPOSURE 179 
 
 consequent upon his monastic life had a firm grip of his 
 mind: the allegations about the hospital he could over- 
 look, indeed, he had already suspected that there was 
 much that was not well with this institution; but the 
 Maltese College, for the undermining of the faith of 
 Italian priests, was quite another story. 
 
 He paced the room with nervous steps, and believed he 
 would be more than justified, not only in breaking his 
 engagement to dine, but in putting an end to his acquaint- 
 ance with the Hemmingays. 
 
 The bias of his reflections was interwoven with thoughts 
 of Vesper : he did not seek to conceal the great attraction 
 she had for him; and told himself how well it was his 
 heart was held for all time by the blameless Mercia, so 
 there was not the remotest chance of its being offered to 
 Miss Hemmingay. 
 
 His thoughts turned from the concrete to the abstract. 
 
 There was, also, no denying the power of love; and 
 that in rare instances it over-rode every obstacle that 
 lay in its path : but so far as he was concerned, he could 
 not forget the cardinal reason why he had been freed 
 from his vows by the Keeper of the Gates of Heaven; it 
 was, therefore, a solemn obligation for him to fulfil the 
 conditions to the letter, and wed a ' good Catholic 
 wife.' 
 
 His hair almost stood on end at picturing the horror 
 with which the good Guardian at Ypres, Father Akhurst, 
 and even the rare natured Father Horan would receive 
 the news that he wished to wed such an one as the 
 daughter of the Secretary of the Maltese College. 
 
 Quillian was as one who has escaped a deadly peril ; 
 his breath came freely, and he was thankful (and at 
 the back of his mind he was nothing of the kind) to 
 Sister Jane for having been the means of removing the 
 scales from his eyes, even to the length of regarding his 
 friendship for Vesper in another Ught. 
 
 It was not long before he was almost entirely taken 
 up with the latter. 
 
 Her words, allied to her downcast manner, had as good 
 as told him that she loathed the hospital and all its 
 works; and now the engaging qualities with which his 
 
i8o THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xiv 
 
 youthful imagination had endowed her, assured him she 
 was an unwilling partner in her father's schemes. 
 
 Her's was a fine nature which, in spite of its noble 
 leanings, was perforce conducted along many devious 
 ways; and if, as of course she did, she shrank from any 
 hint of pollution, it was surely the business of one who 
 divined the drift of things to give a helping hand to hold 
 her back from the slough of her father's shadiness. 
 
 On the other hand, Quillian's sacerdotal training urged 
 him to avoid the suspicion of touching pitch ; one moment 
 he would willingly risk defilement in order to assist her: 
 the next, he was withheld by the prejudices of the Church. 
 
 Again he was all concern for Vesper ; and being in two 
 minds, was swayed this way and that, until his hesitations 
 regarding the dinner were resolved by Grumby coming 
 to tell him that the cab that had been ordered was waiting 
 without. 
 
 " It was too late to put them off," Quillian told himself; 
 he scrambled into a silk-lined overcoat ; put on his crush 
 hat ; and hastened downstairs in order not to give himself 
 time for further cautious reflection: two minutes later, 
 the cab was speeding in the direction of the Fulham 
 Road. 
 
 The lower part of the house was gay with lights; upon 
 the door being opened by Mrs. Hunt, whose dour face 
 allowed itself to betray a slight surprise at Quillian's 
 smart appearance, he feared he might have done amiss 
 in dressing for dinner. 
 
 If he had, it was too late to undo matters, so after 
 removing his outer things, he was conducted to a drawing- 
 room on the first floor, where, before he had time to look 
 about him and discover Vesper's influence in the arrange- 
 ment of the room, the door opened and she appeared. 
 
 She wore evening dress; and although smart women 
 might have picked holes in its material and design, 
 QuilUan thought it the most beautiful frock he had ever 
 seen. 
 
 And as she advanced upon him in all the insolence of 
 her youth and comehness, he was quite taken aback by 
 the alluring figure she made: he had never dared to 
 believe she could look so fair and distinguished-looking. 
 
CH.xiv] AN EXPOSURE i8i 
 
 This was his first impression; he had not been with her 
 very long, however, before he suspected that her proud 
 bearing masked an anxiety that was, doubtless, not 
 unconnected with her father's exposure in the columns 
 of Truth. 
 
 " You have come 1" she began. 
 
 " Of course," he said, and conscious that her brilliant 
 appearance had dissipated most, if not all, of the dubieties 
 that had troubled him so far as she was concerned. 
 
 " I don't see why ' of course ' !" 
 
 " What did you expect me to do ?" he faltered. 
 
 " Some people change their minds at the last moment." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 The confidence with which she had greeted him seem- 
 ingly evaporated, for the stamina left her full, rich voice, 
 and she sat on a chair and gazed listlessly, if not help- 
 lessly, before her. 
 
 He glanced at her wealth of carefully dressed hair 
 which, to-night, had taken on a more brilliant hue; from 
 that, to the whiteness of her neck, and said : 
 
 " In any case, I should be anxious to know that 
 nothing had happened to you last Tuesday." 
 
 " Were you anxious ?" she asked, and with no par- 
 ticular curiosity in her voice. 
 
 " Naturally." 
 
 " I came back almost directly after you left." 
 
 Quillian thought hardly of his luck on that particular 
 day. 
 
 " And in any case," she went on, " you must have 
 known I was all right by my writing to you as I did." 
 
 " Still " 
 
 " Still what ?" 
 
 Quillian hesitated to reply, and she said : 
 
 " Perhaps you think I avoided you ?" 
 
 A subtle dread seized him. 
 
 " Did you ?" he asked. 
 
 " Do you want me to tell you the truth ?" 
 
 " If— it it is the truth." 
 
 She glanced at him and appeared to hesitate. 
 
 " Well !" he said in as level a voice as he could com- 
 mand. 
 
i82 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xiv 
 
 " I don't know: I don't know anjrthing." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Here comes father, and a friend." 
 
 Hemmingay entered the room, and for all his cordiality, 
 it was apparent to Quillian's quickened perceptions that 
 he was .being narrowly eyed by his host : the latter was 
 accompanied by a rather good-looking young man who, 
 after he had deferentially greeted Vesper (Quillian in the 
 twinkling of an eye divined he was in love with her), was 
 introduced to him by the name of Tompsett. 
 
 Mr. Tompsett was one of those lucky youths who take 
 life seriously: he was a church-goer; Sunday-school 
 teacher; and was Captain of a corps of church cadets: 
 he had a profile (of which fact he was more than aware) ; 
 a fine forehead; wavy fair hair; and a sonorous voice 
 which he rather self-consciously employed : he earned his 
 daily bread in the ofl&ce of a shipping firm, of which his 
 uncle was a director; had secret aspirations in the direc- 
 tion of the bar; and lived (he called it resided) at Earls 
 Court. 
 
 " You two should be interested in each other," re- 
 marked Hemmingay. " Both of you have the desire to 
 do all you can in the world." 
 
 " What about Miss Hemmingay and yourself ?" said 
 Tompsett, who evidently took the work of the hospital 
 at its face value. 
 
 " Father has enough enthusiasm for both of us," 
 declared Vesper, and not without a hint of bitterness. 
 
 " And where there's a will there's a way," said Tomp- 
 sett sententiously. 
 
 " And practise makes perfect," added Vesper. " And 
 a stich in time save nine." 
 
 " Quite so," assented Tompsett, well pleased at what 
 he believed was the appositeness of has remark, and 
 blissfully unconscious that Vesper was sarcastic at his 
 expense. 
 
 Then, Hemmingay set about tackling Quillian and 
 going out of his way to be more than commonly agreeable 
 to him, and so far as the latter was concerned, with the 
 allegations of Truth insistently drumming on his brain, 
 he|found it a hard matter not to betray his antagonism. 
 
CH. XIV] AN EXPOSURE 183 
 
 Hemmingay looked at his watch, and glanced at his 
 daughter. 
 
 " I can't help it if we're late," she said. " The patients 
 come first." 
 
 She had hardly spoken before Mrs. Hunt, who, just 
 now, looked more of a maid than a hospital matron, 
 entered the room and announced that dinner was ready. 
 " Where is Spraggs ?" asked Hemmingay with simulated 
 surprise; before Mrs. Hunt could reply, he added: " Of 
 course ! How stupid of me ! Went this afternoon to 
 see a dying uncle." 
 
 Quillian took Vesper downstairs to the room at the 
 back of the general office; although her fingers barely 
 touched his arm, he was thrilled by the physical contact : 
 he wished from the bottom of his heart that she was not 
 the daughter of her father. 
 
 The meal was anything but a success: Hemmingay's 
 artificial cordiality (he had moments of careworn ab- 
 straction) was damped by his susceptibility to Quillian's 
 hostility, while Vesper behaved much as she had done 
 on the occasion of her first meeting with the latter: she 
 hardly ever spoke: rarely lifted her eyes from her plate; 
 and carried herself as might a brilliant automaton. 
 
 The presence of Tompsett alone kept things going, 
 for he loved the sound of his voice, and uttered rolling 
 commonplace, largely with an eye to impressing Vesper; 
 even Quillian could see (it gave him an unholy delight) 
 that the other guest piped in vain, and was regarded with 
 the barest toleration. 
 
 Soup had been followed by fish, and Hemmingay was 
 carving a saddle of mutton, when Mrs. Hunt, who had 
 left the room in answer to a ring at the bell, returned 
 with an anxious face and said in an undertone, that was 
 overheard by Quillian, to the Secretary : 
 
 " The coal has come." 
 
 " What of it ?" 
 
 " He wants the money." 
 
 " I'll send a cheque to-morrow." 
 
 " I told him that." 
 
 " Well — ^well !" from Hemmingay impatiently. 
 
 " They won't leave it without." 
 
i84 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xiv 
 
 " Tell him to take it back." 
 
 " There's next to no coal in the place." 
 
 " Dear, dear ! Such an inconvenient time to leave it. 
 How much is it ?" 
 
 " Four pounds." 
 
 " Dear ! dear ! I've nothing on me, and I used my 
 last cheque to-day." 
 
 Mrs. Hunt shrugged her shoulders and looked troubled. 
 
 Quillian glanced at Vesper, and for all that her head 
 was bent low on her plate, he saw that the blood had 
 mounted to her face and neck; the next moment, he 
 said to Hemmingay: 
 
 " Can I do anything for you ?" 
 
 " Eh ! So very sorry to trouble you; but if — if you 
 have a matter of four pounds upon you, I wish you would 
 let me have it until to-morrow." 
 
 Quillian produced the money and gave it to Mrs. Hunt, 
 who forthwith left the room; upon his again looking at 
 Vesper, he perceived she had put down her knife and fork, 
 and that her head was bent even lower over her plate. 
 
 Quillian's forethought did much to restore Hemmin- 
 gay's gaiety; he made one or two jokes, and presently 
 rallied Vesper upon her depression. 
 
 " I'm ever so happy," she said. 
 
 " Shouldn't have thought it, my dear." 
 
 " Genuine happiness is rarely demonstrative," she 
 sneered. 
 
 Tompsett, who was insensible to anything other than 
 the impression he flattered himself he was making on 
 Vesper, and in a lesser degree on Quillian, spoke of the 
 way in which the authorities were taking proceedings 
 against professional fortune-tellers and clairvoyants. 
 
 " Quite right too," declared Hemmingay with consider- 
 able heat. " Perfectly scandalous the way they prey 
 on a confiding public." 
 
 " Isn't it !" said Vesper. 
 
 " And if the public can't protect themselves, it's tiine 
 someone looked after them, eh, Quillian ?" 
 
 " I'm with you there." 
 
 " Delighted that a man of your perception sees eye 
 to eye with me on such an important matter," continued 
 
CH. XIV] AN EXPOSURE 185 
 
 Hemmingay, who, momentarily carried away by the 
 reaction from the distresses attending the settling of the 
 coal bill, said : 
 
 " And that's where the Press has such an immense 
 power of good. They expose the charlatan ; the humbug ; 
 the " 
 
 Here, he caught a cold glance from Vesper; seeing his 
 own unhappy situation, he stopped short ; coughed without 
 reason, and made a valiant effort to get away from the 
 subject without appearing to. 
 
 " Hah ! Speaking of foretelling the future, and all 
 that kind of thing, do you remember when you were a 
 girl of fifteen and had your hand told by a palmist ?" 
 
 " Did I ?" she remarked off-handedly. 
 
 " I've not forgotten if you have. All these things are 
 treasured in a father's heart. It was at a bazaar, and 
 Vesper came out of the palmist's tent in a flood of tears; 
 and for why, think you ?" 
 
 " I suppose they frightened her with their rubbish," 
 rephed QuUlian. 
 
 " Because the palmist told her she would marry; but 
 would never have any children." 
 
 Hemmingay laughed, apparently at Vesper's expense; 
 but QuUlian was silent and very grave: he was seeking 
 to appraise the something that had stirred his heart at 
 learning of what was to him her exquisite humanity. 
 
 Much that was elemental was awakened ; for some time, 
 he feared to so much as glance at her, although he longed 
 to do so : upon his looking at her as he presently did, she 
 was seemingly moved by a like impulse: their eyes met, 
 and he saw that hers were wet. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 VESPER UNBENDS 
 
 If Quillian had expected that this evidence of womanU- 
 ness would thaw the reserve with which Vesper had sur- 
 rounded herself, he was mistaken: she retired even more 
 into her sheU, if this were possible, and repulsed any 
 attempt he might make to draw her out. 
 
 Once more Tompsett unknowingly came to the rescue 
 of the depression set up by her aloofness, a depression 
 that was unaccountably deepened where Quillian was 
 concerned. 
 
 " Is that ball going to take place ?" asked Tompsett of 
 Hemmingay. 
 
 " Eh !" from the latter. 
 
 " For the funds of the hosiptal ?" 
 
 " Oh— ah ! Yes. I think so." 
 
 " I gather it's under very distinguished patronage !" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " And, of course, Miss Hemmingay will be present !" 
 
 " Naturally," said Hemmingay. " Vesper loves 
 dancing." 
 
 " It's an event I shaU look forward to with the greatest 
 interest," returned Tompsett, who thereupon gazed 
 fatuously at Vesper. 
 
 A little later, he asked of Hemmingay : 
 
 " May I ask if you are any further with your great 
 scheme ?" 
 
 " Things are quiescent for the moment," returned the 
 man addressed. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that." 
 
 " But only for the moment. I have every confidence 
 in things moving quickly shortly." 
 
 " I am sure Miss Henomingay will be deeply interested 
 
 1 86 
 
CH. XV] VESPER UNBENDS 187 
 
 in its furtherance," rolled Tompsett, and looking hard 
 at Vesper. 
 
 "Very," she said absently; Quillian wondered what 
 this further scheme of Hemmingay's might be, and 
 whether it was one that would sooner or later be pilloried 
 in Truth. 
 
 Five minutes later, Vesper rising to withdraw, Quillian 
 opened the door : he glanced after her as she ascended the 
 stairs; and it seemed to him that, unaware of the fact 
 of being seen, she discarded much of her cold self- 
 possession, and went as one whose soul was pierced by 
 the iron of life. 
 
 Quillian returned to his seat and was surprised at seeing 
 Tompsett prepare to leave the table and follow Vesper. 
 
 " Doesn't smoke, and can't stand the smell of it," 
 explained Hemmingay. 
 
 " We needn't smoke," said Quillian, who felt that by 
 joining Vesper at once Tompsett was seizing a mean 
 advantage. 
 
 " Sit down and have some port wine. I shall be dis- 
 appointed if we don't have our usual chat." 
 
 Quillian did as he was bid, and Hemmingay produced 
 some admirable port wine, saying as he did so : 
 
 " You needn't be frightened to swallow this, my dear 
 friend. Sent me by a thoughtful friend," a remark that 
 made Quillian half suspect that the wine might have been 
 given for hospital purposes. 
 
 Then he was ashamed of thinking this evU of his host 
 (or rather of Vesper's father) without authority, and 
 prepared to listen to what Hemmingay had to say. 
 
 But not for long: the influence of the four glasses the 
 other pressed him to take, together with the curious new 
 emotion which had welled in his heart since he had 
 learned of Vesper's distress at the palmist's forecast, 
 irresistibly urged him to behave with meticulous honesty 
 where she was concerned: and at the back of his mind 
 there was a like desire, though not so insistent, with 
 respect to Mercia. 
 
 He was moved, and in spite of a singular distaste for 
 the making of the admission, to tell of his engagement to 
 Mercia. 
 
i88 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xv 
 
 Henamingay, who had been talking about any and 
 everything, interrupted his thoughts and said: 
 
 " Now, you'll have a cigar." 
 
 " Is there time ?" 
 
 " Tompsett wUl keep Vesper amused." 
 
 Quillian's face hardened; the other went on: 
 
 " Tompsett greatly admires her, as I dare say you saw. 
 Case of love at fkst sight." 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " But quite hopeless so far as she's concerned." 
 
 " Why ?" asked Quillian quickly. 
 
 " Vesper is very romantic." 
 
 " Is she ?" 
 
 " She will only marry for love, and she doesn't care 
 for Tompsett," declared Hemmingay, and added sig- 
 nificantly: " She never mentions him in his absence." 
 
 To cover a slight confusion, that was assisted by 
 prickings of conscience with regard to his engagement, 
 Quillian said the first thing that came to mind. 
 
 " What is this new scheme of yours ?" 
 
 " You would like to know ?" 
 
 " Naturally." 
 
 Hemmingay forthwith launched into a description of 
 a project, to which Quillian gave more or less heed (his 
 thoughts were upstairs), to establish an association, not 
 only for effectually curbing the perennial activities of the 
 White Slave Traffic, but for providing a Home (Hemmin- 
 gay was careful to say this was to be under ecclesiastical 
 direction) for those who had been rescued from its 
 clutches. 
 
 He also stated at some length it was not his idea; 
 and that he was only indirectly interested, since it had 
 been fathered by some of the great ones of the earth 
 (Hemmingay's expression), among whom was a certain 
 Lord Tayne, to whom he was anxious to give Quillian an 
 introduction. 
 
 " What purpose should I serve ?" asked Quillian in all 
 humility. 
 
 " Eh ! Tayne is a philanthropist ; so are you : doesn't 
 it follow you would like to meet; and that being so, it 
 surely follows I should like to bring you together I" 
 
CH. XV] VESPER UNBENDS 189 
 
 " But I thought you told Tompsett it was hanging 
 fire !" 
 
 " That is certainly the case," returned Hemmingay 
 impressively. " And before I take a conspicuous hand 
 in it, I shall be compelled to fight an action for libel." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Quilhan, whose opinion of the other 
 sharply rose. 
 
 " Ever read a paper called Truth ?" 
 
 " Sometimes." 
 
 " I don't suppose you happened to see this week's ?" 
 
 " As a matter of fact I did." 
 
 " Eh ! Then you saw " 
 
 Quillian nodded assent. 
 
 " Ah ! Then I won't show it to you as I had er — 
 intended. A gross libel : a foul slander: damnable 
 calumny ! But it will be called to account before a 
 British judge and jury — special jury — and be made to 
 pay dearly for its lies." 
 
 He indulged in sound and fury which QuiUian tried to 
 believe was honest until his thoughts were again taken 
 up with the necessity of making known his engagement : 
 he wondered if an opportunity would arise. 
 
 Vesper's name fell on his ear; her father was saying 
 how it was necessary to impeach Truth for her sake. 
 
 " Quite so," assented Quillian with conviction. 
 
 " Wonderful the attention that girl attracts: one can't 
 go out into the street without everyone looking at her." 
 
 " I can well believe it." 
 
 Hemmingay glanced sharply at his guest, and went on: 
 
 " I suppose I shall lose her in the nature of things; but 
 till I do, it is all a great responsibility." 
 
 Quillian was uneasily silent ; he stared at his glass, and 
 the other continued: 
 
 " And she is so wilful, it makes me quite nervous if any 
 man pays her the least attention. I shall not breathe 
 freely until I see her married to some good and honourable 
 man who is worthy of her." 
 
 " No doubt," said Quillian in a voice that seemed to 
 come from a long way off. 
 
 " And the worst of it is — I don't mind telling you this — 
 the kind of man I mentioned is not easy to find; and so 
 
igo THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xv 
 
 it comes hard on one of her guileless, susceptible nature 
 if she is attracted by a good but interesting man who 
 has no serious intentions." 
 
 QuUlian did not stop to think if thes" remarks had a 
 personal application: he was nerving himself for saying 
 what his passionate anxiety to deal scrupulously with 
 Vesper urged. 
 
 " Isn't that so ?" asked Hemmingay. 
 
 " You are far more of an authority on the world and 
 its ways than I." 
 
 " But you, at least, admit that my Vesper is a girl who 
 would appeal to a man ?" 
 
 " I more than admit it; more, I— — " 
 
 " Yes, my dear Quillian ?" almost cooed Hemmingay. 
 
 Quillian gave his native honesty rein. 
 
 " I can imagine a man, whomsoever he might be, gladly 
 devoting his life to her if he had the ghost of a chance." 
 
 " You surprise me, my dear Quillian !" 
 
 " But — but — for all my admiration " (Quillian's breath 
 came in quick gasps; " the cigar was unusually strong," 
 he told himself) " of Miss Hemmingay, I could never be 
 accused of paying attentions I did not mean, for I — I am 
 practically engaged to be married." 
 
 " You — you are ?" cried the other in a hollow surprise. 
 " I must tell Vesper the good news at once : that is, 
 directly we get upstairs. She will be delighted." 
 
 " Indeed 1" 
 
 " She is so interested — of course in a friejidly way — 
 in you." 
 
 Quillian became strangely silent; he seemed bereft of 
 all sense of feeling, which all but precluded him from 
 noticing the dismal efforts Hemmingay made to appear 
 gratified by the other's news. 
 
 This did not last very long, however, for soon he, also, 
 became self-absorbed : his cigar went out ; the lines in his 
 face became deeper ; his eyes held a worried look. 
 
 " Shall — ^shall we go upstairs ?" he asked. 
 
 Quillian assenting, they rose from the table and went 
 into the hall. 
 
 There was a pile of correspondence awaiting Hem- 
 mingay's attention (a lot of it was in blue envelopes 
 
CH. XV] VESPER UNBENDS 191 
 
 marked ' immediate '), but one addressed in an imposing 
 hand caught his eye. 
 
 " Excuse me," he said, and tearing it open, rapidly 
 glanced at the contents. 
 
 Quillian's ear caught a heartfelt sigh; the next moment 
 the other grasped his arm, and said in a voice that had 
 recovered its normal cheerfulness: 
 
 " Come along, my boy." 
 
 " Have you heard good news ?" 
 
 " I should think I had !" returned Hemmingay, who 
 carefully put the letter he had opened in his pocket. 
 
 " I'm glad." 
 
 " Thank you. Yes; the Lord certainly ' tempers the 
 wind for the shorn lamb ' — or, in this case, for the old 
 ram." 
 
 They entered the drawing-room, where Vesper half 
 reclined in a big chair and looked very bored, a condition 
 of mind for which the attentions of Mr. Tompsett were 
 doubtless responsible ; she glanced at Quillian and, for a 
 moment, her eyes lit with welcome before taking on their 
 previous dull expression. 
 
 " Hope you don't think we've neglected you," began 
 Hemmingay. " But we'd a lot to discuss." 
 
 "I've been having a splendid time," returned Vesper, 
 whereupon Mr. Tompsett looked gratefully at the girl. 
 
 " And I've most interesting news," went on Hem- 
 mingay, and Quillian fully expected the former was 
 about to reveal the contents of the letter that had raised 
 him from the depths of an ill-concealed despair. 
 
 " What is it ?" she asked, and without betraying the 
 least interest. 
 
 " Our friend Quillian is engaged to be married," said 
 Hemmingay; turning to Quillian, he asked: " You have 
 no objection to my mentioning it ?" 
 
 " N-no," he faltered, and glanced somewhat furtively 
 at Vesper. 
 
 She looked at him with unfathomable eyes; and it 
 seemed to Quilhan's tense understanding a long time 
 before she said : 
 
 " I suppose I must congratulate you." 
 
 He fought hard to reply; was aware of acute mental 
 
192 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ca. xv 
 
 discomfort ; and loyally glued his thoughts to Mercia, and 
 as she had last appeared to him. 
 
 Unhappily for the comparative peace of mind he sought 
 to attain, he saw Mercia with her characteristic smile upon 
 her face; this vision persisted in filling his imagination 
 until he was irritable with himself, and for no reason at 
 all that he could see. 
 
 The next thing he was aware of was that Mr. Tompsett 
 had gone (he lived with an aunt who expected him to be in 
 well before ten, explained Hemmingay) and that Vesper 
 had seated herself beside him. 
 
 " Look after QuiUian for a few moments. 1 must just 
 go through the wards with the matron," said Hemmingay, 
 before quitting the room, and leaving the two to them- 
 selves. 
 
 " Well !" said Vesper in a voice that startled Quillian 
 from his brooding and concentrated all his attention on 
 the speaker. 
 
 Much to his astonishment, and not a little to his annoy- 
 ance, he perceived she had thrown off her dejection as she 
 might a garment: her eyes were bright; colour came into 
 her cheeks ; and a playful animation endowed her with a 
 fairness she had never exhibited before. 
 
 " Well !" he returned, and in none too cheerful voice. 
 
 " At least there is one happy person in the world !" 
 
 He was so perplexed by her lightning change of mood, 
 that he replied : 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " You, of course. Although I can't say you look 
 wonderfully cheerful about it." Upon his failing to 
 reply, she added: " Or is it a case of when one's engaged 
 one's troubles begin ?" 
 
 Quillian was minded to explain that he was not exactly 
 engaged in the ordinary acceptance of the word; before 
 he could so much as make a start, she asked: 
 
 " May I ask where you met her ?" 
 
 " In the country. She is a Miss Lownes." 
 
 " The country ! I know the type. Low church and 
 high bodices !" 
 
 "On the contrary, she is of my Faith," returned 
 Quilhan simply. 
 
CH. XV] VESPER UNBENDS 193 
 
 " I am so sorry. Really I am," she said quickly. 
 "Am I forgiven ?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Sure ?" 
 
 " Ever so sure," he replied, and with an inflection of 
 surprise in his voice. 
 
 She did not fail to notice this, for she said : 
 
 " I don't want to jar upon your happiness by saying 
 tactless things." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " That isn't the reason at all. I don't suppose we 
 shall see much more of each other ; and if you ever think 
 of me at all, as you sometimes may, I want you to think 
 of me ever so nicely." 
 
 " There is no doubt of that," he declared, and with a 
 world of meaning in his voice. 
 
 " That is very sweet of you !" 
 
 Quillian's native humility prompted him to ask why. 
 
 " You know what hfe is — you very soon will if you 
 don't now — one's constantly ' bumping up ' against new 
 people; and those you li — you're by way of liking — 
 you very soon lose sight of; while those who almost 
 drive you to madness become your very shadow." 
 
 " I don't see why I should lose sight of you," said 
 Quillian, who was conscious of a tightening of his heart- 
 strings. 
 
 " I don't see why you shouldn't — particularly now." 
 
 " There is this new scheme of your father's — I- — — " 
 
 "Well " she said: her face had, fallen at mention 
 
 of this, and constrained him to silence. 
 
 " If you would let me, I should like to help." 
 
 An expression akin to fear came into her eyes. 
 
 " Substantially," he went on. 
 
 With something of an effort, she seemed to recover her 
 spirits, and said : 
 
 " Anyway, we won't talk of that to-night. This is to 
 be an evening of rejoicing." 
 
 " Rejoicing!" he echoed absently: the events of the 
 last few hours, together with her arresting alteration of 
 mood, had muddled his wits. 
 
 " Isn't your future happiness assured ?" 
 
 13 
 
194 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. XV 
 
 " I— I hope so." 
 
 " You don't seem over certain about it ! Perhaps, 
 because you are so learned, you don't think very much 
 of us in your heart 1" 
 
 " On the contrary, I deeply reverence your sex," he 
 returned in all sincerity. 
 
 Vesper laughed lightly. 
 
 " That way trouble lies 1" she said. 
 
 ]] Trouble?" 
 
 " With a capital • T.' Idols have a rotten knack of 
 tumbling from pedestals; or cracking and showing what 
 rubbish they're stuffed with." 
 
 The girl's flippant delight at hearing of his engagement 
 stabbed his sensibilities and deepened the depression 
 that, for no reason at all that he could see, had seized him 
 in its grip. 
 
 " Besides, I'm not so sure we like to be worshipped so 
 humbly," she went on. 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " It's a bit of an effort to live up to an ideal." 
 
 " Why do so, if one doesn't wish to ?" 
 
 " That's where our bottomless vanity comes in." 
 
 Quillian was lost in a very mental slough of despond. 
 
 " If I were a man, I shouldn't be such a fool as to 
 marry," she continued. 
 
 " Not !" he forced himself to say. 
 
 " I know too much about women." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Have you ever noticed — I don't suppose you have — '' 
 she interrupted, " that the average man is better than 
 he makes out, while a woman is always worse than she 
 appears !" 
 
 " I — I don't think I have," he faltered, and barely 
 conscious of what he was saying. 
 
 " Anyway, she is — woman, I mean. And I suppose it's 
 because men know so little of them that they think so 
 highly of them — and " 
 
 She suddenly broke off: he looked sharply at her, and 
 she said in a low, appealing voice which stirred him to 
 the depths : 
 
 " Forgive me !" 
 
CH. XV] VESPER UNBENDS 195 
 
 " Why ?" he asked quickly. 
 
 " I'm a pig to ' crab ' your happiness like that. I 
 assure you it's all ' sour grapes.' " 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 " Don't I envy you both from the bottom of my 
 heart 1" 
 
 " But— but " 
 
 " Those who love are the princes and princesses of this 
 world, you know. I'd no right to be such a beast !" 
 
 " Were you ? I can't see that you were !" 
 
 She ignored his question, and turning to him said in all 
 seriousness : 
 
 " You're a good man; and one any decent woman 
 should respect, and do her very best to make happy. I 
 very, very sincerely wish you every bit of the happiness 
 you deserve." 
 
 Quillian tried to speak; his tongue refused its office: he 
 sought to convey his heartfelt appreciation of what she 
 had said with his eyes; and they remained in a sadly 
 sweet silence until Hemmingay came back. 
 
 Vesper's hand lingered in Quillian's (and once more he 
 thrilled at the physical contact) upon his saying ' Good- 
 night;' and her good wishes buzzed in his brain during 
 the somewhat long walk he, of set purpose, took to his 
 flat. 
 
 In crossing the Buckingham Palace Road, he had to 
 avoid a cab ; in so doing, he was all but certain he caught 
 a glimpse of Tommy Chalfont (whom he had not seen for 
 some days) and Miss Fothergill within. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 the unexpected 
 
 " My dear Paul, 
 
 " I have not replied to your last two letters as 
 there has been so much to do at the mission, and one 
 way and another it has kept me very busy. There has 
 also been much going on at home. The Philbricks came 
 over to dinner last Tuesday; Sir Percy asked repeatedly 
 after you. 
 
 " I much regret to say mother has not been an5rthing 
 like herself : she finds fault for no reason at all, and some- 
 times says things that would seem bitter if one cared to 
 take them that way, which, of course, I do not. I am 
 rather troubled on her account, as it all seems so thor- 
 oughly unlike her. 
 
 " The last few days I have been unable to get out very 
 much owing to the change in the weather ; it seems a pity 
 after being so fine. Perhaps it will again change for the 
 better shortly." 
 
 There were pages more of the same kind of thing; the 
 only variation was at the end where Mercia told Quillian 
 she always remembered him in her prayers and devoutly 
 hoped he did likewise by her. 
 
 He quickly scanned its commonplaces before reading a 
 letter from Hemmingay enclosing a fulsome introduction 
 to Lord Tayne for Quillian. 
 
 The latter was about to acknowledge it, and, perhaps, 
 write to Lord Tayne before going out (it was in the early 
 morning and after a barely tasted breakfast), but on 
 sitting down to write, Quillian toyed idly with his pen: 
 he was in no mood to indite letters ; to go out ; to do any- 
 thing; moreover he could not at all account for his 
 listlessness. 
 
 196 
 
CH. XVI] THE UNEXPECTED 197 
 
 More than once he asked himself if he were in want of 
 a change, to reject scornfully the suggestion: London 
 irked him, and, at the same time, he could not bear the 
 thought of tearing himself away: he did not know what 
 he wanted; and with the pen still between his fingers, 
 and with notepaper and envelopes before him, he fell into a 
 reverie, a reverie that was infrequently punctuated by sighs. 
 
 The last two weeks or so, indeed, ever since his evening 
 with the Hemmingays, Quillian had known a curious 
 distaste of life; this was in such violent contrast to his 
 aforetime zest for his new existence that the alteration 
 in his relation to things troubled him not a little. 
 
 His early training, and the discipline at Ypres, had 
 implanted the practise of self-examination; it was, there- 
 fore, no hard matter to seek to discover the disturbing 
 factor. 
 
 Although this mental process was many times repeated, 
 and often in the silent watches of the night (Quillian no 
 longer slept like a top), he was not honest with himself, 
 and slurred over certain influences — perhaps, a certain 
 influence — which might have given him an inkling with 
 regard to what was toward. 
 
 He was aware in his heart of hearts of this evasion; was 
 angry with himself for his lack of plain dealing ; promised 
 amendment he never performed; and was at issue with 
 himself and all the world. 
 
 The only harbour of refuge, and not a particularly safe 
 one at that, for the barque of his unquiet thoughts was 
 his love for Mercia; he told himself, and tried hard to 
 believe it, that directly they were man and wife all would 
 be well. 
 
 Before this consummation could be his, however, he 
 must first fulfil his promise of accomplishing something 
 worthy in order to be seemly for such a mate: perhaps 
 this was why he was ready, if not eager, to throw himself 
 body and soul into the new scheme of Hemmingay's 
 which was more or less afoot. 
 
 It was as good as any other that might come along, he 
 told himself; was anxious to do all he might as speedily 
 as possible so that by soon wedding Mercia he could win 
 the ease of mind of which he was in sore need. 
 
igS THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xvi 
 
 Doubtless it was his eagerness to put his shoulder to 
 the philanthropic wheel which was responsible for the 
 frequency with which he bent his steps in the direction 
 of the Fulham Road, where he paid long visits to the 
 down-at-heel hospital. 
 
 And should Vesper enter his thoughts, as she had a 
 ready knack of doing if he were away from her, he was 
 burdened with a depression that made him question if, 
 like others he had met, soul sickness — the ' Acedia ' of 
 the Guardian at Ypres and the Early Fathers — ^had taken 
 possession of him: and told himself that, if this were so, 
 he was indeed in evil case. 
 
 Grumby's voice interrupted Quillian's melancholy. 
 
 " What is it, Grumby ?" he asked irritably. 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir, it you're busy," said Grumby, and 
 made as if he would leave the room. 
 
 " I'm busy; but not very. You needn't go," said 
 Quillian, who, if the truth were told, was thankful to get 
 away from his reflections by having someone to talk to. 
 
 Grumby, who was nearly always afflicted with nerves 
 in his master's presence, appeared to be collecting 
 scattered wits. 
 
 " You don't seem very happy " (he nearly said " either "), 
 " Grumby !" remarked QuUlian kindly. 
 
 " Well, sir, life isn't what it was," sighed Grumby. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Quillian quickly: per- 
 haps even this old derelict might furnish some sort of 
 explanation of his discontents. 
 
 " Well, sir, things aren't what they were. I do miss the 
 old underground railway." 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 " The smell of it. I loved the smell of the engines and 
 the steam." 
 
 " Indeed 1" 
 
 " It used to remind me of the good old days of Protes- 
 tant persecution, an' martyrs burning at the stake; the 
 scent of the underground always reminded me of how they 
 must have sizzled." 
 
 Quillian smiled wanly : Grumby went on : 
 
 " And the ignorance of people ! Would you believe, 
 sir, that when I mentioned to Mrs. Gassmann the Papal 
 
CH. XVI] THE UNEXPECTED 199 
 
 Bull, ' Unigenitus,' she asked me if it won a prize at the 
 Islington Cattle Show !" 
 
 " I can well believe it," smiled Quillian. 
 
 " And she isn't the only one. I went into a ' public ' 
 one night to pay my club money — otherwise I shouldn't 
 have gone — and as I had the indulgence of a small ginger- 
 beer, I happened to mention to the young person behind 
 the bar that folks had seen in me a likeness to St. Thomas 
 Aquinas. She'd never heard of him." 
 
 " That wouldn't have surprised me," returned QuiUian, 
 who shortly noticed that Grumby was staring blankly 
 at him. 
 
 " What is it now, Grumby ?" 
 
 " If I haven't clean forgot, sir I" 
 
 " What !" 
 
 " You're wanted on the telephone downstairs." 
 
 " Who by ?" asked Quillian sharply. 
 
 " A lady, sir. She gave the name of Miss " 
 
 By the time Grumby had finished what he had to say, 
 Quillian was well on his way to the telephone box. 
 
 " Who is it ? Are you still there ?" he asked breath- 
 lessly, as he took the receiver in his hand. 
 
 " What a time you've been ! I was just giving you 
 up." 
 
 " I am so sorry. If you knew how sorry I am " 
 
 " What were you doing ?" interrupted Vesper's voice. 
 
 " My man muddled things. I shall have to get rid of 
 him. How are you ?" 
 
 " Awfully well. And you ?" 
 
 " Sure ?" 
 
 " Quite: and you ?" 
 
 " The same as usual." 
 
 " Are you very busy ?" 
 
 " Do you want me to come and help with your letters ?" 
 
 "Not to-day: you've been so good lately. I want 
 you to take me out." 
 
 " You want me to " 
 
 " Do you very much mind ?" 
 
 " What a question !" 
 
 " It seems like being fine. If you really feel like it, 
 meet me as soon as you can." 
 
200 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xvi 
 
 " At your house ?" 
 
 " Yes — no. Are you there ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Meet me at Charing Cross Station in three-quarters of 
 an hour from now: will you ?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " There's a good boy. Good-bye." 
 
 Quillian, who was so excited at the prospect of spending 
 a whole day with Vesper that he scarce knew what he 
 was at, quickly changed into his smartest tweeds, before 
 setting out for the appointed place in a taxi-cab, the 
 driver of which, stimulated by the promise of a double 
 fare, ran the risk of prosecution for exceeding the speed 
 limit. 
 
 On reaching the tube station, Quillian jumped out; 
 although he had some minutes to spare, he was seized by 
 a fear that Vesper would not come. 
 
 His apprehensions increased with the passing of the 
 seconds ; upon the time she had given arriving, and there 
 being no sign of her gracious presence, he could scarce 
 contain himself for anxiety. 
 
 Two minutes later, he was as one possessed: one 
 moment, he believed she had changed her mind ; the next, 
 he was certain that he had misunderstood the place they 
 were to meet, and that she was awaiting him elsewhere. 
 
 Then he recollected there were two Charing Cross 
 Stations; and perhaps she was at the other: he was 
 about to set off as fast as his legs would carry him when 
 it occurred to him that she may have meant this station 
 after all, and might arrive during his absence. 
 
 This possibility no sooner flashed into his mind than 
 he hit upon a solution of the problem with which he 
 was faced: he would pay an intelligent-looking newsboy 
 to look out for her, and, if he saw her, to tell her where 
 he had gone. 
 
 Slipping the first coin which came to hand (it was half 
 a sovereign) into a likely boy's hand, Quillian told him 
 what he should do. 
 
 " 'Ow shall I know 'er, guvnor ?" asked the boy. 
 
 " She's tall and fair and " 
 
 " So are lots o' ladies, sir." 
 
CH. XVI] THE UNEXPECTED 201 
 
 " You'll know her right enough ; she's the most beautiful 
 girl in London," said Quilhan, who scarcely knew what 
 he was saying. 
 
 He sped up Villiers Street, leaving the astonished 
 newsboy staring at the bit of gold in amazement, before 
 biting it to see if it were genuine ; unmindful of those he 
 thrust aside in his heated progress, Quillian looked 
 anxiously about the big station. 
 
 Nothing was to be seen of Vesper, so he returned to 
 whence he had come in a great suspense and with heart 
 a-beat. 
 
 Directly he caught sight of the newsboy, however, he 
 saw by the lad's beaming face that the latter had earned 
 his tip. 
 
 '' Got her first time, guvnor; waiting f'you in the 
 station," cried the boy. " An' here she is, sir." 
 
 A fat, blowsy, overdressed, raddled woman, who was 
 all leers and smiles, and who looked like a depraved old 
 cat, advanced on Quillian, who could not speak for anger. 
 
 " Ain't she a stunner 1 Ain't she a beauty ! Look at 
 'er joolry ! An' don't she just 'um with scent !" 
 
 Quillian was enveloped in a revolting perfume (it was 
 patchouli), and a horrible voice said in his ear: 
 
 " Mornin', dearie !" 
 
 He sought to escape, and she clung to his arm ; fearing 
 a scene, he was about to expostulate with her, when he 
 was bitterly alive to the fact that Vesper stood before 
 him: for all his delight at seeing her safe and sound, he 
 wished the pavement would open and swallow him up. 
 
 She glanced at the newsboy; the woman; the scared 
 face of QuUlian; and took in the situation at a glance: 
 as for Quillian, he wrenched his arm from the detaining 
 hand, joined Vesper, and said in a husky voice: 
 
 " Come away, that is if — if you can overlook this — 
 this " 
 
 " I don't think I can," she Interrupted with mock 
 gravity. 
 
 " But " 
 
 " I'm two minutes late, and you must go and talk to 
 another girl. Just like a man !" 
 
 " If you would let me explain, perhaps you might find 
 
202 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xvi 
 
 it in your heart to forgive me. There are two Charing 
 Cross Stations, and I paid that confounded newsboy " 
 
 " I quite understand. But how did you describe me ?" 
 
 " I told him " 
 
 " Yes, yes." 
 
 " To look out for the — the most beautiful girl in 
 London." 
 
 " You did ?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Then you're forgiven." 
 
 " You'll really overlook it !" 
 
 " Overlook it ! It was ever so funny 1" 
 
 Puillian's fine susceptibilities were somewhat jarred by 
 this humorous point of view: he would almost have pre- 
 ferred her to have been offended: but the sun was now 
 shining in a faultless sky, and Vesper was beside him, 
 and looking delicious in a blue linen coat and skirt, and 
 a hat of the same colour decorated with a red riband. 
 
 He shyly glanced at her ; and he saw she was doing the 
 same by him. 
 
 " It was sweet of you to come 1" she said. 
 
 " Don't say that— it's— it's " 
 
 " But it was: and one likes to be truthful sometimes. 
 How long can you spare ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I want you to take me somewhere, if it won't bore 
 you. Somewhere where there are trees and quiet. Will 
 you ?" 
 
 If he had thought twice of falling in with her request, 
 the winning smile she gave him would have scattered his 
 hesitation; as it was, he was burning to do everything 
 and more than she wished to give her the least pleasure. 
 
 " Where shall we go ?" he asked in a voice he strove to 
 make free of the emotion that welled within him. 
 
 " Do you know Richmond Park ? I see by your face 
 you don't. You shall take me there; and that means I'll 
 take you." 
 
 " We'll take that cab," suggested Quillian. 
 
 " We'll go by train and tram if you don't mind." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Let me have my simple pleasure in my own way. 
 
CH. XVI] THE UNEXPECTED 203 
 
 I don't suppose I shall have many more; and going as I 
 wish, and with whom I wish, is all part of it." 
 
 So long as Vesper was by his side, Quillian, in his 
 present mood, would have been more than content to 
 crawl on his hands and knees if she had wished ; they set 
 out with a light heart. 
 
 " Take tickets to Hammersmith, and we'll take the 
 tram from there," she said. 
 
 " What about your father ?" said Quillian as they were 
 descending to the platform. 
 
 " What about him 1" she returned indifferently. 
 
 " Won't he mind ?" 
 
 " Don't you know me well enough to know that in 
 things I have set my heart on I please myself !" 
 
 " I almost begin to think so." 
 
 " Women who don't are fools — and so are men for that 
 matter." 
 
 " That sounds dreadfully wicked," laughed Quillian. 
 
 " Then there's a chance of our enjoying ourselves." 
 
 " You've taken first class !" she said on his piloting her 
 into the train. 
 
 " Naturally." 
 
 " Extravagance !" 
 
 " Is it ?" 
 
 " Since you've done it, it doesn't matter. But just 
 for once, I want to feel a happy irresponsible tripper." 
 
 They joked and talked like two happy children who 
 were enjoying an unexpected treat; and they were both 
 astonished at reaching Hammersmith almost as soon as 
 they had started. 
 
 Leaving the station, they clambered on a tram that 
 would take them to Kew Bridge, and for a time Quillian 
 marvelled at the alteration that had occurred in Vesper: 
 she had completely thrown off her listlessness and laughed 
 and joked without ceasing, until, at last, even the ordin- 
 arily grave Quillian was almost at one with her mood. 
 
 " Do be careful I" she said upon his laughing outright 
 at one of her more audacious sallies. 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " You'll shock the conductor and get us turned off as 
 undesirables." 
 
204 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xvi 
 
 It was on Quillian's tongue to reply that " he did not 
 care one whit what happened so long as he was with 
 her;" uncertain how she might take such a remark, he 
 bridled his tongue. 
 
 On reaching Kew, the tide was in flood; seeing this, 
 Vesper said : 
 
 " Can you walk ?" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 " Then we'll walk on the towpath to Richmond. It's 
 quite nice at high tide. But, sometimes, the towpath 
 gets flooded; and if it does you'll have to carry me." 
 
 " You're too heavy." 
 
 " Then I'd carry you." 
 
 On descending the steps to reach the tow-path, they 
 came upon a sweet-stall, where Vesper stopped and 
 surveyed the many-coloured wares. 
 
 " Will you buy me some sweets ?" she asked with her 
 magical smile. 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Bull's-eyes, please. A penn'orth." 
 
 Quillian did as he was bid, and almost bought up the 
 stock. 
 
 " You'll have to carry them," she said as they came 
 away. " It's a punishment for hesitating to get them." 
 
 " I hesitated because they were not good enough for 
 you." 
 
 " Far too good," she murmured almost to herself. 
 
 " What did you say ?" he asked sharply. 
 
 " That it's all in the day — our day. And if you'd 
 stood out, I believe at the risk of my life I'd have had a 
 penny lick at that ice-cream stall, and made you do the 
 same." 
 
 The tall, ascetic-looking man and the shapely girl 
 walked the tow-path in the direction of Richmond; and 
 so far as Quillian was concerned, the sunlight had never 
 seemed so glad or had shone on such a gay scene as the 
 river presented : his distaste for life was as if it had never 
 been; and at Vesper's request he followed her example in 
 sucking bull's-eyes. 
 
 Only once did his conscience prick him for any con- 
 ceivable infidelity to Mercia which might be read into this 
 
CH. XVI] THE UNEXPECTED 205 
 
 outing, and that when they were seated on a wooden 
 bench almost facing Zion House: he wondered if she 
 would be annoyed if she could know of what he was doing, 
 or whether she would understand he was merely moved 
 by a friendly interest in his companion. 
 
 Vesper's voice interrupted his thoughts and sharply 
 recalled him from his somewhat meagre doubtings. 
 " You are a dear 1" she said. 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Taking me out like this. No ' Yes, buts,' and all 
 that sort of thing ; but you at once did as I wished, and 
 in the way I wished." 
 " Of course." 
 
 " You don't know what it means to me," she went on. 
 " It's done me good, too." 
 
 " And I'm going to forget everything unpleasant, and 
 am going to enjoy myself. And I want you to do the 
 same. It's going to be our day." 
 
 Quillian's hesitations were all forgotten ; he surrendered 
 himself without reservation to the joy of the moment. 
 
 They crossed Richmond Green where their eyes lingered 
 on the remains of the Palace and Maids of Honour Row ; 
 on finding themselves in George Street, Vesper made for 
 a sweet-shop. 
 
 " I want some ginger-beer out of a stone bottle," she 
 said. 
 
 " Why ginger-beer ?" he asked. 
 
 " Because I feel like it. You'd better have some, 
 too." 
 
 QuUlian was surprised to see her sip her glass critically 
 and leave most of it. 
 " It didn't do," she said on their leaving the shop. 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I used to love it when I was thirteen, and nearly took 
 to it as some people take to brandy. It seems to have 
 lost all its old savour, and I suppose it's inevitable. 
 But we'll think to-day they've lost the secret of making it. 
 " Have I surprised you ?" she asked upon his looking 
 at her with mingled astonishment and admiration. 
 
 " I've given up being surprised. Where shall we have 
 luncheon ?" 
 
2o6 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xvi 
 
 " In the Park, of course." 
 
 " Can we get anything to eat there ?" 
 
 " Of course not; we'll have to take it." 
 
 They entered a likely shop where a portable cold 
 luncheon could be obtained; and Quillian, in face of 
 Vesper's protests, ordered the best of everything that 
 was going : while it was being packed in a basket. Vesper 
 took him outside and walked him until they JEound a 
 flower-shop. 
 
 " You stay here," said Vesper. " I want to go in by 
 myself." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " No ' Yes, buts.' Be a good boy and do what you're 
 told." 
 
 She had her own way, and came out with a fine bunch 
 of violets which she insisted on putting in his coat, and 
 said as she did so : 
 
 " This is my contribution to the feast." 
 
 " Feast !" he queried. 
 
 " Of simple happiness." 
 
 QuUlian would not hear of the shopkeeper's suggestion 
 that one of his men should carry the luncheon basket ; it 
 was considerably heavier than he thought, but he 
 took a subtle pleasure in enduring discomfort that 
 was for the ultimate physical satisfaction of the girl at 
 his side. 
 
 They did not go as far as the Terrace: at Vesper's 
 instigation (she appeared to know Richmond well) they 
 took something of a short cut by a side road from Church 
 Hill which admitted to the Park by an iron gate at the 
 farther end. 
 
 " Thank you so much," she said upon their leaving 
 bricks and mortar definitely behind them. 
 
 " What for ?" 
 
 " Trees. They're necessary to me. Now I'm ever so 
 happy. 
 
 " Isn't that rather heavy ?" she asked after they had 
 gone some way. 
 
 " Not very." 
 
 " Ged rid of it." 
 
 " And go back for luncheon ?" 
 
CH. XVI] THE UNEXPECTED 207 
 
 " Don't be dense. By eating it, I mean. Only let's 
 find somewhere nice." 
 
 ' Somewhere nice ' was somewhat hard to find, for 
 Vesper exercised a critical discrimination in the selection 
 of a Ukely spot and with complete disregard for the 
 weight of the basket. 
 
 She was, at last, satisfied by lighting on a tree-trunk 
 that was obligingly resting beneath a gracious chestnut. 
 
 " There's one thing we've forgotten," she said as he 
 proceeded to unpack. 
 
 " Knives and forks ?" 
 
 " Cigarettes." 
 
 " I've plenty." 
 
 " Any • Gyppies ?' " 
 
 " ' Gyppies ' !" 
 
 " Egyptian, I mean. We used to call them ' Gyppies ' 
 in Malta." 
 
 The mention of this place recalled to his mind the 
 unspeakable Maltese ' College ' : for a few moments his 
 happiness was clouded by its associations. 
 
 " Why so silent ?" she asked. 
 
 " I — -I was thinking how much you have been about." 
 
 " Haven't 1 1 I was there three years and hated it. 
 Where's that cigarette ?" 
 
 The fact of her disliking Malta of course meant that 
 she had been at issue wilii her father over the latter's 
 bogus ' College ' : the cloud passed away, and he handed her 
 his cigarette-case and matches, as he said : 
 
 " Do you smoke much ?" 
 
 " Like a kitchen chimney. I've been dying for one all 
 day." 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me before ?" 
 
 " I was shy," she said, with a pretty assumption of 
 demureness, before striking a match and holding it 
 between her almost folded hands. 
 
 QuilUan watched the cigarette between her red lips 
 out of the corners of his eyes while he laid the luncheon 
 to the best of his ability, and then passed his hands over 
 the tree-trunk on which Vesper had seated herself. 
 
 " This won't do," he said. 
 
 " I thought it a very well-behaved trunk." 
 
2o8 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xvi 
 
 " Isn't it damp ?" 
 
 " What if it is ?" 
 
 " You'll sit on my coat," he said, and proceeded to take 
 it off. 
 
 " I'll do nothing of the kind. As if I should have you 
 catch cold for me I" 
 
 " But " 
 
 " If it isn't improper, you can sit on a bit of my dress." 
 
 This was not the easy thing it seemed, for Vesper's 
 frock was rather tight fitting; she succeeded in providing 
 the merest fraction for his use, and with this he was more 
 than content. 
 
 Quillian had never made such a delicious meal: he 
 tried to carve the cold chicken, and made such a mess of 
 it that Vesper took the carving-knife and fork from his 
 hand and insisted upon doing it herself : it was then they 
 had words with regard to her insisting upon his having 
 the liver-wing. 
 
 Afterwards they had ' Maid of Honour ' cakes for which 
 Richmond is famed, and fruit, including strawberries 
 with cream ; and as she put some of these into her mouth, 
 he was certain that the redness of her lips put the. straw- 
 berries to shame. 
 
 Then they had a long rest during which little or nothing 
 was said : they sat and smoked in a tender silence. 
 
 Quillian's eyes would roam across the undulating sward 
 and dwell upon the trees that had long taken their new 
 raiment as a matter of course : he thought it was ever so 
 good to be alive on that July day, and to drowse in the 
 gracious sunlight: and should the grass, and the trees, 
 and the sunshine furnish an unsatisfying explanation of 
 the gladness that sung in his heart, he had only to turn 
 to the girl at his side (he not infrequently did) and gaze 
 at her appealing profile. 
 
 Vesper had slipped from the tree-trunk; she now 
 reclined against it with a delightful abandon, and with 
 her hands behind the rich brown head of hair from which 
 she had removed the hat, and stuck this last to the ground 
 with a pin to prevent it from blowing away. 
 
 Her eyes (they were almost blue to-day) held a dreamily 
 soft expression ; and such wind as there was, together 
 
CH. XVI] THE UNEXPECTED 209 
 
 with the excitement of the day's doings, had coloured her 
 cheeks and threw into an exquisite relief the whiteness 
 of her slender throat. 
 
 Small matter for wonder that Quillian repeatedly 
 regarded her. 
 
 His glance presently fell on the carcase of the fowl; 
 the partly consumed bottle of red wine; then, from the 
 sweep of sward to the shapely girl at his side : the quatrain 
 from Omar Khayyam, which Mrs. Lownes had repeated, 
 came into his mind; and he resisted a disposition to recall 
 the young woman to whom she had suggested applying it. 
 
 And very soon, his senses played him a trick: mstead 
 of the unmistakably British park-land, was a waste of 
 yellow sand, which was greedily encroaching on the oasis 
 where he rested beneath a date-tree with the desire of 
 his heart. 
 
 They had made their midday meal, and it seemed to 
 him she too was taking her ease after singing his 
 favourite songs: presently, they would eat and drink 
 again, after which she would sing once more. 
 
 And upon his almost recovering himself and asking, as 
 he had done where someone else was concerned, if such 
 an existence were possible with the girl at his side, the 
 reply came quickly that he was more than content, and 
 wanted nothing more on earth. 
 
 14 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ' BESIDE ME SINGING IN THE WILDERNESS ' 
 
 QuiLLiAN mentally rubbed his eyes, and became his every- 
 day self. 
 
 On perceiving his now familiar surroundings, he owned 
 to being sorry (and was not very ashamed) that he was 
 part and parcel of a world of occidental matter-of- 
 factness. 
 
 " What have you been dreaming of ?" she asked. 
 
 Her voice had become even richer, and seemed to come 
 from her heart. 
 
 He made some sort of mention of the impression that 
 had held him ; he also repeated the quatrain. 
 
 She was sHent for what seemed a considerable time, 
 and QuUlian attentively regarded her. 
 
 " Do you know any more of it ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 " I only know what was repeated to me." 
 
 "There is this: 
 
 " ' That moving finger writes ; and having writ. 
 Moves on : nor all thy Piety nor Wit 
 Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, 
 Nor all thy tears wash out a Word of it' " 
 
 It was his turn to be silent ; a little later, she said much 
 as if she were speaking to herself : 
 
 " And don't you forget it: but it doesn't very much 
 matter if you do, for you'll soon get reminded of it." 
 
 Quillian sighed. 
 
 ' I'm spoihng your day," she cried. " What a pig I 
 am, and you so good 1" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 210 
 
CH. xvn] ' SINGING IN THE WILDERNESS ' 211 
 
 " Taking me out like this. Talk of something else 
 and foiget it." 
 
 He did as he was bid; thereupon, and thereafter, it 
 seemed to him that both of them wore a mask of desperate 
 frivolity in order to hide the simple, serious things which 
 stood almost nakedly revealed in tiieir inner consciousness. 
 
 Now and again, there was an involuntary drop to 
 earnestness. 
 
 " Are you like this to aQ the women you meet ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 He looked at her in great perplexity. 
 
 " And you must meet so many 1" she went on. 
 
 " If you mean, if I think of every woman as I thinV of 
 you, you are mistaken," he said gravely. 
 
 The flush deepened on her cheek; her eyes sparkled 
 with pleasure. 
 
 " Before I left the monastery." he went on, " my 
 Superior gave me a lot of advice with regard to whom I 
 should meet." 
 
 " Indeed 1" 
 
 " He particularly warned me against beautiful women. 
 He said that all of them had at least seven devils in their 
 hearts." 
 
 " That old priest knew something," she returned. 
 
 " What !" 
 
 " If he weren't a priest, I should say he'd ' been there 
 before.' Did he say any more ?" 
 
 " Among other things, he told me that if I took up 
 good worfe, the plucking of only one brand from the 
 burning would be enou^." 
 
 " He said that I" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I wonder — I wonder if I shall be that brand 1 ' she 
 said musin^y. 
 
 " You !" 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " You are more likely to show me the way to 
 heaven." 
 
 Vesper looked sharply at him; avoided the earnest 
 look in his eyes; and asked, as if saying the first thing 
 that came into her head : 
 
212 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xvii 
 
 " What do you think of women ?" Before he could 
 reply, she added: " Aren't they cats ?" 
 
 " Cats !" he cried in astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, cats. I hate them!" 
 
 " But " 
 
 " And they hate me. Don't say any more about them, 
 or it wUl be your turn to try and spoil our day." 
 
 " I could never do that," he murmured. 
 
 " That's very nice of you. But then you're always 
 nice to me ; and I do so hope you're not so nice to every 
 girl you meet, unless, of course, to — ^well — never mind." 
 
 Quillian tingled with pleasure; Vesper's face hardened. 
 
 " But ' to return to our muttons,' " she continued. 
 " Since you are so nice to me, you must like me a little. 
 Is that so ?" 
 
 " It is so." 
 
 " Thanks. I'm so flattered. It isn't every day a girl 
 gets a man like you to say such things, and as if he 
 meant it." 
 
 " But then you're quite different from other girls !" 
 
 " That's either the remark of a very worldly man who's 
 trying to flatter a girl, or of one who is exceptionally 
 single-hearted." 
 
 " Which am I ?" asked Quillian in an uncharacteristic 
 burst of egoism. 
 
 " The worldly man, of course. But how is it you don't 
 so much as suspect I'm — well, selfish and all the rest of 
 it, like every other woman is at heart ?" 
 
 " You should not say that," he remonstrated. 
 
 " Why ? Why ? Why ?" she cried with a pretty petu- 
 lance. 
 
 " Because you are good, and true, and everything I 
 should wish a woman to be. You remind me, oh ever so 
 much, of a saint in a world-famous stained glass window 
 of our monastery." 
 
 " Who was she ?" 
 
 " St. Teresa. She sought to die for the Faith." 
 
 " What was she like ?" 
 
 " Beautiful." 
 
 " You must be mistaken !" 
 
 " Indeed, I'm not." 
 
CH. XVII] ' SINGING IN THE WILDERNESS ' 213 
 
 " In thinking me like her — in myself, I mean." 
 
 •• But " 
 
 She shook her head as might an adorably naughty child. 
 
 " It's only right you should know the truth about me," 
 she went on. " I'm ever, ever so worldly. I loathe 
 philanthropy, and hate good works : I believe I told you 
 before ; and I don't suppose you believed it. It's none the 
 less true." 
 
 " I cannot, will not, believe it." 
 
 " But you must, because I want you, of all people, to 
 know the worst of me. I'm ever so worldly; ever so keen 
 at heart on having a good time; ever, ever so selfish." 
 
 " Do you know why I can never believe it, apart from 
 what I know ?" 
 
 She looked at him inquiringly, and he went on : 
 
 " From what your father said of your grief after you 
 had seen the palmist who told you — told you !" 
 
 " That I should never have any children ?" 
 
 " Yes. Who could think ill of you after that ?" 
 
 She reflected for a moment, before saying: 
 
 " That proves nothing. The girl is the stepmother of 
 the woman." 
 
 " You sacrifice truth to gain your point. But whoever 
 is right, you have been very unsefish to-day." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 He glanced at her and their eyes met : there was a tense 
 silence broken by her saying, and more seriously than 
 before : 
 
 " After all, there are excuses for me. You don't know, 
 no one knows, the rotten time I've had. I often wonder 
 how I've kept my ' end up ' even so well as I have." 
 
 " There is the true Vesper — Miss Hemmingay, I 
 mean." 
 
 " That's all right. I'm Vesper to you — to-day. And 
 your name's Paul ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I like that. That's ever so nice. And you're Paul 
 to me — for to-day, that is to say, if you don't very much 
 mind." 
 
 " I don't think I very much mind." 
 
 " That's all right," she said contentedly. " And as for 
 
214 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xvn 
 
 the rest, we are what we are, and all the talking in the 
 world won't alter it." 
 
 " There is one thing I should like to ask you." 
 
 " Ask away." 
 
 " You speak as if your life were and would be innocent 
 of love. How can that be ?" 
 
 She waited before replying, and rather heatedly : 
 
 " If you were any other man, I should tell you love 
 didn't exist. To you, I say I mustn't think of it." 
 
 " And why, pray ?" 
 
 " No: no: no !" she said decidedly. 
 
 " Have you never thought of it ?" 
 
 " I daren't." 
 
 " Daren't I" 
 
 " It frightens me," she said in a low voice. 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 "I'll tell you, Paul: only call me Vesper once." 
 
 " Why, Vesper ?" 
 
 The name lingered on his tongue. 
 
 " If I had had quite a different upbringing, Paul, and 
 things had been different from what they have been, 
 I believe that somewhere about me, I could care for 
 someone — it would have to be someone quite exceptional 
 — ^rather badly." 
 
 " And why shouldn't you ?" he cried. 
 
 " That is all impossible: I shut it from my heart." 
 
 " Wouldn't it be the crown and flower of your life ?" 
 
 " Don't compel me to answer. I don't want to speak, 
 much less to think of it. Talk of something else — to 
 please me." 
 
 He did her bidding with an effort, and thenceforward 
 it was as if there were a significance in their fellowship 
 that subtly deepened their understanding of each other. 
 
 They rose from where they had been sitting so long, 
 and got rid of their luncheon impedimenta as soon as may 
 be by walking to the big gates and by Quillian's paying 
 a likely looking man to convey it to the shop where the 
 things had been bought. 
 
 Then they struck into the heart of the Park, and 
 presently came upon, and followed the course of, a little 
 stream. 
 
CH. XVII] ' SINGING IN THE WILDERNESS ' 215 
 
 More than ever it seemed that they^ were evading a 
 discussion of the serious issues which persistently haunted 
 their minds; largely to this end, they exhibited a lively 
 curiosity in the past lives of one another. 
 
 Quillian told Vesper more of his days at Ypres, and 
 answered the thousand and one questions she plied him 
 with; upon his seeking to learn of her existence before 
 he had met her, she gave indefinite replies: he saw she 
 was not disposed to satisfy his curiosity, and gave up 
 the attempt. 
 
 She became more reserved than she had been (he mar- 
 velled at her changes of mood), and upon their bearing to 
 the right, and coming upon the Kingston confines of the 
 Park, she begged him to give her a cup of tea. 
 
 " I shall be all right then," she told him. 
 
 They had tea in the garden of a cottage that did a small 
 business in catering; after Vesper had enjoyed a couple of 
 cigarettes, they retraced their steps by the way they had 
 come. 
 
 Once more she was light-hearted; she took off her hat 
 and gloves; and these, together with her hat-pins, she 
 gave Quillian to take care of, before becoming as vehe- 
 mently joyous as an irresponsible tomboy released from 
 school. 
 
 She was here, there, and everywhere; QuUIian's eyes 
 eagerly drunk in her gracious movements ; the slimness of 
 her ankles (she wore open-work brown stockings) and the 
 nimbleness of the little brown shoes. 
 
 " Why aren't you a dog ?" she asked suddenly. 
 
 " Why ?" he replied, his grave nat\rre striving to catch 
 something of her frivolity. 
 
 " So I could run with you. A big black retriever, say ! 
 If you were, would you run for stones I threw for you ?" 
 
 '' Isn't it a dog's nature to ?" 
 
 " And would you love it if I patted your back and 
 kissed your nose ?" 
 
 " It's conceivable." 
 
 " And would you wag your tail with pleasure when you 
 saw me coming ?" 
 
 " I might." 
 
 " Only might ? And bite anyone who molested me ?" 
 
2i6 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xvii 
 
 Before he could reply with a resolute affirmative, her 
 ears had caught the lilting melody of a waltz that was 
 being played by a piano-organ without the Park. 
 
 " Listen !" she cried. " Do you know it ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It's ■ Over the Garden Wall ' : I know the words of 
 the refrain. And if you don't know them, it's time you did." 
 
 Upon this being played by the piano-organ. Vesper 
 sang as follows : 
 
 " ' O come over the garden wall, 
 Little girl to me. 
 
 I've been lonely a long, long time 
 And the wall's not hard to climb ; 
 So just jump up and then jump down : 
 I won't let you fall. 
 
 We'll play at sweethearts or going to be married : 
 Come over the garden wall.' 
 
 " There ! What do you think of that ?" 
 
 Quillian looked at the flushed face; the shining eyes 
 of the singer; and said: 
 
 " It depends on who sings it." 
 
 "Is that all!" 
 
 " I'd no idea you'd such an appealing voice." 
 
 " If I'd been properly trained ! Listen ! Listen !" 
 
 The piano-organ was playing a dance refrain. 
 
 " I suppose you never saw the ' Miracle ' ?" she said. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It was done at Olympia, and there was a young nun 
 in it who was tempted by the world. You should have 
 segn her dance !" 
 
 " A nun dance I" 
 
 " Only with children at first, and !" 
 
 Vesper broke off ; after looking quickly about her to see 
 if she might be observed, and seeing no one was in sight, 
 she cried: 
 
 " Watch !" 
 
 She went from him a little way ; and with her hands on 
 her hips, she waited for the recommencement of the 
 motif. When this was reached, Vesper danced. 
 
 He was a trifle shocked for the moment, but in the 
 twinkling of an eye he was entranced by the abandon of 
 
CH.xvii] 'SINGING IN THE WILDERNESS' 217 
 
 her delicious movements; she stepped ever so lightly, 
 ever so gracefully, and it was as though he were watching 
 some faun who had suddenly awakened to life, and had 
 come out of the tree in which she had slept so long. 
 
 Then Quillian's senses played him a further trick : once 
 more the sands of the desert stretched to where they met 
 the blue of the sky ; and his well-beloved had risen from 
 her slumber in the heat of the day, and was dancing to 
 delight the heart of her lord. 
 
 Even now she was advancing upon him with mingled 
 pride and humility for her reward: he would clasp this 
 woman for delights in his arms until 
 
 Vesper's voice recalled him to the prosaic present. 
 
 " Aren't you scandalized ?" 
 
 " N'no." 
 
 " A little ?" 
 
 " I had no idea you could be like that." 
 
 " I used to dance at school, and loved it; when I heard 
 the organ, I couldn't help it just for once. So you see 
 what a little pagan I am I" 
 
 He did not speak, and she said : 
 
 " Am I forgiven ?" 
 
 " I think so," he smiled. 
 
 " Now I promise to behave myself, and set you a good 
 example." 
 
 She was out of breath from her exertion; they alter- 
 nately rested and rambled for quite a long time: and as 
 the shadows of the trees lengthened, they were more and 
 more weighed down by the elemental realities of life, until 
 it seemed as if they would no longer be hidden. 
 
 " How serious we are !" he said. 
 
 " Of necessity." 
 
 " Why of necessity ?" 
 
 " Surely you know that all day long we've been as we've 
 been to — to get away from things !" 
 
 She looked at him with anxious eyes, and he replied : 
 
 " Of course !" 
 
 She seemed much relieved at learning they had been of 
 the same mind in this respect : she broke the ensuing silence 
 by asking: 
 
 " Why have you tried to escape them ?" 
 
2i8 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xvii 
 
 " Why have you ?" he returned. 
 " You haven't answered my question." 
 " Didn't — didn't you tell me you wished to have a happy 
 dav ?" 
 
 ' Is that the only reason ?" 
 
 " I— I think so." 
 
 " I'm going to be more candid than you," she told him. 
 
 " Oh 1" 
 
 " Much more," she went on, and with her eyes on the 
 ground. 
 
 " If — ^if I haven't spoken of — of other things — ^you 
 understand what I mean ?" 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " It isn't because I think you would not understand. 
 It's because you're quite the only man I know who would." 
 
 Quillian did not speak: his mind still carried a picture 
 of Vesper dancing to the music of the piano-organ; and 
 now he knew that she thought more of him than any 
 man living. 
 
 No wonder that the Park, the evening sky, and the 
 stately trees seemed to take on the enchantment of a 
 fairyland where happiness never grew stale and nothing 
 beyond the confines of their paradise mattered at aU. 
 
 " So there it is !" she sighed. 
 
 He was aware of the imminence of an emotional crisis; 
 in order to stave it off, he said : 
 
 " Strange I should have met you !" 
 
 " Isn't it ?" 
 
 They listened with all their ears to the evening song of 
 a thrush ; and then (they were once more seated on a tree- 
 trunk) they again turned to each other. 
 
 " Something made me come to the hos — ^your house." 
 
 " What was it ?" 
 
 " First of all, I was interested in your handwriting." 
 
 " That's the best part of me." 
 
 " I'm inclined to think so." 
 
 " Why ?" she asked sharply. 
 
 " It led me to come." 
 
 " We should probably have met in any case." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " Father has a wonderful nose for people with money, 
 
CH. XVII] ' SINGING IN THE WILDERNESS ' 219 
 
 particularly for those who come into it. If you hadn't 
 written or called, he would certainly have looked you up." 
 
 " But he'd forgotten me when I came," cried Qmlhan 
 ingenuously. 
 
 " Had he ?" smiled Vesper. 
 
 " Yes. He told me — I see now." 
 
 " We won't say any more of that. And trust me for 
 seeing father doesn't impose on you." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " I can be a little devil if I like for those I like. But 
 don't say any more. I want to think." 
 
 " What about ?" 
 
 " To — to realize all this." 
 
 They sat in an exquisite sUence for quite a long while, 
 and until it was time to go. 
 
 " What about dinner ?" he asked upon their rising. 
 
 " What about it I" 
 
 " We can get it in the town." 
 
 " I'll have an ice or something deadly of that kind. If 
 we eat, there'll be others, and this is much too good to 
 spoil." 
 
 " You think so 1" 
 
 " Don't you !" 
 
 " Yes," said Quillian softly. 
 
 " Unless you are hungry." 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 " Sure ?" 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " That's right: always consider me, and I won't forget 
 it. And if you don't mind very much, I'll take your arm." 
 
 " Are you tired ?" he asked with a great concern. 
 
 " Not a bit. But it seems the proper thing to do after 
 a day like this." 
 
 She put her little hand on his arm : the physical contact 
 thrilled him to the marrow. 
 
 " Your arm's quite strong," she remarked. 
 
 " I go to a gymnasium." 
 
 " Then you'll be able to keep your wife in order." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " What I say. And there's much more in it than you 
 may think." 
 
220 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xvii 
 
 " Are you serious ?" 
 
 " Never more so." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " A woman — I mean a woman who is any good — ^likes 
 to know her husband won't stand any damned nonsense, 
 and — ^have I shocked you ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Sure ?" 
 
 " I don't believe I would mind anything you said," he 
 murmured. 
 
 They walked for a while in silence. 
 
 "WHien are you going to be married?" she asked 
 abruptly. 
 
 " I— I don't know." 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " I tell you I don't know." 
 
 " Aren't you very keen on her ?" 
 
 " I — I suppose so," said Quillian lamely. 
 
 Vesper's hand left his arm. 
 
 " What's the matter '."he asked. 
 
 " Eh ! We're coming to people and must look re- 
 spectable." 
 
 She said no more on the subject until after she had had 
 some pastries and ices, and he had loaded her with flowers 
 and expensive sweets. 
 
 " I suppose she is of your faith ?" she remarked. 
 
 " Of necessity." 
 
 " And if she weren't, I suppose she'd ' go over ' in no 
 time ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Any girl would if that stood between her and the 
 man she cared for. I'd be a Mormon for the man I loved." 
 
 " What will you say next ?" 
 
 " But I'd take jolly good care he never had another 
 wife." 
 
 They set out to go back by train ; they were so interested 
 in each other that, instead of changing, as they should 
 have done at Turnham Green, they went on to Addison 
 Road, Kensington, where she declined his offer of a cab, 
 and on rettirning the way they had come, they almost 
 got to Ealing before they realized their mistake. 
 
CH. XVII] ' SINGING IN THE WILDERNESS ' 221 
 
 And so far as Quillian was concerned, he was in the 
 mood to go on getting into wrong trains with Vesper for 
 ever. 
 
 At last, and with a great sinking of spirit, he stood with 
 Vesper at the gate of her father's house. 
 
 " I'm not going to thank you," she said. " Your 
 reward must be to know how much I've enjoyed myself." 
 
 " I'm going to thank you." 
 
 " I won't listen. See me to the door." 
 
 They slowly ascended the steps ; on Vesper opening the 
 door with her key, it was seen that the hall gas was turned 
 down. 
 
 " Don't go for a moment," she said. " And while 
 you're about it, turn up that wretched light." 
 
 His hand trembled as he fumbled with the tap with the 
 result that he put out the gas. 
 
 " How clumsy I am !" he remarked. 
 
 " Don't bother to light it," came her vibrant voice from 
 the darkness. " And — and don't go for a moment." 
 
 Thus they stood : although he could not see her, he was 
 passionately conscious of her nearness. 
 
 The world, and all it meant to him, seemed to be 
 blotted out ; and all he was aware of was the scent of her 
 body and the fragrance of her personality which, just 
 then, only appeared to exist for him. 
 
 He strove to efface this impression; as he did so, it 
 was again as though he were in the wilderness with his 
 dearly beloved. 
 
 She had sung ; she had danced : now, it was night : and 
 he and she were the only living things in all that im- 
 measurable solitude. 
 
 He was hers and she was his ; and the languorous desert 
 wind caressed them as they stood together. 
 
 Soon she would rest in his arms, while the stars that 
 knew so much would watch above their heads : sometimes, 
 he would be dimly aware in the night that she had awakened 
 from sleep and had put her arms about him and kissed 
 him on the lips; a tenderness that would sweeten their 
 dreams until it was time to address themselves to another 
 day of rapture. '-i>i 
 
 QuUlian reeled against the wall; the contact brought 
 
222 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xvii 
 
 him sharply to the immediate present : he wondered what 
 Vesper had. been thinking about all this time. 
 
 " Wasn't the desert wonderful \" she said. 
 
 " You saw it too \" 
 
 " And as it seemed in the night 1" 
 
 Now it was as if he were borne on a resistless tide of 
 emotion to tell her of things that the desert had whis- 
 pered. 
 
 And as he strove to realize their message, she said in a 
 voice that seemed to come from afar : 
 
 " Now go." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Go. I wish it." 
 
 Quillian tore himself away. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A SURPRISE 
 
 QuiLLiAN, with an exclamation of impatience, rang the 
 bell for the second time. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mrs. Gassmann upon her answering the 
 summons. 
 
 " You here ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. I just came in to have a word with Mr. 
 Grumby. 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 " Jess gone out, I b'leeve, sir. I was jess going when 
 I heard you ring. Was you wanting anything ?" 
 
 " I only wanted to know where he was." 
 
 " Very good, sir." 
 
 " Don't go, Mrs. Gassmann," said QuilUan, who was 
 eager for distraction from his sorry thoughts. " How is 
 your husband ?" 
 
 " Poor Gassmann's no better, an' no worse, sir." 
 
 " I am sorry. Still in bed ?" 
 
 " Sometimes, sir," said Mrs. Gassmann enigmatically. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Well, sir, he's up and he's in bed as you might say." 
 
 " Can't he do any work ?" 
 
 " Not the work he likes, sir. And Gassmann is a very 
 proud man." 
 
 " What is his trade ?" 
 
 " Painter, sir: but the smell of the paint gives him 
 colic, crool ; an' 'e's so funny on his legs, no one '11 trust 
 'im up a ladder." 
 
 " Can't he do anything else ?" 
 
 " He's been offered a job to sweep the streets." 
 
 '' Why doesn't he take that on ?" 
 
 223 
 
224 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xviii 
 
 " Gassmann's a very proud man, sir; 'e'd be ashamed 
 for 'is mates to see 'im at that kind of game, poor 
 dear." 
 
 " Surely any work is better than loafing t" 
 
 " That's what I say," cried Mrs. Gassmann with sudden 
 conviction. " He lets his poor wife work herself to death 
 by charing all the week and taking in washing besides. 
 It's right down shameful." 
 
 " You haven't any children ?" 
 
 " Only one, thank Gawd ! She's my Annie." 
 
 "You say 'thank God!'" 
 
 " Let 'em 'ave more as wants more say I," cried Mrs. 
 Gassmann as she made for the door. 
 
 " Don't go for a moment : I suppose I can't do anything 
 for your husband '." 
 
 " Thank you kindly, sir, but it would be only like 
 assisting a corpse as you might say. " 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Gassmann ain't long for this world, poor dear !" 
 
 " Surely he isn't so bad as that !" 
 
 " I know 'e's going to be took; and when he is took, it 
 will be quite sudden." 
 
 " But, still " 
 
 " The cat caught a mouse the other day, sir; and let 
 it go," interrupted Mrs. Gassmann. " That's always a 
 sign o' sudden death." 
 
 " I shouldn't go by that." 
 
 " Anyway, the very next day, which was Sunday, 
 Gassmann took to his bed; an' smoked an' read the 
 Sunday paper all day." 
 
 " He can't be so very bad if he did that I" 
 
 " That's what I thought, sir. And when he wouldn't 
 get up, I threw a cup of tea at him." 
 
 '' Indeed !" remarked QuilUan absently. " Let me 
 know if I can do anything for him." 
 
 " Thank you kindly, sir. I won't forget. Any message 
 for Grumby, if I see him ?" 
 
 " It doesn't matter now. I forgot what I wanted him 
 for." 
 
 Directly he was alone, Quillian rose and restlessly paced 
 the room: he had been irritated by Mrs. Gassmann's 
 
CH. XVIII] A SURPRISE 225 
 
 presence and, at the same time, disliked being left to the 
 company of his thoughts. 
 
 Ever since he had parted from Vesper on the evening 
 of that never-to-bfi-forgotten day of days, he had known 
 sleepless nights, during which he had lain stark awake, 
 and again and again asked himself how it was that this 
 daughter of a shifty, if not a disreputable, father could 
 hold the interest for him that she did: again and again, 
 he told himself that she was diverting his energies from 
 achieving some purpose in his life ; and upon his striving to 
 put her out of his mind, and bend his will to the con- 
 sideration of alien matters, he so frequently found himself 
 more than ever enmeshed in the toils her personality had 
 spun for him, that, for the time being, he had given up 
 the endeavour as hopeless. 
 
 The utmost he had been capable of was not to see her, 
 this in spite of the fact that it was only by the exercise 
 of abnormal self-control, largely the result of the Disci- 
 pline he had rigidly practised from his youth up, he had 
 been able to keep away. 
 
 This morning, Quillian made a supreme effort to come 
 to grips with this strange, new influence which had come 
 into his life ; an influence that all too frequently seemed a 
 force compared to which any struggles he might make 
 would be pitifully futile. 
 
 Needless to say, he still went on deceiving himself. 
 
 He told himself that Vesper's sway over his emotions 
 was the result of a comfortably circumstanced man's 
 proper feeling for a young woman whom a hard-hearted 
 fate had surrounded with a questionable environment: 
 that much of his uneasiness of mind (this was all he 
 called it) was a subconscious consequence of his neglecting 
 to live up to the ideals he had set before him as a beacon 
 light by which to steer his course on leaving the harbour- 
 age of the monastery : that once he was married all would 
 be well. 
 
 Somehow, and he did not try to account for it, when- 
 soever he thought of Mercia, she appeared to have lost 
 pretty well all the personality she may have possessed ; 
 and to have become a mere abstraction of feminine virtues 
 as inculcated by the Church. 
 
 15 
 
226 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xviii 
 
 And if, in his heart of hearts, he did not look forward 
 with overmuch enthusiasm to marriage with her, he kept 
 on telling himself it was his duty to wed her, since mating 
 with such an one as she was the condition on which he 
 had been released from his vows. 
 
 This assurance brought up another matter that troubled 
 him where Vesper was concerned : there were times when 
 he was so held by thoughts of her that his old life at 
 Ypres seemed a ridiculous flying in the face of a Providence 
 which offered so much, and with both hands, to the 
 children of Wrath ; that even the Faith that had hitherto 
 stood for nearly everything in his life was almost, if not 
 quite, a secondary consideration. 
 
 This morning, Quillian resolutely set himself to think 
 of Mercia and all she meant (or should mean) to him: 
 there was something so nebulous in his present concep- 
 tion of her that he found himself wondering whether he 
 had not been too hasty to speak to her as he had done ; 
 whether he might have found someone as alluring, say, as 
 Vesper (of course, since she was a Protestant, and because 
 of her father's connection with the unspeakable ' College ' 
 at Malta, she was out of the question), and who, at the 
 same time, would be as recommendable to his spiritual 
 pastors and masters as the eldest Miss Lownes ! 
 
 But such a search implied all sorts and conditions of 
 pitfalls to one unskilled in women's wiles as he; and, in 
 order to discourage this speculation, he bore in mind the 
 warning of the Guardian at Ypres with regard to the 
 many devils which lurked in every beautiful woman's 
 (he became hot with anger at thinking Vesper was pos- 
 sessed in a like manner) heart. 
 
 No : the best thing he could do was to marry Mercia as 
 soon as may be ; in order to justify himself in her eyes, he 
 would take up the first philanthropic work which came 
 to hand. 
 
 And beyond handsomely assisting Father Koran in his 
 Wapping mission, the best thing that offered itself without 
 the making of endless troublesome inquiries, for which 
 he was by no means in the mood, seemed to be the scheme 
 of Lord Tayne's which Hemmingay had spoken of. 
 
 The latter had furnished him with an introduction to 
 
CH. xviii] A SURPRISE 227 
 
 this Lord Tayne : the best thing it seemed for him to do 
 was to present it at once, and to hear what Tayne had 
 to say. 
 
 QuUlian sat down and wrote a letter to this personage : 
 he said that, since he was blessed with ample means, he 
 wished to do some good in the world, and would like to 
 learn something of the project Hemmingay (from whom 
 he enclosed an introduction) had mentioned. 
 
 To this end, he would take it upon himself to caU on 
 Lord Tayne the following morning about 11.30, and 
 Quillian hoped he would be able to see him. 
 
 Quillian posted the letter himself (he was thankful for 
 anything so trivial to occupy his mind) and devoutly 
 wished it were the morrow, so that he could really have 
 something tangible to think about. 
 
 He was so pathetically anxious for peace of mind. 
 
 Quillian spent a restless, unsatisfying day, during 
 which he fought hard and successfully against an almost 
 overmastering desire to seek out the house in the Fulham 
 Road: after vainly trying to fix his mind on a series of 
 books which he thought would in turn supply the dis- 
 traction of which he was so sorely in need, he went to bed, 
 where he was lucky to obtain a few hours of untroubled 
 repose. 
 
 The following morning, he set out with some sHght 
 approach to a light heart for his destination, which was 
 in Bryanstone Square; a light heart, because he told 
 himself, and quite believed it, that now he was at last in a 
 fair way to win the tranquillity of mind he lacked. 
 
 The door of Lord Tayne's house was opened by a man- 
 servant. 
 
 " His lordship was in," QuUUan was informed. " But 
 it was rather early to see him." 
 
 Upon asking that his name might be sent in, and that 
 Lord Tayne would understand why he had come, the 
 man conducted him across the hall to a room at the 
 farther end. 
 
 Here, he was left to himself for quite five minutes, after 
 which the man reappeared and conducted him to a library 
 on the first floor and at the back of the house: directly 
 Quillian entered the place, he found himself face to face 
 
228 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xviii 
 
 with Sister Jane, who was the only other occupant of the 
 room. 
 
 " You !" he cried in surprise. 
 
 " I called this morning," said Sister Jane. " I heard 
 you might be coming, and waited on the chance of seeing 
 you." 
 
 " Dear friend I" ' 
 
 " Lord Tayne is my brother." 
 
 " Your brother l" 
 
 " Perhaps you remember — I don't suppose you do — I 
 mentioned someone rather worldly who might be of as- 
 sistance to you." 
 
 " Of course I'd not forgotten." 
 
 " I really came this morning to speak to him about 
 you." 
 
 " Always thinking of others !" 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm more selfish than you think," said 
 Sister Jane quietly. 
 
 " I'll never believe that. But — ^but !" 
 
 " But what ?" 
 
 " I can't get over your being Lord Tayne's sister !" 
 
 "Why shouldn't I be?" 
 
 " It seems so unusual for one born in your position to 
 join our ' Order.' " 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " But then I could believe anything good of you !" 
 
 The almost plain face of the woman was aglow with 
 pleasure ; she fastened her dark eyes upon QuiUian, who 
 went on : 
 
 " You've been brought up in a different world from 
 where I first met you : a world of few ideals and less faith : 
 effort is therefore all the more praiseworthy." 
 
 " You forget: I've had trouble." 
 
 " I am sorry. But that doesn't alter the fact that 
 you deny yourself in every conceivable way for others." 
 
 Sister Jane made a deprecatory gesture. 
 
 " It is so," he continued. " You remind me of those 
 noble women who take vows and serve God by ministering 
 to the sick and needy." 
 
 " Have you met many of them ?" 
 
 " Only indirectly." 
 
CH. xvin] A SURPRISE 229 
 
 " I wonder if they are content !" she said musingly. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Are they really content at heart ?" she asked with 
 impassioned earnestness. " That's what I should really 
 like to know. Isn't there a time when they're seized 
 with the lust of living — freedom — air ?" 
 
 " I — I don't understand !" interrupted Quillian. 
 
 " They're women. Isn't there a time when they 
 demand a woman's natural rights ? The right to love — 
 the right to bestow themselves on those they love — the 
 right to live as I sometimes believe God intended us ?" 
 
 Quillian looked in astonishment at the speaker; not 
 so much because of the unexpectedness of her words, but 
 on account of her changed appearance: she had flushed 
 with pleasure at his telling her he could believe anything 
 good of her: now, her emotion almost seemed to clothe 
 her in a shining garment of comeliness : her fine dark eyes 
 were aflame; colour had come into her cheeks; her or- 
 dinarily plain features were, for the moment, trans- 
 formed. 
 
 " What are you looking at ?" she suddenly asked. 
 
 " You." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " If I may say so, you — you look so different." 
 
 She glanced in a mirror near by, and said with some- 
 thing that suspiciously approached a sigh : 
 
 " That is how I used to look before — before But 
 
 isn't it strange ! I believe I'm two women instead of 
 one. At times, I'm ever so content with my work, and 
 want nothing else: at other times, I'm almost of the very 
 worldly world." 
 
 " I'm beginning to give up your sex," said Quillian 
 helplessly. 
 
 " And I'm talking about myself ; and it's you I prefer 
 to discuss !" 
 
 " Me ! Why me ?" asked Quillian in surprise. 
 
 " Your past is in front of you : mine is behind and done 
 with. What interests me is what are you going to make 
 of your life !" 
 
 " You know why I'm here !" 
 
 " I don't mean this," she remarked almost contemptu- 
 
230 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xviii 
 
 ously. " I mean — I suppose I'm in one of my worldly 
 moods to-day — I mean with regard to what really means 
 happiness to a man who has anything in him !" 
 
 " I told you what lies before me." 
 
 " Marriage I" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do you love her ?" 
 
 " I— I 1" 
 
 " Do you love her, I said ?" 
 
 " I— I think so." 
 
 " Think !" cried Sister Jane scornfully. 
 
 " But !" 
 
 " As if it were a thing one could have any doubts about ! 
 Why, if you really cared for her, she'd never be out of 
 your thoughts; your one idea would be to serve her; 
 and when you were with her — Heavens, man, don't talk 
 in that cold-blooded way and say ' I think so ' 1" 
 
 Quillian had started guiltily (he had not heard her last 
 words); his thoughts had at once inclined to Vesper 
 Hemmingay. 
 
 " What are you thinking of ?" asked Sister Jane. 
 
 " N-nothing — that is to say, nothing of any conse- 
 quence." 
 
 " Oh yes, you were. I read you so readily." 
 
 " Is that so ?" asked Quillian uneasily. 
 
 " I won't say any more about that. Perhaps I'm 
 wrong; and I hope for your sake I am. — About my 
 brother !" 
 
 " Yes," said Quillian, who was thankful the subject 
 was changed, a gratification the other was quick to 
 perceive. 
 
 " He's a sharp, shrewd man of the world; and kind at 
 heart . But don't take notice of everything he says ' ' 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 " He's very cynical and doesn't believe in anything." 
 
 " But this scheme ?" 
 
 " I know. But — but — there's something at the back 
 of it; but since it concerns him alone, I'm not justified in 
 mentioning it." 
 
 The next moment, a door opened, and Lord Tayne 
 entered the room. 
 
CH. XVIII] A SURPRISE 231 
 
 Quillian saw that he bore not the slightest resemblance 
 to his sister; he was shortish and slight; and had keen 
 regular features and very thin lips ; his hair was touched 
 with grey; and there were many lines about his sharp, 
 kindly eyes : on the whole, he was a fairly well preserved 
 man m the middle fifties. 
 
 " So sorry to keep you both waiting," he said. 
 
 " This is my friend, Mr. Quillian," returned Sister Jane. 
 
 " How do ! It was Mrs. Nos worthy who kept me." 
 
 " Still ?" asked Sister Jane. 
 
 " Can't get rid of her." 
 
 " Shall I see what I can do ?" 
 
 " It's asking too much." 
 
 " I'll do it for you, Jim; although you don't deserve 
 it." 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Why not indeed ! I'll do what I can, if you'll do your 
 best for Mr. Quillian. Don't destroy his illusions all at 
 once." 
 
 Lord Tayne made as if to reply, but did not ; and Sister 
 Jane glanced (it was wasted) at Quillian, and disappeared 
 through the door by which her brother had entered. 
 
 " Won't you sit down !" said Lord Tayne to Quillian. 
 
 " Thank you. I don't know if you have seen Hem- 
 mingay lately " 
 
 " Often." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 For some reason, Quillian was taken aback by this 
 information. 
 
 " Quite often." 
 
 " Then I dare say he's explained how things are with 
 me." 
 
 " I have heard his version." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " And I have also heard my sister's : she has been saying 
 ever such nice things of you : and for all her queer notions, 
 Jane is no fool." 
 
 Quillian rather open his eyes at this reflection on the 
 nature of Sister Jane's work; nevertheless, he went on: 
 
 " And since you know how I'm situated, I should very 
 much like to hear more of this scheme of yours and " 
 
232 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. xvm 
 
 " Scheme of mine ?" interrupted Lord Tayne. 
 
 " So I understood from Hemmingay." 
 
 " Leave it at that for the present. You had got to 
 wishing to hear more of this scheme." 
 
 " And if it seems promising, even to my inexperience, I 
 should hke to assist, and very substantially." 
 
 " You mentioned inexperience," remarked Lord 
 Tayne. 
 
 " It is why I'm here, Lord Tayne." 
 
 The other gave no heed to this remark, and went on: 
 
 " Always remember this : — Waiters, women, and the 
 rest of the world take a man at his own valuation. If I 
 may presume to advise you, don't overmuch advertise 
 that inexperience." 
 
 " Anyway, I wish to be truthful; indeed, I don't think 
 it would be much use being anything else with you." 
 
 Tayne ignored this compliment to his penetration, and 
 said: 
 
 " Don't think me rude: may I ask how long you have 
 been among us children of the world ?" 
 
 " Several weeks now." 
 
 " May I ask how much unadulterated unselfishness 
 you have met with ?" 
 
 " Lots." 
 
 " ' Lots ' ?" 
 
 " Your sister: Father Horan !" 
 
 " I'm always telling Jane that our family has a keen 
 eye for the main chance — either here or hereafter. Father 
 Horan is scarcely the world. What about the others 
 you've met ?" 
 
 Quillian reflected a moment before saying : 
 
 "It's been said before: I dare say I should do just the 
 sanie were I in their position." 
 
 Tayne reflected for some moments, before saying : 
 
 " May I be candid with you ?" 
 
 " By all means." 
 
 " If I may say so without offence, I like you. I've 
 heard a lot of you and wanted to see you to judge for 
 myself. I see you're genuine : I'm sorry." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " There are breakers ahead." 
 
CH. XVIII] A SURPRISE 233 
 
 " I've been warned any number of times about them, 
 Lord Tayne." 
 
 " And to an unseasoned ship like yourself they spell- 
 disaster. Though your money is the one thing wanting 
 to the concern — ^keep it — a thousand times keep it. My 
 dear friend, mankind is vastly obliged to you, but it don't 
 want your — ^mine — or anybody else's philanthropy. It 
 prefers going its own unsweetened way." 
 
 " I disagree," said QuiUian emphatically, 
 
 " I give reasons: — The utter and complete selfishness 
 of human nature. It can't help itself. It's subject to 
 natural laws, whose voice is expediency; it's result, sur- 
 vival of the fittest." 
 
 " You allow man but the instincts of the mere animal !" 
 
 " Veneered with the accumulated misrepresentations 
 of the ages. A man's one concern is himself. And why 
 not ? It makes his own httle world of supreme import- 
 ance; enables fools to be happier than wise men; and 
 makes every man's dung-heap on which he crows seem the 
 centre of the universe. Religion the great consoler ? No. 
 The eternal Ego." 
 
 " But, civilization, self-denial !" urged Quillian. 
 
 " CivUization — a more or less all-powerful policeman," 
 retorted Tayne. " Self-denial — the satisfaction of a 
 vainglorious instinct." 
 
 " The love of a mother for her child !" 
 
 " That which is bought with suffering is proportionately 
 valued. The love of the artist for his work is the same 
 thing." 
 
 " Our morality. — The love of husband for wife." 
 
 " Game preserves." 
 
 " The morality of our women." 
 
 " Keen appreciation of the requirements of the matri- 
 monial market." 
 
 " The charitable work I've met with in the East " 
 
 " Premium against revolution; and annihilation of in- 
 dependence of character." 
 
 " The universal recognition of the difference between 
 good and evil. I have you there," declared Quillian, who 
 had long since seen that he was crossing swords with no 
 ordinary antagonist. 
 
234 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xvin 
 
 " That, like everything else, is being found out," re- 
 turned Tayne. " Good and evil arose when one man 
 had more than his share of flint arrow-heads. The man 
 who wanted his neighbour's belongings was evil. And 
 ever since, goodness has been the distinguishing virtue of 
 the ' Have's ' ; evil of the ' Have-nots.' " 
 
 Quillian reflected for a moment, before crying in the 
 manner of one who is playing a trump card : 
 
 " Love ! What about love !" 
 
 " Love !" 
 
 " Yes. I have you there." 
 
 " The most selfish instinct of all. The lover's fine 
 qualities ; his magnificent leanings ; and all the rest of it ; 
 are merely a more or less sound investment, the interest 
 on which is the loved one's favours." 
 
 " But— but " hesitated Quillian. 
 
 " Think it over and see how dismally I'm in the right," 
 interrupted Tayne. 
 
 Quillian, who was resolved to make a further, if not a 
 final effort, again changed his ground, and said : 
 
 " What about Providence ?" 
 
 " What Providence ?" asked the other sharply. 
 
 " The Providence that orders the world." 
 
 " Does it !" 
 
 "Well, doesn't it?" 
 
 " Would it annoy you if I speak what is in my mind ?" 
 
 " I'm not so bigoted as to object." 
 
 " Here goes then. Where you see Providence, I only 
 see cruelty." 
 
 " Cruelty !" cried Quillian aghast. 
 
 " It may be necessary cruelty, but that doesn't alter 
 the fact that it exists and is necessary to existence." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Let me finish. For instance: — of every species (this 
 applies to man in a less degree) millions are born into the 
 world for whom there is no room; and the inevitable 
 struggle for food by which the strong prey on the weak 
 ensures the survival of those who are most capable of 
 breeding healthy offspring." 
 
 Quillian was silent ; he had come upon much the same 
 thing in the scientific books into which he had dipped. 
 
CH. XVIII] A SURPRISE 235 
 
 " Perhaps this is news to you !" continued Tayne. 
 
 " Not altogether. But surely it's possible to reconcile 
 much of this with Divine purpose !" 
 
 " That is a matter of opinion. If you were not a 
 sincerely religious man, for which I take leave to respect 
 — envy you, I should virge in view of the terrible tale of 
 bloodshed and suffering of which history is made up, and 
 often perpetrated in the name of religion, that it was 
 some omnipotent fiend who started this world of ours 
 
 rolling through space and Let me finish " (QuiUian 
 
 would have interposed) — " and that aU the sweetness, 
 kindness and light we see in humanity is not because of 
 him, but in very despite of his decrees." 
 
 " It is aU too big a subject to go into now," returned 
 QuUlian. " I should just like to mention, however, that 
 I have read Dr. Wallace, who says that the lower organ- 
 isms scarcely know the meaning of pain." 
 
 " Do you believe it ?" 
 
 " Isn't Wallace an authority ?" 
 
 " On some things. But doesn't it stand to reason that 
 flight, speed, beak and claw, all developments of offence 
 and defence, owe their origin to the necessity of escaping 
 from enemies, with the consequent agonies of death !" 
 
 "But— but " 
 
 " Eat and be eaten is the law of life, and pain the master 
 teacher: I often think we owe most of our so-called 
 civilization to the fact of our being well fed. And if our 
 means of subsistence were withdrawn, we should all be 
 eating each other in a week or two. And it seems to me 
 that much of this faith in a so-called AU-wise Providence 
 is a cowardly acquiescence in ' Might is right.' " 
 
 " I am not sufficiently skilled to counter you off-hand," 
 said QuilUan. " But even if there is some suggestion of 
 truth in what you say, I cannot believe the world is all 
 evil." 
 
 " Yes, but " 
 
 " Yourself and this idea of yours for instance !" inter- 
 rupted QuiUian. 
 
 " What !" cried Tayne. 
 
 " This scheme of yours." 
 
 Lord Tayne became thoughtful, before saying : 
 
236 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xvni 
 
 " Thereby hangs rather a long tale, which would not 
 support your argument." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " But — ^but take the case of another man I know who 
 — ^who " (Tayne seemed to have lost his native fluency, and 
 to be picking his words) " who has something of the same 
 kind afoot ; and on the face of it, is a practical philan- 
 thropist." 
 
 " Well !" said Quillian: the other had paused. 
 
 " He's simply taking the whole thing up for the sake of 
 a woman." 
 
 "Oh!— How old is he?" 
 
 " Eh I About my age." 
 
 QuUlian's eyes betrayed surprise; the other gravely 
 said: 
 
 " It's only the saint and the man of anything over fifty 
 in love who knows what love isj my friend." 
 
 " And does she care for him ?" asked Quillian, who was 
 not a little interested in Tayne's story. 
 
 " I fear not. But he wants her; she, his position and 
 money. And there you are !" 
 
 " May I ask if he is a good man ?" 
 
 " According to his lights." 
 
 " Then would the kind of woman he would care for 
 accept a man she didn't love ?" 
 
 " Millions of 'em, thank goodness. Sentiment is merely 
 the giving of hostages to the unscrupulous." 
 
 Quillian was hot with resentment at such callousness : 
 he did not know, and did not trouble to discover, whether 
 he had either Vesper or Mercia in his mind, as he cried : 
 
 " Even I have been more fortunate than you. I've 
 met a girl who — Heavens ! — I've only to think of her and 
 you're speaking blasphemy." 
 
 Tayne looked at the speaker with an amused smile and 
 said: 
 
 " Take my advice: to win her, be kind to her; to keep 
 her, use her badly every three weeks." 
 
 " Don't speak like that: not of her: it's infamous and 
 
 — and " (QuUlian was still uncertain whether he 
 
 was referring to Vesper or Mercia.) " When I think of 
 her, it's like looking at the stars." 
 
CH. xviii] A SURPRISE 237 
 
 " Then, for Heaven's sake, don't. That's how men 
 walk into trees and tumble into ditches." 
 
 Tayne went on talking in much the same way, but 
 Quillian gave no heed. 
 
 His imagination had taken wing : he wondered how it 
 would be with him if by some, of course, remote chance, 
 Tayne had been fathering a personal experience on a con- 
 veniently fictitious someone else ; and that he was willing 
 to buy, for that was what it came to. Vesper Hemmingay 
 for his own. 
 
 Quillian was certain this could not be since she was 
 not that sort of girl at all : yet, the back of his mind was 
 shadowed by a small cloud, and one that was momen- 
 tarily getting larger, of suspicion with regard to this pos- 
 sibility. 
 
 He recalled with a pang of pain that Tayne had lost 
 something of his self-possession on mentioning this mar- 
 riage ; and told himself that, owing to the other's meetings 
 with Hemmingay, he had probably met Vesper. 
 
 And what more hkely that Tayne had fallen in love 
 with her, as any man living would be proud to do, and 
 wished 
 
 QuilUan dared not follow the train of thought farther. 
 
 He was hot and cold all over; and noticed Tayne's 
 sharp eyes were watching him. 
 
 Quillian resolved to make an effort, and put the matter 
 definitely from his mind : the door opened just then, and 
 a servant announced : 
 
 " Mr. and Miss Hemmingay 1" 
 
 Vesper, followed by her father, entered the room. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE BRAND AND THE BURNING 
 
 Vesper at once caught sight of Quillian; her face, that 
 had been none too cheerful, took on a distressingly sad 
 expression: it was not until some moments later he 
 observed she was wearing a smart new hat and frock. 
 
 Lord Tayne advanced and greeted her with deferential 
 courtesy, before nodding somewhat contemptuously to 
 her father, as it seemed to Quillian : and if the latter had 
 any further suspicion that it was Vesper who had won 
 the heart of his new acquaintance, directly he (Quillian) 
 set eyes on her, he was absolutely sure she was quite the 
 last girl in the world to barter herself in a loveless mar- 
 riage. 
 
 " Ah ! Quillian !" cried Hemmingay. " Well met !" 
 
 QuUlian took the proffered hand, and noticed that Hem- 
 mingay was, also, wearing new clothes : he had the whitest 
 of spats ; the glossiest of patent leather boots ; and carried 
 a new pair of gloves. 
 
 " Glad you took advantage of my introduction," he 
 went on. " Hope you found a kindred spirit in Lord 
 Tayne." 
 
 He said more to the same effect, but QuUlian hardly 
 listened ; he kept his attention to straining-point on what 
 was passing between Vesper and Tayne. 
 
 These two were talking together in low voices, or rather 
 it was Tayne who was speaking, while Vesper merely 
 returned monosyllabic replies; and so far as Quillian 
 could see, with averted eyes : he was longing to get away 
 from her bore of a father and have word with her. 
 
 Even while Hemmingay was discharging irritating 
 commonplaces at Quillian, the latter could not believe 
 from the all too few glances he was able to snatch of 
 
 238 
 
CH. xix3 THE BRAND AND THE BURNING 239 
 
 Vesper that she was the girl who had sang, and danced, 
 and made merry by his side in Richmond Park: she 
 seemed as hfeless as on the occasion he had first met her 
 in the office of the hospital. 
 
 Once, and once only, she caught his eye; to his con- 
 sternation, a look of pain came into her face, whereupon 
 he was filled with eagerness to ascertain what was amiss ; 
 and if it were humanly possible, put everything right as 
 soon as may be. 
 
 Hemmingay's pomposity so annoyed him that, at last, 
 he was moved to say a thing he regretted almost as soon 
 as the words were out of his mouth. 
 
 " Are you any further with your libel action ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Libel action !" exclaimed the other in surprise. 
 
 " Against Truth I" 
 
 "Eh! Ghthat! Pooh: pooh! I disregard it alto- 
 gether." 
 
 " still " 
 
 " A philosopher in this life, my dear Quillian, takes the 
 rough with the smooth. And only an idiot goes to law 
 nowadays. All run in the interests of solicitors and 
 barristers." 
 
 " I shouldn't have mentioned it, only I understood it 
 was your intention." 
 
 " Quite right; so it was. Second thoughts are often 
 best: and so many people have been unjustly slandered 
 in the history of the world that one more or less can't 
 possibly matter. Besides, I'm now in a position to 
 ignore it." 
 
 " Indeed 1" 
 
 " Indeed. As I told you the night you did us the 
 honour of dining with us, ' The Lord tempers the wind to 
 the shorn lamb.' " 
 
 Their conversation was interrupted by Lord Tayne. 
 
 " Miss Hemmingay tells me she's going home," he said. 
 
 " Going home !" cried her father. 
 
 " Yes," from Vesper. 
 
 " But — but we've come to luncheon !" 
 
 " I know, but !" 
 
 " But what, child ?" 
 
240 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch.xix 
 
 " I'll think I'll go." 
 
 " But why ?" 
 
 Vesper appeared to, hesitate, whereupon her father said: 
 
 " Surely you can give a reason 1" 
 
 She was silent for a few moments, and then glanced 
 stupidly at Quillian, and said : 
 
 " Do as you please." 
 
 Tayne, who was all concern for Vesper, again ap- 
 proached and spoke with her, while Quillian, who was 
 disconcerted by Vesper's desire (he halt feared she wished 
 to escape him), and Tayne's solicitude, was even more 
 certain there was nothing in the latter; he was again 
 compelled to bear with Hemmingay. 
 
 Very soon, however, he cut him short and said : 
 
 " Miss Hemmingay doesn't seem herself." 
 
 " It's nothing." 
 
 " Sure ?" 
 
 "iiQuite, that is to say, physically." 
 
 " Then " 
 
 " To tell the truth, my dear Quillian — as one of the 
 family friends, I can surely confide in you — my dear 
 Vesper is a little worried." 
 
 " What about ?" asked Quillian sharply. 
 
 " The success of Lord Tayne's scheme." 
 
 " Oh !" incredulously from Quillian. 
 
 " Fact. Perhaps, as you know, she sometimes makes 
 out she's indifferent for the welfare of others less happily 
 placed ; but she is what is vulgarly known as ' talking in 
 her hat.' " 
 
 " Indeed 1" 
 
 " And this ' White Slave ' matter she has very near at 
 heart," 
 
 " Is that so !" 
 
 " I may mention that some years ago one of her dearest 
 friends disappeared, presumably kidnapped by the agents 
 of this blackguard traffic; she is naturally more interested 
 than one might otherwise suspect." 
 
 Quillian began to believe that the other, for once, might 
 be nearer the truth than was usually the case, and be 
 correctly interpreting Vesper's feelings. 
 
 " May I ask why she is worried !" 
 
CH. XIX] THE BRAND AND THE BURNING 241 
 
 " Lack of the necessary funds." 
 " Is that all ?" 
 
 " That's all," remarked Hemmingay ever so casually, 
 and keeping the sharpest of eyes on Quillian. " We 
 have the beginnings of a most influential committee, and 
 all that sort of thing, and with the evU being in the public 
 eye, as it were, we have only to make the merest start, 
 and the money would ' romp in.' " 
 
 "You think so!" remarked Quillian absently; his 
 thoughts were all with Vesper. 
 
 " Trust an old philanthropist like me to see which way 
 the cat — ahem ! — the public jumps." 
 " How much would you want ?" asked Quillian. 
 " Five thousand for a commencement." 
 " Is that all ?" 
 
 " Anything from five to ten. Perhaps nearer ten to 
 make a really effective start." 
 
 " If it would please Miss Hemmingay, I would gladly 
 give that." 
 " You would !" 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " But — but " (Hemmingay was hard put to it to 
 
 conceal his delight) " of course it will be under the eccle- 
 siastical supervision you may elect to urge !" 
 
 Somehow, and for no reason at all that Quillian could 
 see, this concession to his faith held no particular interest 
 just then. 
 " And — and — Vesper, my dear !" cried Hemmingay. 
 
 " Tayne 1 — ^I've news for you " 
 
 He got no farther, for the door opened just then, and 
 Sister Jane entered accompanied by Mrs. Brassington 
 Nosworthy. 
 
 This last was a large, middle-aged woman with an 
 irritatingly expressionless face, which contained big, 
 bulging eyes ; Quillian took an instinctive dislike to her 
 on the spot. 
 
 " Here you are !" said Tayne. 
 
 " Your sister prevailed on me to stay and have a further 
 word with you on your movement," returned Mrs. Nos- 
 worthy. 
 "It's very good of you," said Tayne. 
 
 16 
 
242 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xix 
 
 " I knew it would please you. And as I think I told 
 you, my support means my husband's." 
 
 " I think you did," Tayne remarked drily. 
 
 " Which means that if, at any time, we require his 
 assistance in the * House,' I have only to say so, and the 
 thing is done." 
 
 She had fixed her bulging eyes on QuiUian ; seeing her 
 interest in him, Tayne introduced her to Quillian, and 
 said as he did so : 
 
 " Another worker in the cause of humanity." 
 
 He returned to Vesper, and while Hemmingay talked 
 to Sister Jane, Quillian had to suffer Mrs. Brassington 
 Nosworthy. 
 
 " Did I understand Lord Tayne to say you were working 
 with him ?" she began. 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Then I shall not be wasting my time if I explain my 
 position !" 
 
 Before he could make a civil reply, she went on : 
 
 " And I shall say to you what I said to Lord Tayne: 
 it is this. In the arena of politics, our convictions, that 
 is to say mine and my husband's, are antagonistic to his, 
 since we belong to the party with a conscience. In the 
 interests of philanthropy, however, I am prepared to 
 overlook this unhappy divergence, and work for him if he 
 agrees to my conditions." 
 
 Quillian murmured something or another, and with his 
 eyes on Tayne and Vesper, wondered why the former 
 was paying her such attention: and any searchings of 
 heart he may have known on this account disappeared 
 upon his once more telling himself she was the last girl 
 in the world to sell herself in loveless marriage. 
 
 He was pulled up short by Mrs. Nosworthy, who re- 
 marked: 
 
 " Is that clear ?" 
 
 " Q-quite," returned Quillian. 
 
 " Now I can go on. Charity owes its vitality — the only 
 vitality that is worth talking about — to Royal patronage. 
 I ask you, as I asked him, what steps have you taken to 
 secure this essential assistance ?" 
 
 " I did not know we had got so far as that 1" 
 
CH. xrx] THE BRAND AND THE BURNING 243 
 
 " That is what I am coming to: immediately something 
 of that sort is arranged, your scheme has the support of 
 my name. I assume a suitable building is acquired and 
 furnished; the whole matter has been extensively ad- 
 vertised and commented upon in the Press ; and the day 
 of the opening ceremony has arrived. I have drawn up 
 in my mind an arrangement for appropriately receiving 
 the Royal patrons." 
 
 " But — but — isn't this just a little previous ?" urged 
 Quillian, whose breath had been metaphorically taken 
 away by Mrs. Nosworthy's assumptions. 
 
 " One moment: I suppose they have arrived. And 
 after Barnaby, my husband, has introduced me and read 
 the congratulatory address, my two daughters Victoria 
 and Beatrice will present bouquets." 
 
 " But— but " 
 
 " Have no fears for the congratulatory address. I 
 invariably write my husband's speeches : his secretary is 
 engaged for his proficiency in golf." 
 
 " Golf 1" 
 
 " Golf. Barnaby's handicap was twenty-one. Since 
 the engagement of his last secretary, however, Barnaby 
 has improved. His handicap is now eighteen." 
 
 " I think Lord Tayne would be a better judge of your 
 suggestions than I," said Quillian. 
 
 " There's no harm in mentioning them to you. And 
 while I was waiting, I jotted down my ideas for the frocks 
 my daughters, Victoria and Beatrice, should wear." 
 
 " Is that so ?" he asked for want of something better 
 to say. 
 
 '' Most decidedly. So you can see that I am already 
 more than half disposed to give the matter my 
 support." 
 
 Quillian looked helplessly about him; Tayne was still 
 talking to a seemingly inanimate Vesper, so there was no 
 chance of rescue from that quarter ; and Sister Jane was 
 engaged with Hemmingay : he was thinking if he should 
 go, and most assuredly would have done, if it had not 
 been for the chance of a word with Vesper and discovering 
 what was amiss with her, when he happened to catch 
 Sister Jane's eye. 
 
244 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xix 
 
 Divining his unhappy situation, she had compassion on 
 him, and coming over to Mrs. Nosworthy, said: 
 
 " I believe Mr. Hemmingay would like to speak to 
 you." 
 
 " Will you excuse me ?" she asked of Quillian; and as if 
 she were fully conscious of the loss he would suffer at her 
 defection. 
 
 " Certainly," he returned. 
 
 Mrs. Brassington Nosworthy sailed heavily in the direc- 
 tion of Hemmingay, and left Sister Jane with Quillian. 
 
 " Aren't you grateful ?" asked Sister Jane. 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " I had twenty minutes of her." 
 
 " I've never met anyone like her." 
 
 " Wait." 
 
 " ' Wait ' 1" 
 
 " She's nothing to some of the women you'll come 
 across — and men, too, for that matter — if you go in for 
 philanthropy." 
 
 He did not make any reply (he was once more glancing 
 at Vesper) and she added : So you see what you've let 
 yourself in for." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Quillian. 
 
 " Didn't you hear what I said ?" 
 
 " I'm afraid not, I— I " 
 
 " You can't take your eyes from your charmer." 
 
 " My charmer !" 
 
 " The charmer who is not for you," she went on. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" he asked sharply. 
 
 " What I say: the charmer who is not for you." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Aren't you engaged to be married to Mercia Lownes ?" 
 
 " More or less." 
 
 " Practically 1" 
 
 " Y-yes." 
 
 " Then your charmer is not for you." 
 
 " Why do you say she is my charmer ?" 
 
 " Isn't she ?" 
 
 " I admire and respect Miss Hemmingay very, very 
 much." 
 
 " Is that all ?" 
 
CH. XIX] THE BRAND AND THE BURNING 245 
 
 " What else should there be I" asked Quillian in- 
 genuously. 
 
 " What else 1 And since you have a friendly interest 
 in her, you may care to know what I think of her." 
 
 " Well !" he said quickly. 
 
 " Charming; sympathetic; kindhearted; everything she 
 should be." 
 
 " You think so !" he asked with kindling eyes, and with 
 a heightened interest, if that were possible, in Vesper. 
 
 " Of course. All we women love one another ; especially 
 if one is middle-aged and plain, and the other has youth 
 and looks, and the knack of appealing to men." 
 
 Quillian divined the bitterness in her voice. 
 
 " In any case, such thoughts would not apply to you," 
 he said. 
 
 " And why not ?" 
 
 " Men and worldly things hold no interest for you and 
 — (he was again glancing at Vesper) and " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Where was 1 1" 
 
 " You were speaking to me, but your mind was else- 
 where. Isn't that so ?" 
 
 " I confess it was for the moment. I was think- 
 ing- 
 
 Yes- 
 
 " How interested your brother appears to be in V — Miss 
 Hemmingay," said Quillian. 
 
 " She is interested in his scheme." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say that," declared Quillian; 
 he was more disposed than ever to give it the financial 
 assistance required. 
 
 " Why 1 What else should it be ?" she asked. 
 
 " I've no suspicions with regard to anything else." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " I know Miss Hemmingay too well." 
 
 " Too well for what ?" 
 
 " To think she would marry a man old enough to be 
 her father for money and position." 
 
 " Other girls have done so." 
 
 " I know whom I am speaking of," said Quillian, with a 
 self-confident smile. 
 
246 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xix 
 
 " And supposing you were wrong ?" 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " Supposing you were wrong ?" 
 
 " I cannot be in this case, so it is not worth discussing." 
 
 " Promise me this," said Sister Jane after a few mo- 
 ments' reflection: " If ever you're in trouble, and without 
 hope, which God forbid, promise you'll come to me." 
 
 " I gratefiiUy promise," returned Quillian, who for the 
 life of him could not see how any such need could arise. 
 
 He believed he had stayed much too long already, and 
 had quite despaired of getting a word with Vesper, when 
 he saw that her father. Lord Tayne, and Mrs. Nosworthy 
 were enaged in something of a discussion and that she 
 was seated alone. 
 
 He ached to speak to her; upon Sister Jane being 
 referred to by Hemmingay, Quillian took advantage of 
 his opportunity, and went over to Vesper. 
 
 " Well !" he said. 
 
 " Well !" she returned indifferently, and with her eyes 
 on the ground. 
 
 " Is that all ?" he asked. 
 
 " What else should there be !" 
 
 She looked sharply about ha: to discover who nnght 
 be within earshot, before adding : 
 
 " Why did you come to-day ?" 
 
 " Why shouldn't I ?" 
 
 " Why to-day ?" 
 
 " At least, I have seen you." 
 
 " When are you going ?" 
 
 " But " 
 
 " When are you going ?" 
 
 " You — you wish me to ?" he asked, and with a world 
 of reproach in his voice. 
 
 She did not reply, and he went on : 
 
 " Before I go, I should like to do something for you." 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " Something that will please you." 
 
 " You can do nothing," she all but sighed. 
 
 " I'm afraid you've forgotten," he said sadly. 
 
 " Forgotten what ?" 
 
 " Our day: our day in Richmond Park." 
 
CH. XK] THE BRAND AND THE BURNING 247 
 
 " I've forgotten everj^thing." 
 
 Her words struck a chill to his heart. 
 
 " I must," she went on. 
 
 " Must ! ^^^ly ?" 
 
 " What did Lord Tayne say to you ?" 
 
 " Many things." 
 
 " Didn't he tr%- to convert you to his way of thinking ?" 
 
 " He meant what he said kindly and, no doubt, he 
 overstated his case for my benefit." 
 
 " Supposing his point of \-iew were right !" 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Supposing it were true !" 
 
 " Surely you don't think so !" 
 
 " But supposing " 
 
 " I cannot admit it for one moment. There's more 
 than enou^ wretchedness and miser\- in the world, God 
 knows. But there's plenty of honest endeavour; rm- 
 complaining heroism ; persistent unselfishness : and, above 
 all, there's love. Surely some of these redeem the rest ?" 
 
 " Love doesn't !" 
 
 " Not !" 
 
 " It doesn't exist." 
 
 QuiUian recalled how Mrs. Chatillon had said much the 
 same thing: he was moved to protest, but before he could 
 speak, she went on: 
 
 " Unless as a horrid kind of selfishness : everything 
 that's low and beastly, and wants to justify itseU; the 
 veriest buying of women in the marriage market-place, 
 
 are all excus^ by that word 1 I can't say it: I 
 
 hate it." 
 
 " I know there are women of that sort," returned 
 QuiDian, who was surprised by her sudden vehemence. 
 " Lord Ta^Tie told me of one just now." 
 
 " Who ? " asked \*esper quickly. 
 
 " He gave no name." 
 
 " Well— go on." 
 
 " And with regard to that, I have an admission to 
 make." 
 
 " Oh •" 
 
 " Seeing him pay such attention to you, for a moment 
 I was base enough to think it might be you." 
 
248 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. xix 
 
 Vesper gave a mirthless little laugh. 
 
 " Then, I was very angry with myself," he continued. 
 " I told myself you were quite the last girl in the world 
 to do such a thing: and I thanked God for it." 
 
 She made a non-committal gesture, and turned away. 
 
 " I have only to think of when I first knew you to 
 believe in you as — as I would wish to believe in you," he 
 went on. 
 
 " It was on a Wednesday. I haven't forgotten." 
 
 " Ah !" 
 
 " There was no milk for the patients, and no money. 
 If it hadn't been for a sovereign someone put in the box, 
 I don't know where we should have been," she said 
 grimly. 
 
 " I knew you ever so long before that. In our chapel 
 at Ypres there is a world-famous stained-glass window. 
 And as I think I t6ld you, it was of a saint who wished 
 to die for the Faith: was — not is; for when I think of 
 it, you are there instead." 
 
 Although Vesper was apparently greedily listening, she 
 laughed contemptuously (it was somewhat mechanical), 
 and said : 
 
 " In far-away Ypres I" 
 
 Quillian glanced sharply about him; seeing the others 
 had moved farther away (if he had been less engrossed 
 in his companion, he might have divined they were 
 speaking of him) he said : 
 
 " Don't speak like that I It's a wonderful old city, 
 all old walls, and red roofs, which has helped to make 
 history: and if one has ears to hear, there are echoes of 
 the tramping of the armies that have marched through 
 its streets. But now " 
 
 " But now !" she urged as he stopped. 
 
 " It's all in decay; and with the grass growing in the 
 streets." 
 
 " Like everything we look to and long for : wind stirring 
 the grass in the streets." S 
 
 " The things I believe in are not like that," declared 
 QuUlian earnestly. 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " I'm about to prove my faith !" 
 
CH. XIX] THE BRAND AND THE BURNING 249 
 
 She made some remark, but lie gave no heed, and ap- 
 proached the little group which was still deep in dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 " You say it is entirely a question of funds !" Mrs. 
 Nosworthy was saying as he came within earshot. 
 
 Before anyone could reply, Quillian said to Tayne : 
 
 " I do not know if you are speaking of your scheme ?" 
 
 " My scheme '."returned Tayne in surprise, and glancing 
 significantly at Hemmingay. 
 
 " No matter who originated it so long as Miss Hem- 
 mingay is interested," continued Quillian. " And because 
 of this interest, I will subscribe whatever sum is needed 
 to make a start." 
 
 " You wHl !" said Tayne who shook his head at Quillian 
 as much as to say he should do nothing of the kind. 
 
 " I will. Nothing will shake my determination. And 
 be it understood, I am doing it to please Miss Hem- 
 mingay." 
 
 " Women have inspired half the world's good deeds," 
 remarked Tayne. 
 
 " Ah ! Even you allow that !" 
 
 " Why not, since they're responsible for most of its 
 wickedness ?" returned Tayne. 
 
 " Now we can get along," remarked Hemmingay, and 
 rubbing his hands. 
 
 " We were discussing influential men and women to 
 get on our committee," said Mrs. Brassington Nosworthy. 
 "And since newspaper advertisement is so essential to 
 success, we should do our utmost to get hold of Sir 
 Sylvester Meale." 
 
 " Owner of the Daily Reformer and the Evening Planet !" 
 said Hemmingay. 
 
 " If he takes us up, he'U be really invaluable." 
 
 " Why not get him ?" asked Quillian. 
 
 " He's a professional moralist," replied Tayne. " And 
 professional moralists are dogs in the manger who keep 
 others from having what they daren't enjoy themselves." 
 
 " A cheque to one of his social reformation funds might 
 get him," urged Hemmingay. 
 
 " Why not try 1" said Quillian. " I'll see to the 
 cheque." 
 
250 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xix 
 
 " There's a further dif&culty so far as he's concerned," 
 significantly remarked Mrs. Brassington Nosworthy. 
 
 " What ?" asked Quillian, who, in his present mood, 
 was determined to override all obstacles that stood in the 
 way of pleasing Vesper. 
 
 ' Well — ^since a little affair in the law courts. Lord 
 Tayne, may I mention it ?" 
 
 " Is it necessary ?" returned Tayne. 
 
 " It will take a lot of getting over by Sir Sylvester 
 Meale." 
 
 " That's all over and done with," remarked Sister 
 Jane. 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Lord Tayne is going to be married." 
 
 " May I ask to whom ?" 
 
 " Miss Hemmingay." 
 
 " V — Miss Hemmingay !" cried Quillian. 
 
 " Miss Hemmingay has done me that honour," declared 
 Tayne gravely. 
 
 That evening, Quillian, in the comparatively lucid 
 intervals permitted by his unquiet thoughts, wrote a 
 very long letter to Mercia, telling her that the oppor- 
 tunity of doing something in the world had unexpectedly 
 presented itself; and that all his energies were about to 
 be concentrated on the plucking of a certain brand from 
 the burning. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 ' FOOLS RUSH IN ' 
 
 " Hullo, Quillian 1" 
 
 " You are a stranger !" 
 
 " Lucky I found you in." 
 
 " I am pleased to see you. I'd some thought of coming 
 to see if you were still in town." 
 
 " Anywhere in London is better than the beastly 
 country, even at this time of year. Got five minutes ?" 
 
 " Yes," returned Quillian absently. 
 
 " Good. I want your advice," returned Tommy, whose 
 fat face looked pasty and flabby. 
 
 " My advice !" asked Quillian in surprise. 
 
 " Y-yes. Fact is, I'm in somethin' of a hole." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " And after all said and done, two heads are better 
 than one." 
 
 Quillian reflected that this trite observation, also, 
 applied to his own sorry condition of mind. 
 
 " May I sit down ?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Thanks." 
 
 Notwithstanding this request. Tommy Chalfont rest- 
 lessly paced the room without speaking, while Quillian's 
 thoughts were entirely taken up with a matter that was 
 never remote from his thoughts. 
 
 " Here goes," said Tommy suddenly. 
 
 Quillian looked at him in bewilderment. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you I was going to ask your advice ?" 
 
 " I — I believe you did," returned Quillian, who tried 
 to bring his attention to bear on his friend." 
 " Remember May Fothergill ?" 
 
 " Wasn't she the— the ?" 
 
 251 
 
252 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xx 
 
 " The little flapper you took in who'd lost her aunt, 
 and all that sort of thing." 
 
 " Of course, I remember. Well " 
 
 " Well, old sport, she's fairly taken me in, and — and 
 that's why I've come to you." 
 
 " She's taken you in ?" asked Quillian, with as much 
 surprise as his own preoccupations would admit. 
 
 " Fact. I'm in a devil of a hole — and — and — I want 
 you to get me out of it." 
 
 At any other time than the present, when Quillian had 
 more than enough to worry about, the fact of Tommy 
 Chalfont, who had boasted of his nether-worldly smart- 
 ness, and who had offered to pilot Quillian through the 
 shoals and quicksands of London Life, coming to seek the 
 latter's assistance owing to a scrape he had got into with 
 a young woman, would have appealed to Quillian's sense 
 of humour : as it was, it was as much as he could do to 
 bend his mind on what Tommy had to tell. 
 
 " But— but " 
 
 " I know, old dear," said Tommy, with an impertur- 
 bability that veneered a certain shamefacedness. " And 
 as it's no good my tellin' you only a part of the yarn, you 
 may as well have the whole shoot,' and have done 
 with it." 
 
 " You mean to say you saw her after she ran away 
 from here ?" 
 
 " Yes, old chap: that's about the size of it. And I 
 don't mind admittin' that that little flapper struck me 
 all of a heap : case of love at first sight, and all that sort 
 of thing." 
 
 " But— but " 
 
 " Let me get it ' off my chest,' and then we'll know 
 exactly where we are." 
 
 Quillian was silent (his thoughts had suddenly taken 
 wing) : the other went on: 
 
 " And let me say at once that there was nothin' between 
 us; nothin' serious, I mean. If there had been, you're 
 scarcely the chap I should have come to." 
 
 " Indeed !" remarked Quillian absently. 
 
 " I was much, much too fond of her for that sort of 
 thing." 
 
CH. XX] ' FOOLS RUSH IN ' 253 
 
 " Oh 1" 
 
 " And it wouldn't have been any use if I'd tried any- 
 thin' on," said Tommy; who added ingenuously: " She 
 was a jolly sight too ' wide.' " 
 
 " I'm still in the dark," urged Quillian. " I don't 
 understand how you came to see her after she left 
 here." 
 
 " It's this way, old sport. When you left her alone 
 with me — I — I gave her my address to write to if ever 
 she were in a hole " (Tommy did not relate that he had 
 asked Miss Fothergill to communicate with him), " and 
 sure enough I heard from her the very next day." 
 
 " You didn't tell me !" 
 
 " N-no. I — I didn't want to ' give her away.' Any- 
 way, I trotted her about all over the place, an' kept her 
 goin', an' gave her a high old time: don't dare to think 
 what I've chucked away on her ; and sometimes — specially 
 after a cosy little feed — I don't know what I wouldn't 
 have done if it hadn't been for the pater." 
 
 " For the pater !" queried Quillian, who, as a matter 
 of fact, had only heard the last three words. 
 
 " Just imagine his face if I'd made her Mrs. T. C. 
 Anyway, there it is." 
 
 " There what is ?" 
 
 " Haven't I told you everythin' ?" 
 
 " I— I don't think so." 
 
 " Eh 1 Here goes, then. Would you believe it if I 
 told you that that innocent-looking little flapper, who 
 seemed as if she couldn't say boo to a goose, has a hus- 
 band and has been married over a year ?" 
 
 " Is that so ?" 
 
 " It is so," almost groaned Tommy. " Now you see 
 where I am." 
 
 " But if you've done nothing to reproach yourself 
 with 1" 
 
 " I told you I hadn't." 
 
 " Did you ?" 
 
 " 'Course. Don't you remember ?" 
 
 " Perhaps you did. The fact is, I'm a bit worried 
 myself." 
 
 " Bet you ain't half as much as I am. Anyway, we'd 
 
254 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. xx 
 
 come to, if I'd nothin' to reproach myself with, which I 
 haven't." 
 
 " What is there to trouble about, then ?" 
 
 " Trouble about 1 I've got to make the husband see 
 it," almost wailed Tommy. 
 
 " What sort of a man is he ?" 
 
 Tommy reflected before saying : 
 
 " Should think he could hit hard if it came to it, an' 
 he's got a good long reach. Dare say, though, I might 
 manage to knock him out if my wind were better." 
 
 " I don't mean that. What sort of a man is he other- 
 wise ?" 
 
 " Right enough in his way." 
 
 " Then why hasn't he looked after his wife ?" 
 
 " That's another nasty ' bif ' for me. Seems they had 
 a row soon after they were spliced, an' she went ott, an' 
 refused to live with him." 
 
 Quillian was silent (he was lost in his own concerns), 
 and the other, after regarding him with a hurt expres- 
 sion, went on: 
 
 " Made her an allowance and all that sort of thing. 
 And here we are !" 
 
 Upon Quillian failing to make any comment, Tommy 
 said: 
 
 " An' that's the girl who told me, when I once asked 
 if she were ' drawin' the long bow,' that she couldn't tell 
 a lie, as she didn't know the way." 
 
 Tommy went on talking, but Quillian paid no heed: 
 he was thinking how vastly different a certain young 
 woman was from the vulgar little adventuress who had 
 victimized his friend; and how the former, for all that 
 certain appearances were against her, was not only a 
 creature of a rarer clay, but was one who lived, and 
 moved, and had her gracious being on a far higher 
 plane. 
 
 Tommy's voice interrupted his broodings. 
 
 " Didn't you hear what I said ?" 
 
 " N-not quite." 
 
 " I wanted to know if you wouldn't mind seein' him 
 and tellin' him there was nothing wrong between us. He 
 might believe it if it came from you." 
 
CH. XX] ' FOOLS RUSH IN ' 255 
 
 " I'll certainly do all I can — that is to say, if I get 
 time." 
 
 " If you get time !" said Tommy questioningly. 
 
 " I'm rather — well — busy just now." 
 
 " Eh !" 
 
 " And rather worried, too. It's the reason, one of the 
 reasons, why I thought of looking you up. You might 
 be able to advise me." 
 
 " What is it ?" asked Tommy, with no particular 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " It's — it's about a certain young woman I met some 
 weeks ago." 
 
 " Hullo 1" 
 
 " It's nothing to do with what you would naturally 
 think. Anything but. My interest in her, which, I 
 admit, is very keen, is only friendly." 
 
 " Does Mercia know about it ?" grinned Tommy. 
 
 " I've mentioned it more than once in my letters." 
 
 " Oh !" ejaculated Tommy, who quickly lost the 
 curiosity he had suddenly shown. 
 
 " The fact of the matter is she is about to make a 
 loveless marriage," said Quillian gravely. 
 
 " What of it ?" off-handedly from Tommy. 
 
 " What of it !" cried the other in astonishment. 
 
 " Millions of 'em do it every day. An' thank God 
 for it." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " What I say. From what I see of life, an' I'm no 
 fool, as you know, it's always those marriages which turn 
 out best in the long run. Those who're ' potty ' on each 
 other jolly soon cool off." 
 
 " But— but " 
 
 " That's the one thing that cheers me up when I think 
 of losing that dear little flapper." 
 
 " This is altogether different," said Quillian gravely, 
 
 " Eh !" 
 
 " Absolutely and completely." 
 
 " It always is," returned Tommy with a sickly grin. 
 
 " The young woman I have in my mind has a very 
 rare nature: she is altogether different from any other 
 woman in the world " 
 
256 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xx 
 
 " Includin' Mercia t" interrupted Tommy. 
 
 " Mercia stands alone," returned Quillian with a 
 gesture of annoyance. " And I'm always wondering 
 what my duty is in the matter." 
 
 " Your duty !" repeated Tommy absently. 
 
 " I feel it isn't right to see a rare nature like her's 
 sacrificed into slavery, for that is what it means, nothing 
 more and nothing less, without doing something to stop it." 
 
 Tommy concealed a yawn: the other went on: 
 
 " I don't expect you to see exactly eye to eye with 
 me on the matter, because it is your misfortune you 
 don't know her. But — but " 
 
 " Yes," from Tommy, as Quillian rose and, in his turn, 
 fell to pacing restlessly the room. 
 
 " Anyway, I'll be off now, old sport." 
 
 " Off 1" 
 
 "I'm going to have a jolly good feed: best of ^very- 
 thin'. Only way to take my mind off that little flapper." 
 
 " I haven't told you half." 
 
 " 'Bout what you're goin' to do for me in that direc- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " Qood Heavens, no 1 About Miss Hemmingay 1" 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " The whole thing's monstrous; hateful; unholy. It's 
 things like that which assist the Powers of Darkness." 
 
 Tommy edged nearer to the door. 
 
 " Can one wonder at the spread of ungodUness if such 
 things are done openly and with no one to say them 
 nay ?" 
 
 " Suppose she said ' Yes ' to whoever it is ?" 
 
 " Eh !" 
 
 " And I s'pose she ain't no fool ?" 
 
 " Anything but," declared QuilUan with a world of 
 conviction in his voice. 
 
 " Then what can you do ? Free country, y'know." 
 
 " But— but " 
 
 " Come along with me and have a rippin' good feed. 
 That's the only way to forget all about it." 
 
 " I don't wish to forget." 
 
 " An' if you come, I'll tell you all sorts of things about 
 that artful little flapper." 
 
CH. XX] ' FOOLS RUSH IN ' 257 
 
 " I couldn't forget if I tried." 
 
 " It is hard lines, isn't it, old sport ?" said Tommy, 
 with the suspicion of a break in his voice. 
 
 " About Miss Hemmingay ?" 
 
 " The way I've been done in the eye. I was fond of 
 that little girl. And to think she was married all the 
 time, and never said a word about it t" 
 
 " What do you think I'd better do ?" 
 
 " See hubby as soon as possible, and crack up my 
 moral character to the skies. His address is on the back 
 of this card." 
 
 " But about Miss Hemmingay ?" asked Quillian anxi- 
 ously, as he took the card from the other. 
 
 " That's all right," returned Tommy reassuringly. 
 
 " All right ! How can it be all right ?" 
 
 " Try and put your spoke in, an' see what you'll get 
 for your pains." 
 
 " If it's a question of duty " 
 
 " So long, old sport. Mind you wire or 'phone me 
 d'rectly you've made it all square with hubby," sighed 
 Tommy, who betook himself rather hurriedly away, and 
 left Quillian to the companionship of his thoughts, which 
 were at once taken up with the matter that had filled 
 them to the exclusion of pretty well everything else since 
 he had learned of Vesper's engagement to Lord Tayne. 
 
 The blow of this announcement had bruised his sensi- 
 bilities ; for two or three days he had been as one stunned : 
 he had been aware of a dim sense of discomfort ; and that 
 was about all. 
 
 Then he had suddenly known a passionate anxiety for 
 Vesper on account of the loveless union she was about to 
 make ; and a curious part of his concern was that it never 
 so much as once occurred to him to blame her for her 
 part in the bargain — indeed, in his eyes she was without 
 fault; there was such an absence of alloy in her rare 
 nature that he heaped odium on her father and Lord 
 Tayne for their share in the hateful transaction. 
 
 Quillian had made it his business to find out all he 
 might of this Lord Tayne ; and had speedily learned that 
 the latter was a man with an undeniable past: he had 
 married soon after coming of age ; and a few years later 
 
 17 
 
258 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xx 
 
 had discreditably figured in, at least, two divorce cases, 
 with the consequence that his wife had obtained a judicial 
 separation. 
 
 The latter had died some five years back, and now, 
 from Quillian's point of view, Tayne was to consummate 
 a life of wrongdoing by mating with a girl who was young 
 enough to be his daughter. 
 
 Incidentally, it may be mentioned (and this fact vexed 
 him not a little) that the one or two women (including 
 Mrs. Chatillon, whom he had written to with regard to 
 obtaining her support of the projected ' White Slave ' 
 Rescue Home ; and had received a very favourable reply 
 almost by return) he had asked about Lord Tayne had 
 made light of his backslidings, and invariably referred to 
 him as being ' ever such a good sort.' 
 
 From the bottom of his heart Quillian knew that this 
 loveless marriage was an unspeakable abomination : he was, 
 also, as well aware of his helplessness to put matters right. 
 
 The knowledge of his impotence filled him with blind 
 rage, and indisposed him to take the whole thing philo- 
 sophically: he burned to do something of moment, but 
 the bother was to know what. 
 
 And should he ever ask himself, as he not infrequently 
 did — this more particularly in the silent watches of the 
 night, when anything beyond a fitful doze was impossible 
 — why he was sorely troubled at the fact of the personable 
 daughter of a heretic adventurer making a good match, 
 he told himself, and quite believed it, that he was plucking 
 the first brand from the burning that came to hand in 
 order to make himself worthy of the saintly Mercia. 
 
 It was necessary to do some good work, and had not 
 the Guardian of Ypres told him that the saving of but 
 one soul from perdition was enough ? 
 
 And how much more was it in bis favour if the brand 
 he plucked should be one of those alluringly beautiful 
 women who, according to the Guardian, had at least 
 seven devils in her heart ! 
 
 There was no possibility of denying Vesper's comeli- 
 ness — indeed, should Quillian think on this aspect of her, 
 he travailed in agony of spirit and figuratively cried aloud 
 in his torment. 
 
CH. XX] ' FOOLS RUSH IN ' 259 
 
 More than once his anguish made him ask himself if his 
 immense concern for Vesper did not arise from a warmer 
 emotion than friendship; and his reply was that, in the 
 nature of things, this sentiment could not possibly be 
 love, since, in the latter eventuality, it would mean that, 
 in seeking to prevent her marriage, he would be moved 
 by the most selfish of motives: he conveniently forgot, 
 for the time being, Tayne's assertion with regard to 
 the covetousness inseparable from love; and told him- 
 self that anything worthy of the name was wholly 
 selfless. 
 
 This explanation satisfied his superficial searchings of 
 heart: as if to further assure himself that he was not 
 guilty of loving Vesper, he had sent Mercia a costly ring, 
 and had begged her to wear it as a pledge of their be- 
 trothal. 
 
 To-day, over and above being afflicted by his every- 
 day tribulations regarding Vesper's loveless match, 
 Tommy's words respecting the fact of her doing what 
 she was about to do of her own free-will buzzed in his 
 brain and sorely vexed him. 
 
 This was a point of view which had not occurred to 
 him before; in his anxiety to clear himself of any taint 
 of venality, he set about imagining all sorts of situations 
 in which it might appear her bounden duty to marry 
 Tayne for the sake of others: chief of these (desire for 
 the success of the ' White Slave ' Home would not hold 
 water) was the necessity of getting her father free of some 
 exceptional piece of shadiness. 
 
 If this were so, Quillian told himself, and it were 
 merely a question of money, he did not care if he beggared 
 himself in order that Vesper should not make an un- 
 speakable sacrifice on the altar of filial duty. 
 
 Assuming this was the case, the next thing was to 
 discover the precise state of affairs ; but any inquiries he 
 might make meant treading on such delicate ground that, 
 more likely than not, he would only succeed in once and 
 for all defeating his own purpose. 
 
 With a heartfelt sigh, and realizing his helplessness, 
 Quillian did his utmost to bend his mind to the endless 
 correspondence which had to do with the ' White Slave ' 
 
26o THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xx 
 
 Home: of set purpose, he had greedily accepted (there 
 had been no difficulty about this) the organization of the 
 work in the fond hope of diverting his mind from the 
 subject that persistently filled it. 
 
 A pile of letters awaited his attention; he gave inter- 
 mittent attention to these; intermittent, because he 
 would write hard for some minutes, and then stop, and 
 dream of some pretty gesture or expression of Vesper's : 
 then he would pull himself together, resume the letter on 
 which he had been engaged, until his task was forgotten, 
 and his imagination would again take wing, and in the 
 same direction as before. 
 
 These interruptions became less infrequent, the fact of 
 the matter being that the suggestion of finding out if 
 Vesper had been cpmpelled by hard-hearted circum- 
 stance to accept Lord Tayne had taken firm root in his 
 mind: and it followed that the only way of ascertaining 
 the whys and wherefores of it all was to summon the 
 necessary courage to speak to her herself. 
 
 Quillian was deaf to all counsels of prudence ; the more 
 he thought of it, the more promising it seemed: he shut 
 his eyes to the truth, which was the providing of an 
 excuse for seeking out Vesper and having intimate word 
 with her. 
 
 He had seen next to nothing of her since he had learned 
 of the engagement at Tayne's house : it was not for lack 
 of trying on his part, but on the many occasions he had 
 sought speech with her, she had gone out of her way to 
 evade him : this avoidance cut him to the quick, and fed 
 the flame of his solicitude regarding her. 
 
 It was in the middle of a letter to Mrs. Chatillon in 
 which he informed her of an early meeting of the pre- 
 liminary committee — a committee on which he hoped 
 she would consent to serve — that he clean forgot what 
 he was at ; he rose from his seat, and hastening to the 
 telephone, dictated a communication to Vesper which 
 was to be telegraphed to the hospital; in this he asked 
 her to meet him some time in the afternoon, as he wished 
 most particularly to see her. 
 
 If Quillian had hoped that the sending of this message 
 would ease his mind, he was woefully mistaken; he suf- 
 
CH. XX] • FOOLS RUSH IN ' 261 
 
 fered an agony of suspense until the prepaid reply 
 arrived, which it did not do until nearly two hours had 
 elapsed. 
 
 When it came, he tore open the buff-coloured envelope 
 with trembling hands, and read : 
 
 " Outside the Servites four." 
 
 Long before this time, Quillian was impatiently pacing 
 without the church of the Servite Fathers in the Fulham 
 Road, his mind harassed by a thousand and one dismal 
 forebodings with regard to the young woman he hoped 
 to meet: one moment, his heart completely failed him 
 for the inquiry he had in mind ; the next, he was resolved 
 to throw discretion to the winds, if only she would come: 
 from a knowledge he had picked up of the way in which 
 things invariably turned out contrary to what one ex- 
 pected, he thought to cheat fate by assuring himself she 
 would not keep the appointment. 
 
 Later, he recalled that where he was waiting was nigh 
 to the spot where he had obtained his first glimpse of 
 Vesper; he augured well from the fact of her having 
 selected this place for their meeting. 
 
 Then, in a momentary access of cold sense, he was 
 sorry he had communicated with her ; and this was suc- 
 ceeded by fearing that she would come with either Lord 
 Tayne, or her father; or both. And in any of thes^ 
 cases 
 
 " Is that you ?" said a voice from behind, which made 
 music in his ears. 
 
 Surprise; delight at the fact of her being well before 
 her time ; agitation at seeing her again ; deprived him of 
 speech, and made hiin scant of breath. 
 
 " What's the matter ?" she asked. 
 
 " I shall be all right directly." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Surprise at seeing you, and- 
 
 " I know I'm early. I've been doing a lot of shopping " 
 (Quillian shuddered at hearing this, suggesting as it did 
 preparations for an early marriage), " and was going 
 home first, but saw you." 
 
 " I didn't see you." 
 
 " I got out of a taxi." 
 
262 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xx 
 
 " Have you paid ?" he asked quickly. 
 
 " Yes, I've paid." 
 
 They walked in silence, until she said : 
 
 " What did you want to see me for ?" 
 
 " Have you had any tea ?" 
 
 " Yes. Have you ?" 
 
 5' I don't want any. Where can we talk quietly ?" 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " I've much to say to you." 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " There's a ttirning by where I waited that seemed 
 fairly quiet." . 
 
 He turned back; and although her footsteps did not 
 lag, his acute sensibilities believed that she reluctantly 
 accompanied him. 
 
 " Well !" she said, somewhat sharply, upon their turn- 
 ing into the comparative quiet of Redcliffe Gardens. 
 
 His courage was in his boots just then, and he lamely 
 asked : 
 
 " What have you been buying ?" 
 
 " Frocks and frUls." 
 
 " What for ?" he asked sharply. 
 
 " Or rather a frock and frills. And if you must know, 
 Mr. Inquisitive, it's for father's ball." 
 
 "Ball!" 
 
 " For the hospital. It's been hanging fire for a long 
 time, but now it's definitely coming off. Of course, it's 
 late in the season, but, as Parliament's sitting, we shan't 
 be altogether ' left.' " 
 
 Quillian duly noted the elevation of her social plane 
 conveyed by this remark. 
 
 " Are you coming ?" she asked. 
 
 " I— I think not." 
 
 " Not to dance with me ?" 
 
 " I do not dance." 
 
 " Not to see me dance ?" 
 
 " No. Not to see you dance," said Quillian, with more 
 than a hint of pain in his voice. 
 
 A further silence was broken by her saying : 
 
 " Well !" 
 
 " Well !" 
 
CH. XX] ' FOOLS RUSH IN ' 263 
 
 " Why did you wish to see me ?" 
 
 The question was asked so sharply that Quillian, aiter 
 glancing at his companion's set face, again lacked courage 
 to speak what was in his mind. 
 
 He talked of something else; despised himself for his 
 cowardice; realized for an all too brief moment the in- 
 sensate folly of interfering in what was really no concern 
 of his; and then, almost before he was aware of what he 
 was doing, he had lost his self-control, and was blurting 
 out his objections to the match. 
 
 " I'll tell you why I sent for you," he began. " Apart 
 from my wanting to see you, and you know I always do 
 that after — after you have been so kind and patient with 
 me, I wanted to say some th ing about this engagement of 
 yours." 
 
 She gave him a frightened glance and all her attention. 
 
 " I £iow you win think it an impertinence," he went 
 on, " and tell me it is no business of mine, but I cannot 
 see you sold — ^yes, sold — for that is what " 
 
 " Mr. Quillian !" she interrupted. 
 
 " It amounts to !" 
 
 " You forget yourself." 
 
 If Quillian had had any vestige of sense, he would have 
 been pulled up short by Vesper's words, which should 
 have warned him that such remarks from him were very 
 unwelcome, and have made the best of a bad job by 
 making some sort of a feeble apology : but it was as if the 
 pent-up fires which had consumed him for so many days 
 and sleepless nights had, at l^t, found an outlet; and 
 that no words of her's could stay their flaming out. 
 
 " Oh, I know what I'm saying," he continued, " partly 
 from what Lord Tayne admitted the day I called on him; 
 mostly from what I know of you, which teUs me you're 
 qmte the last girl in the world to marry a man — a man 
 old enough to be your father — ^if you did not love him. 
 And what I am going to say is this " 
 
 She stopped, turned to face him, and cried : 
 
 " Do you remotely realize what you are saying ?" 
 
 He was momentarily taken aback by her vehemence: 
 when he spoke, he said: 
 
 " I'm trying to save you." 
 
264 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xx 
 
 " And how deeply you're insulting me !" 
 
 " Insulting you !" he cried, and as if such a thing were 
 inconceivable. 
 
 " Yes, insulting me. Is that why you sent for me ?" 
 
 Even then he might have bridled the evil member, had 
 not the sight of her face, which anger had endowed with 
 a surpassing attractiveness, poured oil on the flames of 
 his indignation : her eyes were all but black with anger, and 
 enhanced the'fairness of her skin; the warmth of her hair. 
 
 " You know anything like that is farthest from my 
 thoughts," he said. " But if it is humanly possible, I'm 
 determined to save you." 
 
 " From what, pray ?" 
 
 " This hateful, horrible marriage. Listen — no, I shall 
 not let you go till you have heard me, for you know, you 
 must know in your heart, I'm only speaking for your 
 good. I can't tell you how it has worried me: I don't 
 think it's once been oijt of my thoughts since I learned 
 the horrible truth. And when I might be base enough 
 to think the worst of you, something seems to say, ' It 
 isn't her at all. She's good, and holy, and truer— every- 
 thing a woman should be ;' and then I suffer the 
 agonies of the damned for my wickedness in having 
 doubted you." 
 
 He paused for very breath ; disregarding her hard eyes 
 and set lips, he went on : 
 
 " And that brings me to what I wished you to know. 
 I'm certain — ever so certain in my heart — that you've 
 been forced into this. When I say forced, I mean that 
 you're doing it for — for someone to whom you owe a 
 duty — and, but for that, you would still be free. And — 
 and — where was I ?--ah ! — aiid if it's any question of 
 money, I would willingly, cheerfully give every penny I 
 possess, and sell papers in the streets, or be a cab-runner, 
 if only you could be saved." 
 
 She did not speak; and he looked hard at her in order 
 to see if this concern for her welfare had at all softened 
 her heart. 
 
 Her lips were more sternly set, if that were possible; 
 her now pitiless eyes stared straight before her. 
 " You believe me, don't you ?" he asked weakly. 
 
CH. XX] ' FOOLS RUSH IN ' 265 
 
 There was silence, and he said with a profound sinking 
 of spirit : 
 
 " You — ^you heard what I said ?" 
 
 There was a slight twitching of her lips, and that was 
 all. 
 
 " You're — ^you're not really very angry ?" he faltered. 
 
 Still getting no response, he said : 
 
 " I said what I said for you." 
 
 There was a further silence on her part which seemed 
 terribly ominous. 
 
 " Vesper ! Vesper !" he all but moaned. 
 
 A moment later, and the storm had burst. 
 
 " You beast — -you pitifully mean beast !" she all but 
 hissed. " To take advantage of me like this, and say 
 such things. No, you're not a beast ; for a beast has 
 pluck, which you haven't got. You're a dirty, despicable 
 little coward !" 
 
 He looked at her in amazement; all he seemed to be 
 aware of was that wrath had added inches to her stature ; 
 dignity to her comeliness. 
 
 " It's no use looking at me like that," she went on, 
 " for you know I'm speaking the truth. You wouldn't 
 have the pluck to say what you did if I had a man with me, 
 so you get me like this, where I can't get away from you." 
 
 He strove to speak; to explain: his tongue refused its 
 office. 
 
 " It's about time someone told you what you were — 
 and if you don't already know, it will open your eyes a 
 bit. For all your parade of saintliness, you're a hypo- 
 crite — a damned hypocrite; and I'll tell you why. You 
 get engaged to a girl somewhere else, and then you come 
 and dangle after me. And because I choose — ^yes, choose 
 of my own free-will to get engaged to a man who is a 
 man — yes — who is a man, you have the damned cheek 
 to come and insult me as you did." 
 
 Quillian wrung his hands in very despair. 
 
 "You deserve horsewhipping: that's what you do. 
 And if I had a whip, I'm not sure that I wouldn't set 
 about you." 
 
 The face of woe he turned on her appeared to incense 
 her further, if that were possible. 
 
266 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xx 
 
 " It's no use putting on that suffering n^artyr's face. 
 It won't go down with me : I know you too well. And I 
 haven't told you half. There's that— that Mrs. Chatillont" 
 
 " What — what of her ?" Quillian forced himself to say. 
 
 " What of her ! More smug hypocrisy ! I've seen the 
 way she looks at you " (Quillian had been utterly un- 
 observant of this, even if it were true) " and you at her. 
 I'm notja fool, and know all about it." 
 
 " But— but " 
 
 " There are no ' buts.' I know all about it. And I 
 made it my business to know her, and ask about you; 
 and she told me you were old friends. Isn't that so ?" 
 
 Fearing to add fuel to her fury, he forebore to speak; 
 behaviour that had the contrary effect to that hoped for. 
 
 " You don't speak! I thought so: you haven't the 
 pluck to speak, although she had. A nice man ! Even 
 if you've spent most of your time in a monastery, you're 
 making up for lost time !" 
 
 Her cruel words seared his heart; and made him in- 
 capable of speech. 
 
 " I knew you wouldn't be able to say anything," she 
 went on. " And having had my say, I'll be off." 
 
 He made as if to leave her, whereupon she trembled 
 with rage, and had difficulty in saying: 
 
 " And — and — I — I suppose having had a good time 
 with yovir Mrs. Chatillon " (this was said ever so scorn- 
 fully), " you'll go back to your modest Martha with your 
 saintly expression and Faugh ! I can't stick hypo- 
 crites !" 
 
 She waited for a moment, as if she expected him to say 
 something. 
 
 - "He disappointed her; unmindful of infrequent passers- 
 by, she almost screamed : 
 
 " Before you go, let me tell you this. If you were the 
 last man in the world, I wouldn't look at you : I hate the 
 sight of you." 
 
 Vesper turned from him ; he laid a detaining hand upon 
 herjarm. 
 
 She shook it off as if it were some unclean thing : hasten- 
 ing away, she left him standing abjectly forlorn on the 
 pavement. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE OBVIOUS SEX 
 
 " I don't believe you're listening !" 
 
 " Indeed, I " 
 
 " It is no use pretending. I'm trying to tell you of 
 people who may be of use, and you're woolgathering. 
 What is the matter with you ?" 
 
 " I'm sorry, but " 
 
 " Is it that you find philanthropists unphilanthropic ?" 
 asked Mrs. Chatillon. 
 
 " Why should you think that ?" returned Quillian, 
 who said the first thing that came into his head. 
 
 " Because, if you do, you'd better drop it before your 
 eyes are opened further." 
 
 " I — I suppose you will allow that some of our hearts 
 are in our work !" 
 
 " How many ?" 
 
 " Else why should they take it up ?" 
 
 " Every reason. Of course, in saying this, I except 
 Mr. Hemmingay and that daughter of his " (the speaker 
 noticed Quillian wince) ; " as for the rest " 
 
 " Meale surely means well !" interrupted Quillian. 
 
 " I suppose it's never occurred to you that all his good 
 deeds are reported at length in the various journals he 
 controls, which is an excellent advertisement for his 
 wares !" 
 
 " Even that's better than spending his money in riotous 
 living !" 
 
 " I'm not so sure." 
 
 " How can that be ?" 
 
 " It would be a very dull world if it weren't for an 
 occasional spice of wickedness," retorted Mrs. Chatillon. 
 
 " You shouldn't say that !" 
 
 267 
 
268 THE HOMFOF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch.xxi 
 
 " Why not, if it's true ? Supposing we were all good, 
 and moral, and taught in the Sunday-school, the Churches' 
 occupation would be gone; the parsons would starve; 
 and we ardent philanthropists would be eating our heads 
 off because there would be no one to meddle with." 
 
 " That will never come in our time," said Quillian 
 grimly. 
 
 " Really !" returned Mrs. Chatilloli, with a fine assump- 
 tion of innocence. 
 
 " And you know it better than I." 
 
 " Am I so wicked ?" smiled Mrs. Chatillon. 
 
 " You have had more experience of the world." 
 
 " What time are these wretched people coming ?" 
 
 " Do you find them so objectionable ?" 
 
 " Don't you ? Of course, I always except charming 
 Miss Hemmingay !" 
 
 " Don't — don't people take one out of oneself ?" 
 faltered Quillian. 
 
 " So you have come to that !" 
 
 " All of us have trouble some time or another." 
 
 She looked at his comfortless figure with a world of 
 sympathy in her fine eyes; finding he was enwrapt in 
 his thoughts, and for the time being dead to the fact of 
 her presence, she rose to her rather disappointing height. 
 
 " Good-bye !" she said shortly. 
 
 " ' Good-bye ' !" 
 
 " I don't feel like it to-day." 
 
 " You're not going !" 
 
 " I feel in the mood to tell these people that the worse 
 things these white slaves have to put up with are the 
 methods of their rescuers and reformers." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " My dear young friend, it's all too big a subject to go 
 into at five mmutes' notice ; but take it from those who've 
 really gone into the matter that, apart from snaring the 
 innocent, you'll have to alter the whole economic system, 
 and rich philanthropists must cease to employ girl 
 labour at starvation wages before anything really effec- 
 tive can be done. Our efforts are the merest tinkering." 
 " Inevitably if none of us are sincere." 
 " Are you ?" 
 
CH. XXI] THE OBVIOUS SEX 269 
 
 " I ?" 
 
 ' ' Yes . Had you no ulterior purpose in taking this up ? " 
 
 " In a sense." 
 
 " So I thought. And I could tell you a lot about your- 
 self that would surprise you, subtle as men of your stamp 
 may be." 
 
 " Now you're laughing at me." 
 
 " Indeed no. I was referring to your magnificent 
 capacity for self-deception." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 " I'll tell you some day, that is, if you don't find out 
 for yourself. Good-bye." 
 
 " Must you go ?" 
 
 " You wish me to stay ?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " Because I feel you're a help to me with those who're 
 coming." 
 
 " Is that all ?" 
 
 " And — and apart from your common sense in dealing 
 with some of their silly suggestions, I always feel that 
 you — ^you wish me well." 
 
 " Thank you," said Mrs. Chatillon. 
 
 " You'll stay !" 
 
 Mrs. Chatillon resumed her seat. 
 
 They were seated in a room of the temporary offices 
 which had been taken for the furtherance of the ' White 
 Slave ' Home ; from without came the click of a type- 
 writer, and although a thousand and one matters awaited 
 Quillian's attention, he had practically neglected them 
 since his arrival at something after ten, and had wel- 
 comed Mrs. Chatillon's early appearance, since he found 
 that her presence assisted him, in no inconsiderable 
 measure, to assuage the cruel hurt of the wounds in- 
 flicted by Vesper Hemmingay's merciless words on the 
 occasion of his meeting her in the Fulham Road. 
 
 After that never-to-be-forgotten encounter, he had gone 
 back to his flat as one dazed by an unexpected blow: 
 for a time (including a sleepless night) he had failed to 
 realize what had happened, until his mind had been 
 permeated by a recollection of everything she had said. 
 
270 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxi 
 
 He could not have forgotten if he had tried : the bitter 
 taunts ; the conviction in her voice ; the consuming scorn 
 with which she had spoken, were all livid in his memory : 
 mingled with a conviction of deep humiliation at the 
 failure of his plans was an ever present recollection of how 
 magnificent she had looked when transported by passion. 
 
 The unjustness of it all (since he was sure he had 
 only been moved to do what he had done from a 
 frantic desire for her happiness) had barbed the arrows 
 of her wrath, and lacerated the most susceptible places 
 in his being; yet, with an unaccountable lack of reason 
 in one of his orderly habit of thought, he overlooked and 
 readily forgave her pitiful lack of fairness. 
 
 And if Quillian had hoped that the passing of the days 
 would heal his many hurts, he was grievously mistaken. 
 
 Perhaps, away from her stinging condemnation of his 
 well-meant efforts for her salvation (as he conceived it), 
 the thing that rankled most was the way he had hope- 
 lessly bungled matters: he was still, and would ever be, 
 certain that Vesper was, in some way, compelled to make 
 a loveless marriage; the failure of the means he had 
 impulsively chosen had once and for all closed up any 
 other avenue of escape he may have succeeded in devising 
 for her. 
 
 And with the fatuousness of one who had not yet 
 learned the futility of incontinently dweUing on the 
 ' what might have been,' his mind painfully rehearsed 
 a thousand and one expedients for saving Vesper, which, 
 of a surety, must have succeeded, if only he had not 
 blundered so badly. 
 
 These more particularly on nights he could not sleep, 
 when he would pace without the house where she slept 
 till sunrise sent him back to his cheerless flat. 
 
 Now, and for all he could see to the contrary, things 
 must take their wretched course ; he must resign himself 
 to the fact that his attempt to rescue but one brand 
 from the burning had miserably failed. 
 
 There was ever the possibility of Divine interference 
 from He whom Quillian believed ordered the ways of 
 men : and the outpourings of his heart were surely enough 
 to make the most deaf ears hearken. 
 
CH. XXI] THE OBVIOUS SEX 271 
 
 Coincident with his lamentable experience with Vesper 
 was a sharp fall in his interest in the ' White Slave ' 
 Home ; he had paid over a large sum of money into an 
 account from which cheques could only be drawn if signed 
 by Tayne, Hemmingay, and himself: over and beyond 
 that, he was sure that his want of enthusiasm was a 
 hindrance to the success of the project; and more likely 
 than not he would have washed his hands of active 
 participation in its affairs, were it not for the infrequent 
 opportunities they gave him of hearing of or seeing 
 Vesper. 
 
 The date of her marriage had been considerably 
 advanced, he learned from one and another of the women 
 who sat on the committee; women who hated her for 
 her youth and comeliness; above aU, for the brilliant 
 match she was about to make; but who, nevertheless, 
 abjectly toadied to her for the furtherance of their 
 several ambitions which, according to Mrs. Chatillon, 
 were almost wholly social. 
 
 As for seeing her, she sometimes drove up to the offices 
 in one of Tayne's motor-cars, and ever so richly attired 
 (the stately figure she made in her fine feathers put an 
 edge on his griefs), and accompanied either by the 
 husband that was to be, or her father, who seemed 
 clothed in finer raiment and more pomposity every time 
 Quillian set eyes on him. 
 
 Vesper regarded Quillian either with cold disdain, or 
 spoke with a satirical deference to his assumed wishes 
 concerning unimportant details of the project — behaviour 
 that probed wounds her brutality had inflicted. 
 
 And in spite of the pain she wittingly inflicted, he 
 was hoping against hope he would see something of her 
 to-day. 
 
 Apart from all this, the only success he could place to 
 his credit was the result of his interview with May Fother- 
 gill's indignant husband, whom he had more or less con- 
 vinced of the innocuousness of Tommy Chalfont's atten- 
 tions to his wife. 
 
 Quillian was aware that Mrs. Chatillon was regarding 
 him through those half-closed eyes of her's. 
 
 " I'm sorry," she said in her sympathetic voice. 
 
272 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch.xxi 
 
 " What for ?" 
 
 " You. It is only what I told you in the train." 
 
 "About the impossibility of finding happiness ?" 
 
 " I told you there was no such thing." 
 
 " I remember. And you also as good as said there 
 was no such thing as love." 
 
 Mrs. Chatillon did not speak. 
 
 " Didn't you?" persisted QuilUan. 
 
 " Never mind that now," she returned, a little im- 
 patiently. 
 
 Quillian was silent, and fell to wondering why it was 
 that he was not so alive to Vesper's behaviour when, as 
 now, he was with Mrs. Chatillon. 
 
 " I suppose you had next to nothing to do with women?" 
 said Mrs. Chatillon suddenly. 
 
 " Before I left Belgium ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Nothing at all in a secular sense." 
 
 " Then I was the first woman you had spoken with ?" 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " I'm glad of that." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " And you were the first man I'd been interested in," 
 said Mrs. Chatillon, who added as an after-thought: 
 " for ever so long." 
 
 "Is that so?" 
 
 " It is so." 
 
 " Am I not right in assuming that you have a husband ?" 
 
 Mrs. Chatillon made a gesture of annoyance; Quillian 
 saw that he had blundered. 
 
 "So it was almost another instance of Adam and 
 Eve !" she went on. 
 
 " I wasn't aware that Eve gave Adam well-meant 
 advice," he returned. 
 
 " I dare say she did at first — to put him off his guard." 
 
 " I certainly thought a lot of everything you said." 
 
 " That was very nice of you." 
 
 " Speaking to a woman was a startling adventure for 
 me. 
 
 " And I forgot everything about you." 
 
 " Naturally." 
 
CH. XXI] THE OBVIOUS SEX 273 
 
 " I came in for a lot of money I did not want, and was 
 wondering what I should do with it. Yes, I forgot every- 
 thing about you until I saw you fondling a little girl in 
 the Park." 
 
 " It was quite a surprise seeing you." 
 
 " You made a human picture." 
 
 " You have no children?" 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Chatillon shortly. 
 
 There was a suspicion of tenseness in the silence that 
 followed, during which Mrs. Chatillon's eyes (they were 
 ever fixed on Quillian) seemed to unclose. 
 
 " Pity one can't buy them at the Stores, like one can 
 other things," she went on. 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " No, it isn't. It could never be the same." 
 
 " It must be a great deprivation for people who are 
 married to be childless," he remarked. 
 
 " You think so ?" 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " Perhaps not at first; but, after " 
 
 There was a further silence; and there came into 
 Quillian's mind a recollection of how Vesper as a girl 
 had shed bitter tears at a certain palmist's forecast. 
 
 "Is it true you're going to be married ?" asked Mrs. 
 Chatillon. 
 
 " How did you know ?" 
 
 " Hemmingay told me. Then it's true !" 
 
 " Y-yes." 
 
 " Why did you say ' yes ' like that; as if you weren't 
 over sure ?" 
 
 " I wasn't aware that I did." 
 
 " Don't you love her ?" 
 
 " I — I think so," said Quillian, who could not deny 
 that Mercia had not been very much in his thoughts 
 since Vesper had spoken her mind. 
 
 " Surely you're not such an arrant fool as to marry a 
 woman you don't love body and soul from some ridicu- 
 lous motive of knight errantry !" 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 " So many men get friendly with a girl, and propose, 
 not because he wants her, but because she cares for him; 
 
 18 
 
274 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH. xxi 
 
 or he's gone too far to draw back; or some silly reason 
 of that sort. Thousands of marriages — perhaps the 
 large proportion of unhappy marriages — are made in 
 some way like that." 
 
 " I did what I did with my eyes open," declared 
 Quillian. 
 
 Apparently Mrs. Chatillon did not hear, for she went 
 on, and with some approach to warmth : 
 
 " Let me tell you this: that it's the greatest mistake 
 imaginable to act unselfishly in the great issues of life — 
 the small ones, too, for that matter. Quite apart from 
 the fact of one's getting no appreciation, things nearly 
 always go wrong. I've found that out in my own life; 
 and I know I'm not alone." 
 
 " Don't most people usually consider themselves ?" 
 returned Quillian quietly. 
 
 " No. Not when they're young and unhardened, and 
 under the influence of some religious belief. Take your 
 case " 
 
 " I told you I did what I did with my eyes open." 
 
 " Are you still of the same mind ?" 
 
 " I hope so," said Quillian, with all the confidence he 
 could muster. 
 
 " Assuming you would have me believe what you say, 
 you don't look very happy over it." 
 
 " Everyone has setbacks in life." 
 
 " Hasn't she written during the last three days ?" 
 
 " It's not that." 
 
 " Worried because this wretched committee is already 
 overdue ?" 
 
 " I'm used to that." 
 Why is Miss Hemmingay so interested in you ?" 
 
 Quillian almost started from his seat. 
 '^Tsshe?" 
 
 Is she ?" he asked quickly. 
 
 •• Obviously." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " She went out of her way to find out how I came to 
 know you." 
 
 " That was some time back !" all but sighed 
 Quillian. 
 
 " What of that !" 
 
CH. XXI] THE OBVIOUS SEX 275 
 
 Quillian did not reply, whereupon Mrs. Chatillon re- 
 peated her question. 
 
 " I — I think she's too taken up with Lord Tayne to 
 have any further interest in me," repUed Quillian 
 evasively. 
 
 " I'm sorry for Tayne !" 
 
 " Sorry !" cried Quillian sharply. 
 
 " Yes. Apart from her bad temper and the bad time 
 she'll probably give him, the marriage of an elderly man 
 with a girl is the nemesis of the man who has ' lived his 
 life.' " 
 
 " V — Miss Hemmingay bad tempered !" 
 
 " You should have seen her face when I told her you 
 were an old friend of mine, as I took leave to do. And 
 about this marriage " 
 
 " You agree it's wrong !" 
 
 " Most certainly, for Tayne." 
 
 " Women always take the man's part !" 
 
 " Naturally. I take yours at the committee meetings, 
 and " 
 
 " But about this marriage " 
 
 " What are you doing after this meeting is over ?" 
 
 " But " 
 
 " You can come back with me to luncheon." 
 
 " Thank you," said Quillian, who was thankful for the 
 respite from his pain promised by Mrs. Chatillon's 
 company. 
 
 " I have to thank you — and for taking me out of 
 myself." 
 
 " Is that so?" 
 
 " So we're both of the same mind," she smiled. " Do 
 you like good orchestral music ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then you can take me to a concert I've tickets for at 
 Queen's Hall, if you've nothing better to do !" 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Don't you want to ?" 
 
 " It's not that. I was going to ask you if — if you 
 wouldn't be seeing too much of me !" 
 
 " I don't think so," she rejoined quietly. 
 
 A silence, the significance of which was apparent even 
 
276 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxi 
 
 to Quillian's distressed thoughts, was broken by the 
 ringing of the telephone bell. 
 
 Suillian put out his hand for the receiver ; he was fore- 
 led by Mrs. Chatillon, who said: 
 
 " You've quite enough to bother about. I'll see who 
 it is." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Quillian is here," she said in reply to whomso- 
 ever was speaking. " I can give him any message. I'm 
 Mrs. Chatillon." And then, after hearing what was said, 
 she returned: " Mr. Hemmingay may be half an hour late, 
 as he's detained on some important business ! Mr. 
 Quillian is here with me, so I won't fail to tell him. Good- 
 bye !" 
 
 " Was that Hemmingay ?" asked Quillian. 
 
 " His charming daughter," returned the other dryly. 
 
 " Then " 
 
 " What !" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 Mrs. Chatillon smiled; sighed; and proceeded to survey 
 herself in the dingy glass on the mantelpiece. 
 
 Meantime, Quillian was reflecting how the stars in 
 their courses were fighting against him in things both 
 small and big: here was he hoping against hope that 
 Vesper might put in some sort of appearance at the belated 
 committee meeting; now this slender possibility was 
 most likely destroyed by the fact of the telephone being 
 answered by a woman to whom the former, from some 
 feminine whim, had taken a dislike: if Vesper could not 
 make up her mind with regard to attending, the know- 
 ledge that Mrs. Chatillon would be there would doubtless 
 stop her from coming. 
 
 Quillian knew a further sinking of spirit; this was, 
 perhaps, the reason why he turned to Mrs. Chatillon, 
 and said : 
 
 " You meant it, didn't you ?" 
 
 " Meant what ?" 
 
 " That I should spend the day with you !" 
 
 " Of course," she returned, and as if surprised by his 
 question. " Why ?" 
 
 " I only wanted to make certain." 
 
 Mrs. Chatillon left the mantelpiece, and advancing 
 
CH. XXI] THE OBVIOUS SEX 277 
 
 upon Quillian, made as if she would put her arms upon 
 his shoulder : her intention was defeated by the entrance 
 of two members of the committee, who were followed 
 at varying intervals by one or another of that inconsider- 
 able fraction which had made up its mind to be present. 
 
 If Quillian had not been so taken up with Vesper's 
 early marriage to Lord Tayne, he would have suffered 
 a measure of disillusionment on account of the vagaries 
 of the majority of those who had volunteered to give 
 their services to further the cause the promoters were 
 presumed to have at heart. 
 
 They were for the most part garrulous, queerly dressed, 
 cranky folk, who, for all their professions of doing good, 
 were, on the face of it, more concerned to listen to the 
 music of their own voices; to push their own particular 
 nostrum; above all, to scrape acquaintance with their 
 social betters, than to further the object for which they 
 were gathered together. 
 
 There were exceptions, but the quiet-spoken, single- 
 hearted men and women who made up this minority 
 were nearly always overborne by their noisy fellows. 
 
 And conspicuous amongst each and all of these was 
 Mrs. Chatillon for her atmosphere of well-bred distinc- 
 tion; her self-possession; her sound common sense, and, 
 if the need arose, for a delicate gift of irony: doubtless 
 these qualities obtained more recognition than they might 
 otherwise have done owing to her wealth and her un- 
 assailable social foothold. 
 
 Otherwise, the biggest gun was Sir Sylvester Meale, 
 the millionaire, free trading (in theory) protected choco- 
 late magnate: in appearance, he was a stoutly built, 
 consequential, bearded man, who suggested God-fearing 
 — ^successful — wholesale grocer; he had a nonconformist 
 affability for all sorts and sundry, which largely consisted 
 of affectionately patting on the backs whomsoever he 
 might be talking to. 
 
 He was narrowly sincere in his many efforts for the 
 moral and spiritual uplifting of the less happily placed 
 of his species ; gave away vast sums yearly in the further- 
 ance of these; was an advanced radical in politics; and 
 from his large contributions to the party funds, and his 
 
278 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxi 
 
 opposition to the strengthening of Imperial bands, had 
 received a baronetcy; and while being in the journalistic 
 van of the crusade against the iniquity of landlords and 
 the privileges of the Lords, he was greedily counting on 
 a peerage in the near future : he loved the society of his 
 social betters; the sight of a regiment of soldiers nearly 
 made him retch. 
 
 Then there was a Mrs. Corner, a ' find ' of Mrs. Nos- 
 worthy's, who, in season and out, still insisted on the 
 necessity of winning Royal patronage for the scheme. 
 
 Mrs. Corner was a large, ill-corseted, untidy-haired, 
 dressed-anyhow woman, whose enthusiasm in the cause 
 of hmnanity made her neglect her husband, home, and 
 large family of children who were reputed to live on eggs 
 and tinned fruit in their neglected South Kensington 
 home: she spent her days and nights on endless com- 
 mittees for all sorts and kinds of social betterment, where 
 she mostly had her way on account of her unlimited flow 
 of words. 
 
 QuUlian had never thought it possible for a woman to 
 talk as this Mrs. Corner: sentences seemed to fall from 
 her loose lips like a torrent ; and whether or no she spoke 
 sense, there was no denying that her gift of the gab wore 
 down the most obstinate opposition. 
 
 Amongst those who were a help to Quillian was a man 
 named Stonecross; he was clean-shaven; kindly looking; 
 had a profusion of grey hair; big features; and was not 
 unlike a sweet-faced toy : he was a Civil servant ; such 
 was his passion for work, which was apparently not 
 satisfied by the performance of his official duties, that 
 he devoted his two months' vacation to putting his 
 shoulder to the wheel of some overworked philanthropic 
 society: he had a gift of organization, and Q'uillian did 
 not know what he would have done without him. 
 
 One whom Quillian could not make out at all was a 
 wizened, odd-looking, elderly man named Gisby. 
 
 He took next to no part in the deliberations of the 
 committee; did not appear to know why he was there; 
 and should his opinion be asked on any point, he would 
 suggest that a solution might be found by a possible 
 parallel in the ways of animals or birds. 
 
CH. XXI] THE OBVIOUS SEX 2^^ 
 
 On an occasion that Quillian had found himself alone 
 with Gisby, the latter had informed him that the world 
 would never be put right until mankind altered its 
 habits. 
 
 Upon Quillian asking what he meant, the other had 
 replied that men and women should follow the example 
 of the birds ; go to bed winter and summer at the same 
 time that they roosted ; and should eat the simplest food 
 from the ground with their fingers : he added that he was 
 making up his mind whether or no it would be a good thing 
 for a man to choose a new mate every spring. 
 
 Quillian, who had been in a fUppant mood just then 
 (Vesper had attended the committee, and had glanced 
 at him more than once), had ventured to ask if it were 
 necessary to sleep with one leg on a perch, whereupon 
 Gisby had gravely declared that that very useful accom- 
 plishment might be picked up with practise. 
 
 Quillian did not know whether to regard him as a crank 
 or a subtle humorist. 
 
 The- committee proceeded on its tiresome way, tire- 
 some, because there was endless discussion on trivialities 
 in which Mrs. Corner was, as usual, to the fore; Quillian, 
 so far as he was able, sought to bend his mind to every- 
 thing that was toward ; this was no easy matter since he 
 was distressed by the collapse of his hopes regarding 
 Vesper's coming. 
 
 He was very grateful for the consolation provided by 
 Mrs. Chatillon's companionship, but from the bottom 
 of his heart he wished she had not answered the tele- 
 phone. 
 
 If he had insisted on doing so himself, he kept on 
 repeating, he would not only have had word with Vesper, 
 but a sight of her might have lightened his burden of 
 care. 
 
 He could not understand at all why Vesper should 
 have taken such a dislike to Mrs. Chatillon, but he was 
 now sufficiently acquainted with the eternal feminine 
 to know it was prone to freakish whims and unjustifiable 
 impulses. 
 
 Then, in the midst of a heated, if not an acrimonious, 
 discussion with regard to the particular religious doctrine 
 
28o THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxi 
 
 which would be most helpful in reforming rescued fallen 
 women, a discussion to which Quillian paid unpardonable 
 heed, Hemmingay arrived with profuse apologies for his 
 lateness: thereupon Quillian fell to thinking that, had 
 he but spoken at the telephone. Vesper in all likelihood 
 would have accompanied her father, and would be now 
 in the same room. 
 
 Once more he was thankful he was spending the rest 
 of the day with Mrs. Chatillon: he excused himself 
 for dependence on another, and a woman, to lessen 
 the anguish in his heart, instead of stoutly fighting his 
 own battle, by telling himself that, by accepting this 
 respite, he would be better able to fix his mind on the 
 work of the committee. 
 
 Notwithstanding this reflection, Quillian's thoughts 
 were much taken up with Vesper, and with how she had 
 looked on divers occasions of that memorable day in 
 Richmond Park: they would have been entirely, had 
 not Hemmingay addressed him. 
 
 " My daughter rang you up this morning," he said. 
 
 " She did," almost sighed Quillian. 
 
 " Did you speak to her ?" 
 
 " I was in the room." 
 
 " I spoke to her," said Mrs. Chatillon. 
 
 " Ah ! Did she mention that the ball that was to be 
 given for a certain purpose is now to be given for the 
 funds of the ' Home ' ?" 
 
 " Is that so ?" 
 
 " As a matter of fact, I've resigned my duties at the 
 hospital. I wish to devote all my energies to this. And 
 we found that er — er — our present scheme commands far 
 more support in likely quarters than the ' Princess Royal.' 
 I thought Vesper may have mentioned it." 
 
 Quillian made no comment on the dubiousness of this 
 proceeding; he merely reflected it was of apiece with 
 Hemmingay's methods of business, before once more 
 regretting he had not spoken with Vesper. 
 
 He was still woolgathering, when the proceedings came 
 to an end ; those who had been present departed in two's 
 and three's, and again Quillian found himself alone with 
 Mrs. Chatillon. 
 
CH.xxi] THE OBVIOUS SEX 281 
 
 " Shall we go ?" he said. 
 
 " Wait a little, if you don't mind." 
 
 " Why should I mind ?" 
 
 " I don't want to run into any of the others: they've 
 bored me quite enough as it is for one day." 
 
 " I wonder you bother to come at all !" 
 
 " Do you ?" 
 
 " It wasn't as if you had no other resources." 
 
 " Perhaps I haven't." 
 
 " You don't expect me to believe that !" 
 
 Mrs. Chatillon smiled. 
 
 It was rarely her commonly serious face lightened in 
 this way; when it did, she was as one transfigured; she 
 appeared ever so young; and there was an appealing 
 sweetness about and below her eyes. 
 
 " What are you looking at ?" she asked. 
 
 " Why ? You look so different — if I may say so." 
 
 " So I would always be if — if " 
 
 " If what !" 
 
 " If I were as happy as I was meant to be. But who 
 is? You're not ; I'm not : and there it is." 
 
 They stayed talking for some minutes longer; as they 
 were on the point of going, they heard the door of the 
 outer office open, and the sound of a feminine voice 
 which thrilled Quillian to the marrow. 
 
 Then Vesper appeared, and with a flush on her face, 
 and with eyes aglow with excitement. 
 
 " There you are," she remarked offhandedly to QuilUan: 
 she ignored Mrs. Chatillon. 
 
 " Good-morning," Quillian forced himself to say. 
 
 " I've a message from father. I'm going out for the 
 day, and he asked me to bring it on my way." 
 
 " I've already seen him," faltered Quillian. 
 
 " H— have you ?" 
 
 " He came to the meeting. Didn't you know ?" 
 
 " Anyway, he said he'd be in all the afternoon and 
 evening as — as he wanted to tell you something about 
 that— that ball." 
 
 " I think he explained to-day " 
 
 " I — I don't suppose he knew he was coming when he 
 asked me to give his message," 
 
282 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [cH.xxi 
 
 " And in any case, Mr. Quillian is not free to-day," 
 interposed Mrs. Chatillon. 
 
 " Oh !" from Vesper. 
 
 " He's engaged to me." 
 
 Vesper was silent; changed colour; made as if she 
 would speak to Quillian; and then hastened from the 
 room. 
 
 " How obvious !" was Mrs. Chatillon's comment. 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 " We are, indeed, the obvious sex." 
 
 " In what way was Miss Hemmingay obvious ?" 
 
 " If you can't see, I'm not so foolish as to enlighten 
 you," rejoined Mrs. Chatillon. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN LONDON 
 
 " What is it, Mrs. Gassmann ?" 
 
 " I won't stop if you don't want to see me, sir." 
 
 " If it's anything I can do for you " 
 
 " I wasn't going to ask fur anything, sir." 
 
 " I'm sure of that." 
 
 " I called in to have a word with Grumby, sir, and 
 hearing you was in, and alone, I took the liberty of telling 
 you that Gassmann's last hours 'ave come." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " That they 'ave, sir," declared Mrs. Gassmann, and 
 not uncheer fully. 
 
 " I'm very sorry to hear that." 
 
 " An' I 'eard from his sister at Walworth that 'er 
 'usband's going to be took too." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " If it were 'ee-cancers, the doctor said he'd get over 
 it; but it's she-cancers, an' that means Alice '11 soon be 
 a widder." 
 
 " About your husband " 
 
 " It's truth what I'm tellin' you, sir. Gassmann's got 
 death round his eyes and nose, an' he can't last much 
 longer. I lay awake at night a-listening for the rattle." 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" 
 
 " I'm going to get ray Annie's violet dress dyed black 
 as soon as I can get it out of pawn, and " 
 
 " Couldn't I help you ?" interrupted Quillian. 
 
 " Thank you, sir, but I take no money over what I 
 earn," truthfully declared Mrs. Gassmann. 
 
 " I think all the more of you for that. But what are 
 you doing for your husband ?" 
 
 " I sit by 'is bedside, an' trim my mourning 'at." 
 
 383 
 
284 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxii 
 
 " Is that very considerate ?" 
 
 " Considerate ! Gassmann likes it. 'Ee says it cheers 
 'im up. I'm so nimble wif my fingers, 'ee ses." 
 
 " Perhaps you're mistaken. You were before, you 
 know." 
 
 " Not this time, sir. Gassmann was so bad this morn- 
 ing, I called in Sally Blows." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Sally 'ad a good look at 'im " 
 
 " And what did she say ?" asked Quillianr who was 
 beginning to weary of these morbid confidences. 
 
 " ' You keep up 'is Insurance money, Sarey Gassmann !' 
 That's what Sally Blows said." 
 
 Mrs. Gassmann shortly took her leave ; before she went, 
 Quillian pressed assistance upon her towards the expenses 
 of her husband's illness; she stoutly refused to accept 
 anything, and declared that while she had a pair of arms, 
 Gassmann should want for nothing. 
 
 Alone, Quillian once more surrendered to thoughts that 
 had been interrupted by the charwoman's appearance; 
 these were more than ordinarily gloomy, since it was the 
 night of the ball for the funds of the ' Home,' a ball 
 both Vesper and Lord Tayne were to attend. 
 
 He had seen next to nothing of Vesper for the last few 
 days ; the references Hemmingay had all too frequently 
 made to her doings for Quillian's peace of mind were 
 concerned with social successes in the exalted circles to 
 which her engagement to Tayne had obtained admittance. 
 
 Quillian could well believe this, but the apparent zest 
 with which Vesper made use of her new-found oppor- 
 tunities somewhat shortened the pedestal he had placed 
 her on. 
 
 Once more he recalled the words of the Guardian at 
 Ypres regarding the devils (there were at least seven) 
 which found a home in every beautiful woman's heart; 
 while telling himself it was unthinkable that any of these 
 were possessed by Vesper, he could not deny that the 
 exalted estimate he had formed of her had suffered hurt. 
 
 She had told him she was ever so worldly ; and he had 
 not believed her ; he had now some evidence that she had 
 been speaking the truth. 
 
CH. XXII] THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN LONDON 285 
 
 He had expected that she would wear the mien of a 
 martyr, who was being unwilUngly led to a hymeneal 
 sacrifice; and here she was seizing with both hands the 
 good things which were the price of her spiritual undoing. 
 
 Yes, he was certainly disappointed in Vesper ; yet, with 
 his ever-present desire to put her behaviour in the best 
 light, he told himself that it was he who was in darkness 
 concerning her temptations ; and was at fault for expecting 
 too much of a callow girl who had been handicapped by 
 her environment. 
 
 At all times, however, he was certain she was making 
 a loveless match, with its infinite possibilities for disaster ; 
 upon its coming to do anything further of moment to 
 save her, it was as though he were tied hand and foot. 
 
 And since he was so helpless; and since Vesper's en- 
 thusiasm, had it existed, for the ' White Slave ' Rescue 
 Home had been reduced to vanishing-point; Quillian, 
 after much taking counsel with himself, had written that 
 morning to Hemmingay and Tayne, to say that, for a 
 variety of reasons it was unnecessary to go into, he wished 
 to break his active association with the work; but that, 
 since he was largely responsible for its beginnings, his 
 resources were at their disposal to any reasonable 
 amount. 
 
 As for what lay before him, he did not trouble over- 
 much: there was the saintly Mercia somewhere in the 
 background; and marriage with her in a more or less 
 distant future might give him some of the happiness he 
 so poorly deserved. 
 
 Yet, whatever happened, either now or then, there was 
 no denying that the Guardian had spoken truly in saying 
 that the secular life which would be his would he no light 
 pilgrimage, but a narrow path bestrewn with obstacles: 
 and that, if he obtained that for which he had been sent 
 into the world, it would not be until after his heart had 
 been grievously bruised; and that, a thousand times, he 
 would long for the peace of the monastery. 
 
 It had not yet come to wishing himself back, although, 
 more than once, and if steeped in a more than common 
 bitterness of spirit, the thought of an ultimate return 
 occurred to him. 
 
286 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxii 
 
 If it had not been for Mercia, he might have gone deeper 
 into the matter. 
 
 He was awakened from his brooding by the touch of a 
 hand upon his arm : he looked up, and discovered Sister 
 Jane at his elbow; she seemed plainer and older than 
 when he had last seen her : she was wearing her attenuated 
 Franciscan habit, signifying she belonged to the ' Third 
 Order of Women ' of that Society. 
 
 " I didn't hear you come in," said Quillian. 
 
 " Sit down. I shan't keep you long, as I suppose 
 you'll be wanting to dress." 
 
 " Dress !" 
 
 " For the ball." 
 
 " I'm not going." 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 " I don't know how to dance; and if I did, I shouldn't 
 care about going." 
 
 " Vesper, Jim — everyone is going." 
 
 " I can't help that," sighed Quillian. 
 
 " And how have you been all this long time ?" 
 
 " Is it so long ?" 
 
 " I haven't seen you since that day at my brother's." 
 
 " Haven't you ?" he remarked absently. 
 
 " Had you forgotten ?" 
 
 " One way and another I've had a good deal to think 
 about." 
 . " So have I." 
 
 " Working for Father Horan ?" 
 
 " I've been more taken up with myself." 
 
 " A change," commented Quillian. 
 
 " No," from Sister Jane decidedly. " Anything but." 
 
 In reply to his sober' glance of inquiry, she went on : 
 " There are times, as now, when everything is forgotten 
 but the saving of my soul." 
 
 Quillian was sympathetically silent: Sister Jane con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " To-morrow, or the next day, I'm going into a retreat 
 for a time. I know it's selfish, but I can't help it." 
 
 " Selfish !" 
 
 " But you cannot conceive the blessedness of a tem- 
 porary escape from the temptations to which a nature 
 
CH. xxn] THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN LONDON 287 
 
 such as mine is sometimes subject," declared Sister Jane, 
 with more than a touch of passion in her voice. 
 
 " Is it you talking ?" asked QuiUian. 
 
 " Don't you know that my temperament, with its bias 
 for devotion and certain forms of worldliness, is ever so 
 common ?" 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " There's no occasion to go into it now. I came to 
 apologize for the mean trick I played you that day I met 
 you at my brother's." 
 
 " What mean trick ?" 
 
 " Telling you James was going to marry Vesper. I 
 knew you must know sooner or later, but it was no reason 
 why you should have known that day. I did it on the 
 spur of the moment, and was very sorry after." 
 
 QuiUian did not reply, and she added : " I suppose the 
 fact of the matter is that no woman was, is, or ever wiU 
 be, a ' gentleman ' at heart." 
 
 " As you say, I was boimd to know it sooner or later," 
 remarked Quillian gloomily. 
 
 " Still grieving ?" 
 
 " What about ?" 
 
 " James's marriage." 
 
 " Do you look upon it with — with satisfaction ?" 
 
 Sister Jane made a gestiu-e of indifference. 
 
 " Here is a man who is well past middle-age; a man 
 who has what is known as ' lived his own life,' manying 
 a girl who is young enough to be his daughter ; a girl who 
 can by no remote possibiUty care for him: is that a 
 marriage that can ever hope to be blessed ?" 
 
 " I certainly think it's very foolish of James." 
 
 " What !" from Quillian. 
 
 " Women have always made a great fuss of him, and 
 it seems very foolish to tie himself up." 
 
 " But— but " 
 
 " And since he cares for her much more than she will 
 ever for him, she's sure to find it out, and take every 
 advantage of it." 
 
 " But — but— you're looking at it from his point of 
 view ?" exclaimed Quillian in dismay. 
 
 " Why not ?" returned Sister Jane almost defiantly. 
 
288 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxn 
 
 " I was forgetting he was your brother." 
 
 " And a man: don't forget that either. As for Vesper, 
 if you ask my opinion, she's doing remarkably well for 
 herself." 
 
 " She doesn't care for him. You seem to forget that !" 
 
 " Ask any well brought up girl in her position which 
 she would sooner do : marry a poor man for what is called 
 love ; or my brother and all he can give her. And how 
 much more is this the case with a young woman with a 
 father like Hemmingay !" 
 
 " Still " 
 
 " Still what ?" said the other impatiently. 
 
 " Oh, you're all alike," cried Quillian in the bitterness 
 of his spirit. " Here's a girl being sacrificed — for I know 
 — I know she is ; and not one of you will raise a finger to 
 help her." 
 
 " Tell me this." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " Do you believe she would thank anyone who 
 tried ?' 
 
 " I— I " 
 
 " If you don't think so, try it yourself." 
 
 " I — I have tried," admitted Quillian. 
 
 " How ?" asked Sister Jane shortly. 
 
 " I— I spoke to her." 
 
 " With what result ?" 
 
 " Perhaps — perhaps you are right," he sighed. 
 
 " I know I am. Let well alone, my friend, and never 
 seek to advise people unasked. We all know — or think 
 we know — what is best for ourselves." 
 
 " Perhaps — ^perhaps you are right." 
 
 " And having had my say, I'll take myself off." 
 
 " Let me see you down." 
 
 " Before I forget it, let me give you this," said Sister 
 Jane, and producing a book. 
 " What is it ?" 
 " Keats." 
 " Poetry !" 
 
 " I've no business to have it, so thought I'd give it to 
 you." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
CH. xxii] THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN LONDON 289 
 
 " Although I suppose I'll buy another copy when I 
 come out. That's the sixth." 
 
 " I won't promise I'll read it." 
 
 " It's disturbing if one wants to lead the higher life. 
 Don't come out. I've taken up too much of your time 
 as it is." 
 
 She moved toward the door; Quillian was following, 
 when Grumby appeared and said : 
 
 " Excuse me, sir " 
 
 " What is it ?" from QuilUan. 
 
 " A lady to see you." 
 
 " What !" 
 
 " A lady to see you, sir." 
 
 " Who ?" asked Quillian quickly. 
 
 " She didn't give no name, sir. If I were asked to 
 describe her, I should say ' the flesh.' Come in evening 
 dress, sir," said Grumby, who gravely shook his head, 
 and added: " The flesh." 
 
 " Did she give any name ?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Has she been here before ?" 
 
 " Once. Come with her father; who borrowed half a 
 crown to pay the cabman. That was the feast-day of 
 St. Cyprian." 
 
 Quillian had dared to suspect who it was directly he 
 had heard a lady wished to see him; now there was no 
 doubt of her identity, he said, and believed he was 
 voicing his heart : 
 
 " I can't see her." 
 
 " Very good, sir," from Grumby. 
 
 " At least, I will for a moment. Show her in." 
 
 Grumby left the room ; Quillian, so far as his agitation 
 would permit at this wholly unlooked-for coming of 
 Vesper's, regretted he was dressed anyhow to receive her. 
 
 " You know who it is, then ?" said Sister Jane. 
 
 " I guessed." 
 
 " If, as I suppose, it's Vesper Hemmingay, it wfll please 
 her to find me here." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" asked Quillian, who scarcely 
 knew what he was saying. 
 
 " I wasn't aware it was usual for young women who're 
 
 19 
 
290 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxii 
 
 engaged to be married to visit young bachelors at night 
 in their flats." 
 
 " It may be something urgent — ^it may " 
 
 His effort to explain her coming was interrupted by 
 the entrance of Vesper, who looked radiant in a cloak of 
 rose brocade edged with ermine; and with a deep hem 
 of black pan velvet: there was a ruffle of rose-flowered 
 ninon about her shapely neck, and a spray of white osprey 
 in her hair. 
 
 She carried an ivory-white ostrich-feather fan. 
 
 She came into the room as one held by a dominating 
 purpose; and seemed greatly surprised at finding the 
 sister of the man to whom she was betrothed. 
 
 " You \" she exclaimed. 
 
 " Why not ?" returned Sister Jane quietly. 
 
 " If—if I had known " 
 
 " You wo\ildn't have come. But you needn't let that 
 interfere with your visit." 
 
 There was a slight silence, broken by Sister Jane, who 
 added: 
 
 " And in case you're worried at finding me here, I 
 won't mention it to my brother." 
 
 " Please yourself," replied Vesper disdainfully. 
 
 " And as I'm in the way, I'll go now." 
 
 " Please don't," said Quillian, as she moved towards 
 the door. 
 
 " You wish me to stay ?" 
 
 " Please." 
 
 " Here ?" 
 
 " Would you mind waiting in another room ?" 
 
 " For how long ?" 
 
 " Until Miss Hemmingay goes. It would be better 
 if you would." 
 
 Since you wish it," said Sister Jane. 
 
 She did not go at once; she turned and steadfastly 
 regarded the fine figure made by Vesper in her superb 
 evening clothes. 
 
 And as Quillian glanced from one to the other (it must 
 be admitted his gaze lingered longer on Vesper), it seemed 
 to him that Vesper in her shining youth, and in the pride 
 begotten of purple and fine linen; and the middle-aged, 
 
CH. XXII] THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN LONDON 291 
 
 plain woman, who was wearing her attenuated Franciscan 
 garment, symbolical of her anxiety for her soul's welfare, 
 respectively stood for what Grumby had called the 
 ' flesh,' and for the life of otherworldliness : he could 
 not deny, and the admission pricked his conscience, 
 which made the deeper appeal. 
 
 QuilUan was alone with Vesper: he was thankful at 
 having her all to himself. 
 
 She was the first to speak. 
 
 " Well " she said, and with a feverish assumption 
 
 of lightheartedness. 
 
 " Well !" he nervously returned, for want of something 
 better to say. 
 
 " Are you surprised to see me ?" 
 
 " Surprised !" he echoed. 
 
 " After our — our disagreement. Perhaps I said more 
 than I should; but I realized after you did it for my 
 good." 
 
 Before Quillian could comprehend the welcome fact 
 that his prolonged griefs at the way she had turned on 
 him, and the rancour appearing to underlie her upbraid- 
 ings, were so much wasted sorrow, she went on : 
 
 " I suppose you're shocked ?" 
 
 " Shocked !" 
 
 "At my coming like this: and running the risk of 
 insult from an unscrupulous man like you. You see, I 
 know whom I have to deal with." 
 
 " Anyway, it's as well ' Sister Jane ' is here," remarked 
 Quillian feebly : more than once he believed he was in a 
 dream world; that any moment he might awake to his 
 unutterable loneliness. 
 
 " That for Sister Jane I" cried Vesper disdainfully. 
 
 " But " 
 
 " If I want to do a thing, I do it. All the Sister Janes 
 in the world wouldn't stop me." 
 
 Quillian looked at her proud eyes; the thin dUating 
 nostrils; and quivering lips: and could weU believe her. 
 
 " How long has she been here ?" asked Vesper. 
 
 " I scarcely know: not long." 
 
 " I should have been here long ago, only the driver 
 was drunk, or stupid, or something. Now I must go." 
 
292 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxii 
 
 Although Quillian was every moment more aware of 
 the risks she was running at visiting him like this, he 
 was dismayed by this announcement, and showed it in 
 his face. 
 
 " Don't you want me to go ?" she hazarded. 
 
 " I want to have one more look at you," he said, and 
 in a voice that seemed to come from a distance. 
 
 " Then I must go. I'd no idea of coming ; but I dressed 
 early (it's the first decent evening frock I've ever worn), 
 and then I wasn't sure if you were coming; and I sud- 
 denly wanted you to see how I looked !" 
 
 So saying, and with an undercurrent of effort in her 
 lightheartedness, she put down her fan, slipped off her 
 cloak (she gave it to him to hold), and stood before him 
 in all the glory of mauve charmeuse, with corsage of 
 flesh-coloured ninon, and trimmed with pearl edging at 
 the sleeves and neck. 
 
 The frock was caught up on one side with the pearl 
 trimming, and here was a large chiffon rose which seemed 
 to blush at the lace petticoat revealed beneath. 
 
 Quillian gently put down the cloak that had caressed 
 her body; and confronting her, glanced from her pale 
 pink shoes to the osprey spray in her hair, and riveted 
 his gaze on her eyes; and as they looked into her's, he 
 was dimly aware of the fact that all his concern for her 
 welfare was being merged into a desire for lifelong owner- 
 ship of this glowing young woman. 
 
 This aspiration was no sooner formulated than he put 
 it out of his mind with all the resolution he could muster : 
 it was as though he realized the shattering blow which 
 would be dealt to the structure of his whole mental out- 
 look should his anxiety on Vesper's behalf be capable of 
 an explanation other than the one he had stoutly held to. 
 
 " Well " she said. 
 
 " Thank you," was all he replied. 
 
 " For letting you see my frock !" 
 
 " For coming and proving you're not offended. It 
 means so much to me." 
 
 " ' Offended '!" 
 
 " For what I said the other day." 
 
 " Surely you haven't taken that to heart !" (His care- 
 
CH. xxii] THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN LONDON 293 
 
 lined face told her that he had.) " And if you were so 
 foolish as to think twice about it, you surely remembered 
 what someone said about us — That we women are 
 angels in our wrongs; devils to get our rights ' !" 
 
 " To tell you the truth, I — I did rather grieve." 
 
 " I'm sorry." 
 
 " I — I thought — was sure you would never forgive me." 
 
 " It wotild take more than that to upset me — now." 
 
 And before he could say anything, she went on : 
 
 " See how lucky I am ! My name's in all the papers; 
 they'd have had me, too, if only I cared about sending 
 my photographs. All sorts of people have congratulated 
 me : and when I'm married, I shall be able to ' Uve ' at 
 last. Why ! I'm called the luckiest girl in London !" 
 
 " So long as you're of the same mind " 
 
 " And the people who've taken me up," she interrupted, 
 and with a more apparent effort of lightheartedness. 
 "There's an aunt of James's; she's ever such a some- 
 body; and she makes a great fuss of me. I don't mind 
 telling you that, at heart, she doesn't like me one bit; 
 and has only taken me up to spite her sister, who dis- 
 likes me even more. Still, so long as I score, what does 
 it matter ?" 
 
 " Vesper I Vesper 1" 
 
 He unwittingly made use of her Christian name. 
 
 " Well !" 
 
 " That isn't you speaking." 
 
 " Isn't it ?" she laughed lightly. 
 
 " I know it isn't you." 
 
 She looked at him with a steadfast seriousness for a 
 second, before continuing as before : 
 
 " You think me different from anybody else ; and you're 
 wrong. But then you're different from other men; and 
 I suppose that accounts for it. And that reminds me, 
 you didn't congratulate me when you heard of my engage- 
 ment. If it hadn't been for that cat of a ' Sister Jane,' 
 you wouldn't have heard of it just when I didn't want 
 you to. All the same, you didn't congratulate me ; and 
 I've thought about it a lot. Why didn't you ?" 
 
 " Why didn't I ?" he echoed. 
 
 Perhaps she perceived the anguish in his voice, for, at 
 
294 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxii 
 
 that moment, she lost much of her forced cheerfulness, 
 and looked helplessly about her, and anywhere than at 
 Quillian. 
 
 " Now I must go," she resumed in a level-headed voice. 
 " I — I should never have come, and I've stayed too long 
 as it is." 
 
 He stoutly resisted an insane desire to plead to her to 
 stay ; and merely said : 
 
 " You will soon get back in a taxi." 
 
 " I see you want to be rid of me, so I'll be off." 
 
 She reached for the ostrich-feather fan she had brought 
 with her; and turned with evident reluctance towards 
 the door: as she did so, she caught sight of the slim 
 volume of Keats which Sister Jane had left. 
 
 " What's that ?" she exclaimed sharply, and put down 
 the fan. 
 
 " Verse," he returned. 
 
 " How did that get here ? You needn't tell me : it was 
 that Mrs. Chatillon who gave it to you !" 
 
 He perceived the underlying scorn with which she 
 referred to his friend; before he could tell her she was 
 mistaken, she glanced at the title-page, and went on: 
 
 " It's perfectly disgraceful the way that woman runs 
 after you I" 
 
 " Vesper 1" he protested. 
 
 " And you ought to know better than to allow it !" 
 
 " Vesper ! Vesper !" 
 
 " Did I say you could call me by that name ! Every- 
 one on the committee is talking of how thick you are 
 together." 
 
 He ignored this scandal-mongering, and said : 
 
 " Sister Jane brought that book for me this 
 evening." 
 
 " Swear ?" 
 
 " Isn't my word enough ?" he asked. 
 
 " Of course," she returned almost gently. " And that 
 shows you what we women are : always suspicious ; and 
 always in the wrong." 
 
 " And as for Mrs. Chatillon " 
 
 " Never mind her — now. I hate the sight of her. 
 And I know you too well to think that you'd run after 
 
CH. XXII] THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN LONDON 295 
 
 an old thing like her, although I believe young men like 
 middle-aged women !" 
 
 This was said with a note of inquiry in her voice: he 
 was debating, so far as he was capable 01 coherent thought, 
 what he should reply, when she went off at a tangent, to 
 say: 
 
 " I wrote verses once." 
 
 " I can well believe that." 
 
 " And, as you can imagine, it was ever so long ago, 
 before — before There was one to daffodils, I re- 
 member. I called it ' My Lady Daffodil,' and it began 
 
 Do you like daffodils ?" 
 
 " Who doesn't ?" 
 
 " Were they over before you came to England ?" 
 
 " Yes. But we had them in Belgium. They grew in 
 the garden of our monastery; and about the city for 
 miles," said Quillian, who suddenly found his tongue. 
 " It was like a sea of gold. For those who were born in 
 the spring, they were the first flowers they saw; and for 
 those who passed away then, the last they knew: I've 
 always loved them." 
 
 She was fascinated by the passion in his voice until 
 she said: 
 
 " I'm glad you like them. They suit me." 
 
 " I can believe that, too." 
 
 " And — and — if you like, I'll put some in my hair in 
 the spring, and — and — just think once of you 1" 
 
 " A halo of gold 1" 
 
 " Halos aren't for sinners. But wasn't it you who said 
 I was like a stained-glass saint in your old chapel ?" 
 
 " In our chapel of St. Bernardine. She's St. Teresa. 
 I can see her now with the sunlight streaming through her 
 hair," he declared; and added after looking hard at 
 Vesper: " So like: so very like 1" 
 
 She quailed beneath his glance, and said with a return 
 to her artificial cheerfulness : 
 
 " Thank goodness I'm not a saint at heart. Appear- 
 ance is quite enough for me. No pretty frocks ; no pretty 
 anything ; no smart wedding ; and no having ' no end ' of 
 a good time." 
 
 " Vesper ! Vesper ! Don't speak like that !" 
 
296 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxii 
 
 "Why shouldn't I if it's true?" she returned 
 defiantly. 
 
 " I know it isn't true in your case." 
 
 " How do you know ? No man ever knows women. 
 They don't even know themselves. Don't be angry with 
 me. Let me be happy, if only while I'm here." 
 
 He moved away to the fireplace, and said : 
 
 " I know it isn't true, because, if I hadn't faith in you, 
 I should believe in nothing ; and then there would be no 
 meaning in life." 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " Whatever you may say, whatever you may do, 
 nothing will ever convmce me, at heart, you're not a 
 woman any man who was worthy the name would not 
 thank God for." 
 
 " That's — ^that's very nice of you," she said in a voice 
 that came unsteadily from quivering lips. 
 
 He gazed at her with infinitely tender eyes; perhaps, 
 it was in order to escape their message, that she said : 
 
 " What do you think of my fan ?" 
 
 " It's a very beautiful fan," he remarked, as she handled 
 it for a moment, before tossing it on a side table. 
 
 " Don't you want to know who gave it to me ?" 
 
 " I can guess." 
 
 " He showers things on me." 
 
 " Naturally." 
 
 " Naturally !" 
 
 " It's a privilege," said Quillian simply. 
 
 Vesper was momentarily silent, before continuing, and 
 with a return to her unconvincing lightheartedness ; 
 
 " Still, what does it matter, or anything else ? It's all 
 the same in a hundred years: and, meantime, I'm the 
 luckiest girl in London. Only you're the one person who 
 doesn't, or won't, see it. What's the use of worrying 
 about anything ? Eat, drink, and be merry, for to- 
 morrow we grow old." 
 
 Her lightning change of mood brought about corre- 
 sponding emotions in Quillian : one moment, he was com- 
 paratively in the skies ; the following, he was down in the 
 uttermost depths. 
 
 The next definite thing he was aware of was that 
 
CH. xxii] THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN LONDON 297 
 
 Vesper had thrown off simulation as she might a mantle, 
 and had sunk helplessly on a chair. 
 
 He was all concern for her ; approaching her, he cried : 
 
 " Are you ill ?" 
 
 She did not reply ; and he added with an immense com- 
 passion : 
 
 " If you are, you must rest here; that is, if you can 
 forgive me, since it's aU my doing." 
 
 " No rest for me," she said in a low voice. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " You — ^you thought so highly of me. And — and I 
 wanted to be as you thought me; and — and — now " 
 
 " Thank God ! You're your true self !" he cried. 
 " You're not different from what I thought you. You 
 couldn't be." 
 
 Quillian knew a sadly sweet satisfaction in discovering 
 that the worldliness that had cut him to the quick had 
 been all put on: he was deeply thankful that, at heart, 
 she had not been tarnished by her association with her 
 father; and yet cast down at realizing that this pearl 
 above price was to be sold in the marriage market. 
 
 " I've been miserable ever since," she went on. " I 
 wanted you to think well of me for ever and always, and 
 to-night it seemed to get hold of me. I felt I must see 
 you; so I dressed early and came. I believe I wanted 
 you to go for me, as then I could have gone away laugh- 
 ing; laughing at you; laughing at everything. Perhaps 
 it would have been better if you'd been ever so horrid. 
 It's so dreadful when you meet someone you want to be 
 your best before, and one's not, and knows it, and they're 
 ]ust as nice to you. And as you're not going to be nasty, 
 I'll go. Indeed, I should never have come." 
 
 He was silent — indeed, he could not have spoken then 
 if he had tried. 
 
 " And whatever you think of me, please, please, please 
 don't think I came to show off that rotten frock," she 
 said. " I believe in my heart of hearts all I wanted was 
 your blessing." 
 
 Quillian scarcely heard these last words ; since he had 
 received confirmation of his suspicions that she was not 
 a willing partner to the bargain that had been made, all 
 
298 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxii 
 
 the old frantic passion to save her from the consequences 
 of the act she contemplated again took possession of him : 
 the miserable results of his last effort were as forgotten 
 as though it had never been; and he was revolving a 
 hundred mad schemes in his brain: the most promising 
 of these appeared to be the making of an appeal to Lord 
 Tayne. 
 
 Perhaps he was not wholly lost to sanity, for, as if 
 seeking for some encouragement from her, he cried : 
 
 " If you would let me save you !" 
 
 "Oh no. It's gone too far now. Besides, you couldn't." 
 
 '' Up till now I've been weak, because I feared to make 
 things worse, and make you angry. Now I see what you 
 are, I'm ever so strong. And — and I could speak to 
 Tayne "_ 
 
 She perceived a tentative note in this suggestion, and 
 said with some decision : 
 
 "No: he's good and kind at heart: not that. It must 
 go on: and I don't mind so long as you understand." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " It's no use, believe me. But you're different from 
 everyone else I've met; and I want you to think well of 
 me. I'm not quite hopeless; not altogether. But I've 
 never had a chance. Only trouble ; trouble ; trouble : just 
 groping along: sometimes getting a glimpse of better 
 things: losing it again; and trusting to luck." 
 
 Her belief in him ; the knowledge that he was, at least, 
 something to her, did much to sweep away the mists of 
 make-believe with which he had almost automatically sur- 
 rounded himself where she was concerned : it would have 
 needed very little encouragement from her for him to have 
 urged her to throw discretion to the winds and let him 
 take her away and settle money on her so she could be 
 free of her father and his influences. 
 
 At least, this is what he told himself was in his mind; 
 at the back of his understanding was an unformulated 
 thought that, somehow or another, he could forget all 
 about Mercia and win Vesper for his own. 
 
 He was thinking of proposing some such means of 
 escape, when she rose from her seat, almost scrambled 
 into her cloak, and made for the door. 
 
CH. XXII] THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN LONDON 299 
 
 Her resolution unnerved him. 
 
 " Going !" he faltered. 
 
 " Of course. I was mad to come." 
 
 " Good-bye !" 
 
 " You can see me out." 
 
 She waited for him ; and as he reached her, their hands 
 met : perhaps she wished to do something to comfort him, 
 or acted on impulse, for, upon his gently seeking to with- 
 hold her, she pressed his unresisting hand to her heart, 
 before touching the tops of his fingers with her lips. 
 
 She led him as she might a child towards the outer 
 door, where they saw outlined upon the coloured glass 
 the figure of a man who was waiting without. 
 
CHAPTER XXIIl 
 
 A HOME-THRUST 
 
 They withdrew into the hall as Grumby entered it from 
 the kitchen to answer the ring at the bell. 
 
 " Don't go for a moment," said Quillian (he still had 
 hold of Vesper's hand). " I want Sister Jane." 
 
 " She's reading in the dining-room, sir." 
 
 " When I've taken this lady there, show whoever it is 
 into my study; that is, if he insists on seeing me." 
 
 " Very good, sir." 
 
 " Don't forget — the study, if he insists on seeing me," 
 admonished Quillian; he was well aware how easily 
 Grumby muddled things. 
 
 Aglow from head to heel from the pressure of Vesper'6 
 lips to his fingers, Quillian took Vesper into the severely 
 furnished dining-room, where Sister Jane was intent on 
 a devotional book. 
 
 " I heard a ring; isn't it lucky she's gone ?" said Sister 
 Jane without looking up. 
 
 " She's not gone." 
 
 " Not 1" cried Sister Jane. 
 
 " And someone's at the door. She was just going, and 
 we saw him outside." 
 
 " Who ?" 
 
 " Grumby will tell us directly." 
 
 " Supposmg it's my brother 1" 
 
 " It can't be," said Vesper, whose face betrayed anxiety 
 at having to delay a departure that was long overdue. 
 
 " Why can't it be ?" 
 
 " Father is taking me to the Whitehall Rooms. We 
 were to meet there. It can't be." 
 
 " Unless " from Quillian. 
 
 " Unless what ?" asked Vesper sharply. 
 
 300 
 
CH. xxiii] A HOME-THRUST 301 
 
 " He's come about a letter I wrote about giving up 
 work in the ' Home.' " 
 
 " When did you post it ?" 
 
 " This morning." 
 
 " Then he may have come " 
 
 The entrance of Grumby prevented the completion of 
 the sentence — a. Grumby who annoyed QuUlian by show- 
 ing in his manner he was conscious that something deli- 
 cate 'was afoot. 
 
 He came in, closed the door, and said : 
 
 " Lord Tayne, sir." 
 
 " You showed him into the study ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. He said he must see you " 
 
 " Thank you. That's all, Grumby." 
 
 Grumby left the room; Quillian would have followed, 
 but was detained by Sister Jane, who said: 
 
 " Better let me come." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " To see it's safe for Miss Hemmingay to go." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " I can manage better than you. It will never do for 
 him to know she's here." 
 
 " You won't stay long !" urged Quillian. 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " Never mind." 
 
 " You won't say anjrthing of what we were talking 
 about ?" admonished Vesper. 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Please, please, for my sake. I'm sensible now " 
 
 Quillian heard no more ; he had hurriedly left the room 
 with Sister Jane. 
 
 He found Lord Tayne awaiting him in the room Vesper 
 had quitted, a room that seemed very desolate since 
 it had been robbed of her presence. 
 
 " Evening !" said Tayne on seeing QuiUian. " Hullo, 
 Jane I" 
 
 " I happened to be with Mr. Quillian," returned Sister 
 Jane. 
 
 " Consoling each other for our frivolity ?" 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 "If it hadn't been for Vesper, this ball is quite the 
 
302 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxiii 
 
 last thing in the world I should have gone to. Sort of 
 preliminary run in harness after being out to grass for 
 so long." 
 
 " A little discipline won't hurt you," said Sister Jane. 
 
 " You're not coming to-night, Quillian?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Not in your line ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Thought not. That's why I came about yotu: letter. 
 Didn't like to leave it, as I thought you might be running 
 off somewhere." 
 
 " There's not much fear of that at present," declared 
 Quillian grimly. 
 
 " Glad to hear it, as we may be able to make you change 
 your mind." Turning to his sister, Tayne went on: "I 
 don't know if Quillian's told you, but he wrote to me 
 and said he'd clear out of this ' White Slave ' business 
 so far as active help was concerned." 
 
 " He did mention something of the sort to me." 
 
 " That's why I've come and interrupted your other- 
 worldly chat. I want to see if I can persuade him to 
 change his mind." 
 
 " I'll leave you together, and you can have it out," said 
 Sister Jane, who thereupon made for the door. 
 
 " Going ?" asked her brother. 
 
 " Soon." 
 
 " Why not wait here ?" 
 
 " I left a book behind me, and^ " 
 
 " Unless you want to meet one or two other keen 
 philanthropists, I should clear off at once." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " On the spur of the moment, I telephoned to Mrs. 
 Nosworthy, Meale, Mrs. ChatUlon, and Mrs. Corner, to 
 tell them of Quillian's decision. It's more than possible 
 that one or two of 'em '11 turn up." 
 
 " Now ?" 
 
 " Any moment. Why, what's up?" 
 
 " What should be, as you call it, ' up ' ? I'll leave you 
 two alone," said Sister Jane, who looked significantly 
 at Quillian before leaving the room. 
 
 While they had been talking, Quillian had barely 
 
CH. XXIII] A HOME-THRUST 303 
 
 listened: his one and only thought had been how to save 
 Vesper, who had revealed the immensity of her worth, 
 from giving her hand where she could not bestow her 
 heart. 
 
 The need for caution, for bearing in mind her injunc- 
 tion at leaving her, the fact of the whole thing being 
 really no concern of his, were all forgotten in the flood 
 of zeal for what he called her ultimate welfare, which 
 had swept him from off his feet, and into deeps where 
 reason, even everyday common sense, did not obtain. 
 
 He was of the stuff of which martyrs are made; and 
 did not count the cost in a cause in the righteousness of 
 which he was convinced. 
 
 A few hours' sober reflection might have done him a 
 world of good, and cooled his hot-headedness, that was 
 all the more formidable as he was borne on the wave of 
 a reaction from his dull resignation to the trend of 
 events. 
 
 And (he interpreted this as the interference of Provi- 
 dence) the instrument for his purposes had come ready 
 to hand in the appearance of Lord Tayne. 
 
 He was, moreover, dimly sensible of the fact that, 
 since others might arrive on the same errand as Tayne's 
 at any moment, Vesper could not escape from the flat: 
 the knowledge of her presence diminished what little 
 self-control he may have had, and sharpened his suspense ; 
 factors which urged him to rush into the breach, and 
 either win a thrilling victory or pitifully fail. 
 
 " Hope you don't mind my coming," began Tayne. 
 
 " On the contrary " 
 
 " If you'd taken my advice, you wouldn't have touched 
 it from the first ; but having begun it, and spent so much 
 money, and the thing starting promisingly, indeed, more 
 promisingly than ever I expected, it seems a pity not to 
 go on with it." 
 
 " I told you, if it's a question of money. Lord 
 Tayne " 
 
 " Money be hanged ! The ' Home ' is so ' on the 
 spot,' as it were, that it will probably go ' on its own.' 
 And if it were a question of money, I would see it didn't 
 come to grief. But, if I may say so, you're the only one 
 
304 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxin 
 
 who takes it with proper seriousness; and it seems to 
 me that if you drop out of it, there's no one to take 
 your place." 
 
 QuUUan was silent ; and Tayne added : 
 
 " Those I took the liberty of telephoning to on the 
 matter were quite of the same opinion." 
 
 Upon receiving no reply, he said : 
 
 " Can I do anything to persuade you to change your 
 mind ?" 
 
 " What you were talking about doesn't interest me at 
 all," suddenly blurted Quillian. 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " There is another matter that is ever so much more 
 important, and which I must speak of without delay." 
 
 " Fire away !" returned the other, with a calmness that 
 threw into relief Quillian's explosive determination. 
 
 " It — it concerns Miss Henamingay I" 
 
 " Miss Hemmingay !" echoed Tayne sharply. 
 
 " I know you will tell me it's nothing to do with me, 
 and to mind my own confounded business, or something 
 of that sort. I know I've no right to interfere, but I 
 can't see a rare nature like her's sacrificed." 
 
 " Sacrificed !" 
 
 " Sacrificed. For that is what it amounts to. And 
 — and you must understand " (Quillian was nettled by 
 the other's infernal self-possession and the ghost of a 
 smile which came over his face), " it makes it very hard 
 for me to speak after the kindness and consideration 
 you have shown me." 
 
 " I wasn't aware of it." 
 
 " In advising me as you did." 
 
 " Since you appear to be humble-minded, there is hope 
 for you " 
 
 " Never mind that I" 
 
 " You don't let me finish I I suppose I should be 
 very angry at your damned impertinence. I'm sorry 
 not to fall in with your mood. I'm only amused." 
 
 " Amused 1" cried Quillian, who was exasperated by 
 the fact of Lord Tayne so lightly treating his efforts on 
 Vesper's behalf. 
 
 " So far as I'm not amused, I'm grateful. I wasn't 
 
CH. xxiii] A HOME-THRUST 305 
 
 aware I could come across such a delightful experience 
 at fifty-five." 
 
 " Is that how you look at it ?" 
 
 " And may I ask what I have done to get all this 
 solicitude?" 
 
 " This marriage : — it's unholy ; infamous I I know now 
 that when you were giving the experience of a friend of 
 yours, you were speaking of yomrself. You as good as 
 told me you were buying Miss Hemmingay." 
 
 " My dear young friend, take any couple you please. 
 They start with a magnificent outfit of sentiment which 
 they manage to run through in a very short time." 
 
 " You deny happiness in marriage. Then why " 
 
 " You don't let me finish. Once they've got rid of 
 their sentiment, they're in a condition of gentle indiffer- 
 ence to each other, and are ever so happy. Should 
 love be wanting on one side, isn't it half the battle 
 towards the ideal of gentle indifference ?" 
 
 " Is Miss Hemmingay to be an object-lesson in a 
 cynical theory ?" 
 
 " Hang it, man; wait till you're fifty-five and in 
 love." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear that. Then you'll be considerate 
 for her welfare." 
 
 " I wasn't aware I was doing so very much that 
 wasn't," returned Tayne grimly. 
 
 " But if, as you admit, she doesn't care for you " 
 
 " And don't you admit I've the patience of a Job in 
 putting up with your infernal impudence ?" 
 
 " As I told you, I'm aware it has really nothing to do 
 with me " 
 
 " But it has," interrupted Tayne calmly. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " I'm coming to that directly; that is why I've put 
 up with you as I have. As for your screed, one of the 
 very few advantages of thousands of years of civilization 
 has been to give women the right to dispose of themselves 
 in marriage. Surely you're not going to tilt your lance 
 against that ?" 
 
 Quillian, conscious that he was by no means showing 
 to the best advantage, and bitterly aware he had right 
 
 20 
 
3o6 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxiii 
 
 on his side, threw argument to the winds, and invoked 
 abstract principles. 
 
 " The only thing I am tilting my lance against is the 
 shame of any young woman being sold to the highest 
 bidder, for that is what this amounts to," he cried. 
 " And if she is, the bargain should not be veneered with 
 such holy words as \ love,' ' honour,' and ' duty '." 
 
 " Those sentiments are surely more adapted for Hyde 
 Park," urged Tayne. 
 
 " I made up my mind to appeal to you " 
 
 " Entirely off your own bat ?" interrupted Tayne, with 
 some approach to anxiety. 
 " Of course." 
 " Ah ! Go on." 
 
 " And since you only sneer at me, I must protest. 
 I should never, never forgive myself if I didn't. Take 
 away these things, and what have you left ? Heavens ! 
 You'll deny the necessity of light and air next, — of 
 things that give us hope of another life ! Do you mean 
 to tell me that the things poets have sung of in all ages 
 are shams ?" 
 
 " Certainly. One lie; many echoes; and the laughter 
 of gods in the background." 
 
 " I can never think that, and — and " 
 
 " Have you quite done ?" 
 
 " But " 
 
 " When you have, I've something to tell you." 
 " I — I should like to say this," said Quillian, who now 
 that his first fine frenzy was exhaiisted, was -beginning 
 to suspect the rather sorry figure he cut : he was disposed 
 to wish that Vesper was well out of the flat, so that there 
 could be no immediate possibility of her hearing of what 
 he had done. " About this ' "White Slave ' scheme. I 
 do not know how much or how little you are interested. 
 I only know this — that if you will not complete this 
 bargain you have proposed, I wiU give eyery penny I 
 possess^ — and it's really quite a lot of money, even as 
 money is reckoned nowadays — ^to use it in any way you 
 think fit to develop it. More, I will devote my life to 
 making it a success, and I know how I could work if I 
 had the incentive." 
 
CH. XXIII] A HOME-THRUST 307 
 
 While he had been speaking, he had been more and 
 more aware of the poor inducement he was offering ; now 
 he had done, he hoped against hope that it might carry 
 some weight. 
 
 All he got, however, was : 
 
 " Do two blacks make one white, my young friend ?" 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 " You tell me I'm using my money to buy Miss Hem- 
 mingay. Now you're offering me more to go back on 
 my word and make her look ridiculous to her many 
 friends." 
 
 " Yes, but " 
 
 " So far you've done all the talking, and I've listened 
 with the most exemplary patience. It's my turn to 
 have a say; and I wish to say this: that all the time 
 you've been talking, you've been playing your own 
 game for all you're worth." 
 
 " What !" from Qnillian, who was not a little taken 
 aback by the vehemence the other suddenly exhibited. 
 
 " I don't say you've done it consciously; but all the 
 same, you've done it. Listen." (Quillian had been 
 about to interpose.) " All your talk about unholy 
 bargain, and all the rest of it, and all your professed 
 friendly interest in Miss Hemmingay, is only so much 
 damned cant with which you have, so far, blinded your- 
 self. I let you go on because I wanted to see how far 
 self-deception would carry you, and it's time for you to 
 know yourself. You are making a preposterous fool 
 of yourself for one reason, and one only. Do you re- 
 motely guess what it is ?" 
 
 " No— I " 
 
 " It's because you love Miss Hemmingay yourself." 
 
 Quillian stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the 
 speaker. 
 
 " I saw it at my house — ^how you looked at her — spoke 
 to her," continued Tayne. " You as good as cried it 
 from the housetops !" 
 
 " You — ^you mean that I " 
 
 " I mean that you love Miss Hemmingay yourself." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 VESPER CHOOSES 
 
 It was as though Quillian had been struck a heavy blow 
 in the face. 
 
 He was about to deny hotly Tayne's assertion; before 
 he could open his lips, however, he had a further and 
 sharper knowledge of the fact that, if there were any truth 
 in what the other had alleged, the structure of his out- 
 look upon things would be shattered to its foundations. 
 
 Instead of being moved by selfless considerations, as 
 he had fondly believed was the case, he would have 
 deceived himself, and have acted from motives that, 
 under the circumstances, were ignoble. 
 
 Tayne's voice interrupted his thoughts. 
 
 " Isn't that so ?" he asked. 
 
 " If — if it were," faltered Quillian, " my conduct is 
 despicable — mean — and instead of " 
 
 " Go on 1" cried Tayne as Quillian faltered. " Let's 
 have it out." 
 
 " And instead of my thinking only of her, as I be- 
 lieved, I've been all the time considering — ^unconsciously — 
 myself." 
 
 " What did I tell you the day I met you ? That every- 
 day love was the most arrant form of selfishness." 
 
 But I don't care — think of her like that," cried 
 Quillian hopefully. " It's faith I have in her: boundless, 
 eternal faith. And as for being selfish, I'd die, and 
 gladly, to save her pain." 
 
 " Why, man ! That's the highest form of love. Admit 
 I'm speaking the truth." 
 
 A further realization of how terribly his life would be 
 affected in the event of his immense concern for Vesper 
 being nothing other than love, seized Quillian in its grip, 
 
 308 
 
CH. XXIV] VESPER CHOOSES 309 
 
 and would not be denied : to escape, if only for the time, 
 from a foretaste of the consequences, he cried: 
 
 " I'll disprove it. I'll write a cheque for the ' Home,' 
 for any amount you please, and go right away, and never 
 see her again. Only let me beg of you not to mention 
 a word of this to her." 
 
 " Why not, pray ?" 
 
 " She wotild never forgive me, never. I've been a 
 blundering, impertinent fool — I see it all now — ^but — 
 but " 
 
 " I imderstand," said Tayne, and betraying a sym- 
 pathy that was praiseworthy under the circumstances. 
 " I understand more than you imagine. And whatever 
 happens, I won't be outdone by you in generosity." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked QuiUian quickly. 
 
 " I was going to tell you. Miss Hemmingay shall have 
 everything put before her, and she shall decide whether 
 or no she shall break the engagement." 
 
 Visions of glorious possibilities of happiness he dared 
 not dwell upon flashed across Quillian's brain: notwith- 
 standing these, he cried : 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 " Anything rather than that. It would mean her 
 knowing what I have done." 
 
 " Please yourself." 
 
 " Things had better go on as before, if you don't mind." 
 
 " ilind !" returned Tayae, and with a world of meaning 
 in his voice. " That being so, I don't see any point in 
 further prolonging this discussion." 
 
 Although QuiUian dreaded to be alone with his griefs 
 (he had resolved he should not see Vesper before she got 
 away), he said: 
 
 " Not in the least. And please, please don't mention 
 anjrthing of this to Ves — Miss Hemmingay." 
 
 Before Tayne could tell him he had no such intention, 
 the door opened, and Grumby admitted Mr. and Mrs. 
 Brassington Nosworthy. 
 
 Nosworthy was an overfed, hopeless - looking man, 
 who had long been cowed into dog-Uke submission to his 
 formidable wife : they both wore evening dress. 
 
310 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxiv 
 
 " Good-evening," said Mrs. Nosworthy to Quillian. 
 " How fortunate I am in finding you in ! But Lord 
 Tayne's message so worried me, I couldn't resist calling 
 on my way to the Whitehall Rooms." 
 
 " Is — is that your husband ?" was all Quillian could 
 bring himself to say: the intrusion of Mrs. Nosworthy, 
 and the commonplace things she stood for, into the 
 emotionally charged atmosphere of the room, was as if 
 someone had done him an underhand violence. 
 
 " Of course," she returned with a touch of contempt 
 in her voice. " I don't know if you have met before, 
 but you must know that my sentiments are always my 
 husband's, isn't that so ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear," quickly replied Nosworthy. 
 
 " So in speaking to me, you're addressing him. I need 
 hardly say, Mr. Quillian, how the news of your decision 
 annoyed me. It came at a most unfortunate time, 
 didn't it ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear," from her husband, as before. 
 
 " I have been thinking so much about the opening- 
 day reception scheme, which I've possibly mentioned 
 already. And I've been puzzling my brain as to whether 
 my daughters should curtsey every two or three steps 
 on presenting a bouquet to Royalty. Surely all my 
 painstaking work has not been in vain !" 
 
 " I can tell you nothing definite now," replied Quillian. 
 " So much has happened, that I shall have to think 
 things over. I will let you know very shortly." 
 
 " Cannot you give an answer to-night ?" 
 
 " It's impossible to-night." 
 
 " But if I've anything on my mind, I can't sleep, can 
 I, dear ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear !" came quickly from the husband, who 
 had been addressed. 
 
 " What !" 
 
 " N-no, dear." 
 
 She left Quillian for Lord Tayne; and as she did so. 
 Sister Jane unobtrusively entered the room, and came 
 over to Quillian. 
 
 " Has she gone ?" asked Quillian in a low voice. 
 
 " No." 
 
CH. XXIV] VESPER CHOOSES 311 
 
 " Not ?•■ 
 
 " She won't." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " She was looking at your books; and in taking one 
 down, found a powder-puff, and a chocolate-box 
 
 hidden " 
 
 " What of it ? " interrupted Quillian. 
 She questioned that man of yours, and whether or no 
 he's been drawing the long bow (he may think you want 
 to get married and he'll lose his job), she's — well, very 
 difi&cult." 
 
 "How dare he! It's infamous — it's " 
 
 " But what are we to do ?" 
 
 " In any case, she must go. If she doesn't " 
 
 " Try what you can do. Then you'll see for yourself 
 the mood she's in." 
 
 Quillian, for all his resolve not to see Vesper again, 
 might have faced her once more ; if only to explain the 
 existence of the powder-puff and chocolate-box, and to 
 deny Grumby's exaggerations, had not Hemmingay and 
 Sir Sylvester Meale (they had met on the doorstep) 
 entered the room: the latter came over to Quillian and 
 shook his hand. 
 
 It was evident that Hemmingay was worried; doubt- 
 less, reflected Quillian, because he had discovered his 
 daughter's absence. 
 
 " Ah, Quillian ! How do ?" cried Hemmingay, whose 
 eyes were roving here, there, and everywhere. " Not 
 honouring us to-night ?" 
 
 "No," from Quillian. 
 
 " Did you bring Vesper ?" asked Tayne of Hemmingay. 
 
 " No. In fact " 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 " L — left her at home dressing. You can guess what 
 it is with a girl who isn't used to gaiety !" 
 
 " My car is outside. We can fetch her directly." 
 
 " Wouldn't hear of it. Ton my word, I wouldn't !" 
 cried Hemmingay, with mingled anxiety and resolution. 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Eh ! Wouldn't think of putting you to all that 
 trouble." 
 
313 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxiV 
 
 " What trouble is there in a few minutes on a car ?" 
 " Wouldn't hear of it." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " I'm so worried about Quillian ' turning us up ' in 
 this way." 
 
 Doubtless to conceal his concern regarding his daughter, 
 Hemmingay made use of extravagant flattery in en- 
 deavouring to persuade Quillian to change his mind: his 
 efforts were joined to those of Meale, who, patting Quillian 
 on the back with his best nonconformist geniality, 
 strongly urged how it would injure his (Meale's) reputa- 
 tion should a philanthropic work, which had been 
 ' boomed ' in his newspapers, come to naught. 
 
 Quillian was in divers moods, and almost at the same 
 time. 
 
 He was on the point of flying from his flat, and leaving 
 the others to settle matters as best they might; he was 
 all but overborne by a desire to confront Vesper, and 
 seek to discover the truth of Tayne's assertion; he knew 
 a passion of remorse for having spoken of her as he had 
 done : he was minded to make a last desperate effort to 
 save Vesper from the marriage she contemplated. 
 
 His indeterminate thoughts were interrupted by the 
 
 entrance of Sister Jane (she had quitted the room after 
 
 she had spoken to Quilhan), who again came over to him. 
 
 " I've talked to her, and she's more sensible," said 
 
 Sister Jane. 
 
 •• Well " 
 
 " And since so many have come, I think it's safer for 
 her to go." 
 " Is she going ?" 
 " Don't you wish her to ?" 
 " Yes — ^no. I don't know what I want." 
 " I shall do what I think best," declared Sister Jane. 
 As if moved by a like impulse, they both glanced at 
 Lord Tayne, to see he was narrowly eyeing them. 
 " Does he suspect anything ?" murmured Sister Jane. 
 " Not that I know of." 
 
 " He's ever so sharp, and — I'll get her to go now." 
 Before she could leave Quillian, Tayne was beside 
 them, and asked in a low voice of his sister : 
 
CH. XXIV] VESPER CHOOSES 313 
 
 " Why do you keep on stealing from the room ?" 
 
 " Why shouldn't I if I want to ?" 
 
 '"I know it's a free country, but is anything happening 
 that you don't wish me to know ?" 
 
 Quillian waited in a terrible suspense (it was reaUy 
 only the fraction of a second) for her reply. 
 
 ' No," she said. 
 
 " Sure ?" 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 Tajme next addressed Quillian, and asked him the same 
 question. 
 
 His native truthfulness failed him; over and beyond 
 his instinctive desire to shield a woman for whom he 
 was deeply concerned, even if he did not indeed love 
 her, was Sister Jane's example; although he full well knew 
 he would suffer torments of conscience, he said, and 
 stoutly : 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I know you would not tell a lie," remarked Tayne. 
 
 " Aren't you so certain of me ?" asked his sister. 
 
 " You're a woman," he smiled. " And the best of 
 you have the haziest notions of everyday morality." 
 
 Sister Jane slipped from the room as Sir Sylvester 
 Meale came over to Quillian. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Quillian, surely I can persuade you to go 
 back on your decision," he began. 
 
 Quillian was in a curious frame of mind just then: he 
 had, for the time being, shut his eyes to the enormity 
 of his transgression; and in some elusive fashion was in 
 the mood to injure the man he had already wronged with 
 a lie; doubtless this was why he was once more moved 
 by a desire to prevent Tayne's marriage to Vesper. 
 
 " It all rests with Lord Tayne," he replied. 
 
 " Lord Tayne !" echoed Meale. 
 
 " I have already told him the one condition on which 
 I will find all the money, and most of the energy to make 
 the thing a success." 
 
 " Is this so ?" asked Meale of Tayne. 
 " If I told you, which I'm not going to, the condition, 
 you would know how preposterous it was." 
 
 " Indeed 1" 
 
314 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxiv 
 
 " Why ! — But I cannot — ^will not, repeat it." 
 
 " I wonder if I could guess," gently suggested Meale. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " from Tayne. 
 
 " It's — it's naturally a very delicate matter," said 
 Meale in his best bland manner, which somehow inclined 
 Quillian's sympathies towards Tayne. " But — ^but — 
 if I may say so without meaning the least offence — there 
 is certainly some feeling in serious circles of the pro- 
 priety of a man with — ^with^t's really most difficult 
 to say " 
 
 " With what ?" asked Tayne. 
 
 " Well — 'er — to put it bluntly — of a man with your 
 unfortunate past, which, I am sure you are the first to 
 regret — marrying ' ' 
 
 " That is a matter I refuse to discuss," interrupted 
 Tayne sharply. 
 
 " Very naturally from your point of view. My only 
 purpose is to carry the scheme to a successful conclusion. 
 I am not in the habit of being associated with failures." 
 
 " Of one thing I'm quite certain," declared Tayne. 
 " There's nothing to be got from discussing it further 
 to-night." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," sighed Meale. " And these 
 good people must be anxious to get on to their frivolity." 
 
 He shook hands with Quillian, who, immediately he 
 was left alone, found himself staring at an ivory-white 
 ostrich-feather fan, which lay on a table beside him: it 
 was some moments before he gathered to whom it 
 belonged. 
 
 He continued to gaze blankly at it ; and as he did so, 
 blood coloured his face. 
 
 Realizing the foolishness of what he was at, he looked 
 up furtively, and perceived that the fan had caught 
 Tayne's attention; he was beholding it with an imper-' 
 sonal curiosity. 
 
 The next thing Quillian was conscious of was that his 
 eyes and Tayne'S had met ; that he was quailing beneath 
 the other's scrutiny. 
 
 Quillian wished from the bottom of his heart that no 
 one would notice the fan; even as he did so, Meale said 
 to Mrs. Nos worthy: 
 
CH. XXIV] VESPER CHOOSES 315 
 
 " You've forgotten your fan." 
 
 " Fan 1" returned Mrs. Nosworthy. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Did you say ?" 
 
 " There on the table. It must be yours." 
 
 Mrs. Nosworthy loomed upon the table; looked hard 
 at the incriminating fan, and said : 
 
 " It isn't mine. I wish it were." 
 
 " But " began Meale. 
 
 " It must belong to some friend of Mr Quillian's." 
 
 " Eh !" from Meale in surprise. 
 
 Quillian was conscious that everyone was looking at 
 him: too well aware that Tayne and Hemmingay must 
 have recognized the fan, he did not know what to do 
 with his eyes. 
 
 And he was acutely alive to the fact of his having told 
 a lie. 
 
 Hemmingay sought to come to his rescue (for all his 
 anxieties, Quillian had some sort of an idea that he would) 
 and said : 
 
 " You had better all come: we're late as it is." 
 
 " But this fan !" from Mrs. Nosworthy, who had 
 scented mischief. 
 
 " What of it ?" 
 
 " Hadn't we better find out whom it belongs to ?" 
 
 " It's no concern of ours." 
 
 " Not a bit," added Tayne. 
 
 " Ah !" sighed Hemmingay, who seemed greatly re- 
 lieved. " Let's go. Vesper will be wondering what has 
 become of me." 
 
 " But " began Mrs. Nosworthy. 
 
 " It merely belongs to some friend of Quillian's," 
 remarked Tayne offhandedly. 
 
 " I should not have thought he was a man to have 
 such friends," remarked Meale, who had the prejudices 
 of his sect against a Roman Catholic. 
 
 All might have been well had not Quillian lost his head : 
 to Tayne's consternation, he said : 
 
 " I — I did not know it was there. Someone must have 
 left it, and — and — I must try and find out to whom it 
 belongs, and — and " 
 
3i6 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxiv 
 
 " Mrs. Chatillon !" announced Grumby from the door. 
 
 Mrs. Chatillon entered the room; her characteristic 
 self-possession was contrasted with the indifferently con- 
 cealed curiosity of most of the others. 
 
 " Good-evening I" she smiled to Quillian. " Have I 
 interrupted another — discussion ?" 
 
 " Perhaps it belongs to Mrs. Chatillon," remarked Mrs. 
 Nosworthy with heavy sarcasm. 
 
 Mrs. Chatillon glanced lazily at the speaker, who went 
 on: 
 
 " It's that ostrich-feather fan: and Mr. Quillian cannot 
 remember whose it is." 
 
 Mrs. Chatillon looked meaningly at Quillian, and as 
 much as to ask if it would help him out of anything by 
 claiming it. But Quillian was only alive to the fact that 
 Vesper was standing stifHy in the door that Grumby had 
 not closed: she appeared as though she were turned into 
 stone. 
 
 " Is it yours ?" sniffed Mrs. Nosworthy. 
 
 " It may be," remarked Mrs. Chatillon tentatively. 
 " It may have been one Mr. Quillian gave me." 
 
 " Indeed I Then it belongs to you ?" 
 
 " No," said Vesper's voice. 
 
 All eyes were turned to the doorway where she still 
 stood. 
 
 " It belongs to me," she went on. 
 
 Quillian glanced guiltily about him, and was acutely 
 conscious of a silence that he believed would never come 
 to an end. 
 
 And if he at all wondered why she had seen fit to 
 reveal herself, some sort of explanation was supplied by 
 the fact of her having witnessed Mrs. Chatillon's arrival, 
 if she had not encountered her in the hall. 
 
 Tayne was the first to speak. 
 
 " Here you are," he remarked to Vesper, and as if the 
 whole business were the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 " Good-evening," said Meale. " We did not know 
 you were here." 
 
 " Indeed, no," spitefully added Mrs. Nosworthy. " Did 
 we, dear ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear," promptly replied her husband. 
 
CH. XXIV] VESPER CHOOSES 317 
 
 " We knew that Miss Hemmingay was in Mr. Quillian's 
 flat !" 
 
 " N-no, dear." 
 
 " This requires no explanation," remarked Tayne with 
 a self-possession and a generosity QuUlian admired in 
 spite of himself. 
 
 " Not in the least 1" cried Hemmingay officiously; he 
 was hard put to it to conceal his concern at what had 
 occurred. 
 
 " I was quite aware Miss Hemmingay was somewhere 
 about," continued Tajme. " I didn't want her to have 
 any more of this scheme just for the present. She's 
 rather ' fed up ' with it." 
 
 " Quite so; we quite understand," gushed Mrs. Nos- 
 worthy. " Don't we, dear ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear, " chorused her husband, who was fur- 
 tively admiring Vesper. 
 
 " But before we go, I do so hope Miss Hemmingay will 
 persuade Mr. QuiUian to change his mind. I don't know 
 what people will say if all my efforts come to nothing." 
 
 " Never mind what people think," said Tayne. 
 
 " But " 
 
 " They put a telescope to their eyes to look at the 
 mistakes of others; and reverse it to examine their own." 
 
 The next thing Quillian was aware of was that the others, 
 excepting Vesper, Tayne, and Hemmingay, had tactfully 
 quitted the room (Mrs. Chatillon might have stayed had 
 she not received an imploring glance from Quillian) ; and 
 that Sister Jane was somewhere in the background. 
 
 He did his best to nerve himself for what was toward : 
 so far as it was possible, he avoided looking at Vesper. 
 
 Lord Tayne was the first to speak. 
 
 " So you lied to me !" he began. 
 
 " I lied to you," admitted Quillian. 
 
 " Miss Hemmingay was here all the time ? " 
 
 " Y-yes." 
 
 " WeU " 
 
 " You don't think- 
 
 " I quite know the man I'm dealing with. Yet I 
 should have expected something nearer the truth from 
 Jane and yourself." 
 
3i8 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxiv 
 
 " I admit I lied," said Quillian shamefacedly. 
 
 " And had I been in your shoes, I should have done 
 the same. Lies are the currency of social intercourse. 
 But you did worse 1" 
 
 " Worse !" cried Quillian in alarm. 
 
 " You lost your head. If you hadn't, all would have 
 been well: but after " 
 
 " Let me speak," interrupted Vesper, who all this time 
 had been standing stock-still. 
 
 " There is nothing for you to say !" returned Tayne 
 gently. 
 
 " There is much." 
 
 Quillian, so far as his dismay at the disastrous turn 
 of events would permit, wondered what was coming: he 
 listened with all his ears for anything Vesper might have 
 to say, and wished Hemmingay would leave ofE fidgeting 
 about the room. 
 
 " I want to tell you I could have easily got away: why 
 I did not, I scarcely know even now," she began in a 
 voice she seemed striving to control, and make the 
 vehicle of a ruthless sense of duty. 
 
 " It's quite unnecessary to go into it now," remarked 
 Tayne. 
 
 " Quite !" chorused Hemmingay. 
 
 " I wish to," she returned. " And more particularly 
 since you have taken it as you have done." 
 
 " It's really quite unnecessary," repeated Tayne. 
 
 " It's my wish, and very necessary," she returned; 
 after waiting a moment or two, she went on: " But what- 
 ever the reason why I did not, I'm glad I came in, now; 
 ever so glad, because I wish to be honest with you." 
 
 " What a treasure !" cried Hemmingay; Tayne would 
 have reproved him, had she not continued: 
 
 " What you have been told " (she indicated Quillian 
 with a little gesture) " I do not know. But after I had 
 dressed, I felt an impulse to come and see Mr. Quillian; 
 and I foolishly surrendered to it." 
 
 " And Sister Jane was here all the time ?" put in 
 Hemmingay. 
 
 " If you don't shut up, father, I shall do something 
 desperate," she cried angrily. 
 
GH. XXIV] ^XSPER CHOOSES 319 
 
 " Very sorry, my dear." 
 
 " Everything you say makes eveiything worse. Mr. 
 Qufllian is by way of bemg an old friend of mine, although 
 I have not Imown him voy long. But there was nothing 
 in it ; there could not be : he is engaged to be married, too." 
 
 It was as though Hemmingay were about to speak; a 
 menacing look from Vesper made him hold his tongue. 
 
 " What we even talked about I as good as forget." she 
 went on. " But whatever it was. or wasn't, or whatso- 
 ever you think of mv coming as I did. I'm ^ad I came 
 in." 
 
 " That's allri^t," said Tayne kindly. " You needn't 
 say any more." 
 
 She disregarded his consideration for her, and continued : 
 
 " For if I'd got awa^-, and you'd never have found out, 
 the kinder you'd been to me, the more it would have 
 been on my conscience." 
 
 " Quite done ?" smilin^y asked Tavne. 
 
 " I— I thinV so." 
 
 " Because I wish to have a say. While we're about it. 
 I should hke to get ever\-thing straightened out, so we 
 can all know exactly where we are." 
 
 Vesper wearily seated herself. 
 
 " Our good friend QuiHian was good enou^ to tell me 
 that you were making a loveless marriage " (\'esper sat 
 bolt upri^t): " that you didn't care two straws about 
 me — OT words to that cEEect — and that you had been more 
 or less persuaded into an engagement with myself." 
 
 " He said that ? " asked Vesper. 
 
 " Infamous !" fumed Hemmingay. 
 
 " Isn't that so, QuiDian ? " inquired Tayne. 
 
 " Is it — is it necessary to go into it now ?" replied 
 Quillian. 
 
 " Quite necessary. Because in order to show I'm 
 not the villain of melodrama as QuiDian mi^t think, I 
 give, in a sense gladly give. Miss Hemmingay her freedom 
 should she desire it: in a sense, ^adly, because quite the 
 last thing in the world I wish is to see her unhappy. " 
 
 QuiDian could scarce believe he had heard aii^t; 
 directty he realized the drift of Ta^Tie's ofEer, he dared to 
 believe that, after all. he had wrou^t his purpose in 
 
320 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxiv 
 
 saving Vesper; and, in spite of the fact that, even if he 
 loved her, his engagement to Mercia should prevent him 
 from marrying her, his heart leapt. 
 
 Vesper was silent ; and with a silence that was almost 
 unbearably eloquent to Quillian. 
 
 " You heard what I said ?" asked Tayne. 
 
 " But she's not considering it," cried Hemmingay, 
 whose agitation was such that he either nervously paced 
 the room or stopped by a table and knocked over books 
 or ornaments. 
 
 Vesper made a gesture of protest, and said in a low 
 voice to which Quillian strained his attention : 
 
 " I heard what you said. May I ask when Mr. Quillian 
 told you that ?" 
 
 "This evening." 
 
 " This evening !" she echoed sharply. 
 
 " While you were here." 
 
 Vesper rose to her full height. " You spoke of me to- 
 night ?" she asked scornfully of Quillian. 
 
 Quillian hung his head. 
 
 ' Answer. You spoke of me to-night ?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " And before those wretched people ?" 
 
 " He spoke when we were alone. The matter was 
 only indirectly mentioned afterwards, and then only 
 with Meale," replied Tayne. 
 
 " Sure ? Not " 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " In what way ?" asked Vesper ; and as Tayne hesitated, 
 she added: " I insist on knowing." 
 
 " Quillian had better tell you. Then no one can say I'm 
 piling on the paint." 
 
 " Since you will know," Quillian forced himself to say, 
 " when Meale was persuading me not to give up the 
 ' Home,' I told him that Lord Tayne knew the condition 
 on which I would go on. The condition was that he 
 should not — not marry you — and — and Meale guessed 
 it and — and " 
 
 " You spoke of me before him ?" asked Vesper with 
 flashing eyes. 
 
 Quillian, who could not trust himself to speak, nodded 
 his head. 
 
CH. XXIV] VESPER CHOOSES 321 
 
 You spoke of me before- 
 
 She did not finish; from the glance Quillian dared to 
 take of her, he saw she looked as she did on that afternoon 
 in Redcliffe Gardens, when she had so unexpectedly 
 turned on him. 
 
 There was a further tense suspense; it was broken by 
 her saying to Lord Tayne: 
 
 " Take me away." 
 
 QuiUian slightly shuddered: he waited as one in a 
 grievous nightmare for what was about to be. 
 
 Tayne gave Vesper his arm ; followed by her father, whoi 
 had, at once, recovered his native pomposity, they made 
 to leave the flat. 
 
 Quillian involuntarily pressed the bell for Grumby to 
 open the front-door. 
 
 " Good-night," said Tayne. " Men who can't keep 
 their heads deserve to lose a woman." 
 
 " Good-night," returned QuiUian. 
 
 He did not recognize his own voice; and prayed that 
 Vesper would throw him one more word. 
 
 He was not quite certain, but he believed she murmiu'ed : 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 Away from the necessity of going with them to the 
 threshold, Quillian was loth to lose sight of Vesper : he 
 followed her to the front-door, and held it open while 
 she descended (she would not wait for the Uf t) . 
 
 And as he watched her go down in all the glory of her 
 fearless honesty ; her fine raiment ; and on the arm of the 
 man she was to wed; the scales fell once and for all from 
 his eyes : he knew beyond any further possibility of dis- 
 guise that to which he had steadfastly blinded himself 
 for so long. 
 
 She went out of sight ; and he thought his heart-strings 
 would snap. 
 
 He presently returned to the room where Sister Jane 
 was fiaigering her rosary. 
 
 She looked up and saw his pitiful face. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" she asked. 
 
 " I love her. Oh ! How I love her !" he moaned. 
 
 " I could have told you that." 
 
 " And all the time I've been selfish, and not known it !" 
 
 21 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 ' BEASTS AT EPHESUS ' 
 
 " Hi ! QuiLLiAN. There you are I" 
 
 Quillian, who had been about to dip his head in a bucket 
 of water, which he kept at hand for the purpose, looked 
 in the direction of the voice, and descried Tommy Chalf ont 
 at the end of the walk. 
 
 Tommy, whose fat, red face was perspiring from his 
 efforts to find Quillian in the gardens of ' Courts,' ap- 
 proached the latter, and the nearer he got, the wider he 
 opened his eyes. 
 
 " What on earth are you doin', old sport ?" he asked. 
 
 " I'm trying to read," replied Quillian. 
 
 " Anyway, the book's big enough. Anything interest- 
 in' ?" 
 
 " Tertullian." 
 
 " Who's he ?" 
 
 " One of the early Fathers," 
 
 " Great Scott ! Bit dry, ain't it ?" 
 
 " It's a little difficult if one isn't quite in the mood." 
 
 " An' what's the water for ?" 
 
 " When I come to a passage I — I can't quite get the 
 hang of, I put my head in it," said Quillian, who, if any- 
 thing, was rather thankful Tommy had sought him out. 
 
 " That's one way of doin' it. Anyway, I'm glad I found 
 you in, though it has been a job to find you: needle in a 
 bundle of what's-its-name sort of thing. Mrs. Lownes, 
 whom I met yesterday, said you were here, and as I was 
 drivin' over to Philbrick's, I thought I'd look you up." 
 
 " Glad to see you. Will you sit down here ?" 
 
 " Must get over to Philbrick's: awfully important," 
 said Tommy, who was fidgeting to be off. 
 
 " As important as that ?" 
 
 322 
 
CH. XXV] ' BEASTS AT EPHESUS ' 323 
 
 " Thought you might care to come too." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " That is, if you ain't too taken up with Mercia." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 " S'pose now you're back, it will all be fixed up in no 
 time." 
 
 " I have to go over there this afternoon," rejoined 
 Quillian in a voice he strove to make casual. 
 
 " Then come on over to Philbrick's. Be a bit livelier 
 than readin' old what's-his-name with your head in a 
 bucket." 
 
 Quillian was undecided and looked it. 
 
 " I'd gladly stay and have a chat about old times, and 
 all that sort of thing," almost sighed Tommy, " but what 
 I'm on is ' no end ' important." 
 
 " Oh !" said Quillian, who was doing his hardest just 
 then to stop his thoughts from a way they were all too 
 prone to follow. 
 
 " It's always safe to confide in you, old sport, so I don't 
 mind tellin' you. I'm after an under-gardener, who is 
 leavin', before anyone snaps him up." 
 
 " A good gardener ?" 
 
 " Blest if I know." 
 
 " Then " 
 
 " I don't care a straw about his gardenin' ; it's his voice 
 I'm after. Sings alto, old dear. What d'ye think of 
 that ?" interrupted Tommy triumphantly. 
 
 " I don't know what to think," replied Quillian. 
 
 " Anyway, are you comin' over to Philbrick's ? If you'll 
 come along, I'll let you into a secret." 
 
 Quillian, who had been hard put to it to make headway 
 with TertuUian on that morning, thought he may as well 
 go with Tommy as do anything else ; moreover he knew 
 from bitter experience that the humblest distraction 
 made lighter the load of griefs he was doomed to 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I'll come," he said. 
 
 " Good. I've my brother's car. It's outside your 
 • show.' " 
 
 " What is this wonderful secret ?" asked QuUlian, after 
 they had started. 
 
334 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxv 
 
 " Half a mo*. Your road winds a bit and I haven't had 
 too much experience of drivin'." 
 
 " Going to break our necks ?" 
 
 " There're worse things," sighed Tommy, and Quillian, 
 in his present mood, was ahnost of the same mind. 
 
 " Are you in trouble too ?" inquired Quillian. 
 
 " Funny question for you to ask. You don't suppose 
 I'd forgotten that dear little flapper, and the way she 
 treated me, in five minutes ?" 
 
 " I suppose not," assented Quillian, who thought on 
 what a different plane from his friend's was his own love 
 sorrow. 
 
 " Now we're clear of your park, it's all ' right-o,' " said 
 Tommy, who changed to the second gear, before going on 
 the highest. " Now we can talk." 
 
 " Well ?" from Quillian. 
 
 " I needn't tell you how hard I've been hit by it all. 
 You must have seen it in my face " (Quillian had done 
 nothing of the kind), " an' if I'm not gettin' any thinner, 
 I'm certainly no stouter, which shows what trouble's done 
 for me." 
 
 " Of course," assented Quillian, who had much ado to 
 fix his mind on what the other was saying. 
 
 " I've been pinin' an' pinin' — I can tell you, old man; 
 and the only way I can see out of it all is to go in for art 
 — head, neck, and shoulders." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " An' somethin' the pater, who's more crotchety than 
 ever, can't shy at. What d'ye think I'm gettin' up for the 
 winter ?" 
 
 " I'm never any good at guessing." 
 
 " You'd never hit it if you did. Promise you won't give 
 it away if I tell you." 
 
 QuUliaii gave the necessary assurance. 
 A nigger troupe, old dear. What d'ye say to that ?" 
 
 Quillian tried to express proper surprise. 
 Trimby, the butler, is ' Mr. Johnson ' : I'm first corner 
 man; arid Tilkin, one of the grooms, is the other. Sup- 
 pose you're no good at the ' bones ' ?" 
 
 " I'm afraid not." 
 
 " That was too much to expect. Pity! If you ^lad 
 
CH. XXV] ' BEASTS AT EPHESUS ' 325 
 
 been, I'd have worked you in. I've got all the men who 
 can sing at our place, an' it's wonderful what a lot of 
 talent I found in the stable. Now I'm after Philbrick's 
 under-gardener who I'm told sings alto. And in future 
 I'll see the pater doesn't engage any man who hasn't a 
 voice." 
 
 " Where are you going to perform ?" 
 
 " Different places round. Schoohooms and that sort 
 of thing. One can go a long way on a brake. You see, I 
 must do somethin' to occupy my mind. You're not look- 
 ing over ' fresh ' ; s'pose you're worried too !" 
 
 " I am-^rather." 
 
 " Thought the way that little flapper treated me would 
 be a shock to you. An' it was awfully good of you seein' 
 me through as you did ; pacifyin' her husband, an' all that . ' ' 
 
 " That's all right," returned QuiUian. 
 
 " All very well. That's why I wanted to do you a good 
 turn by lettin' you show what you could do in my troupe." 
 
 A little later. Tommy said: 
 
 " I can't believe it even now." 
 
 " About " 
 
 " Miss Fothergill; or Mrs. Bedwell, to give her her right 
 name. The things that girl said to me — ^I can tell you, old 
 sport. One night she told me she didn't know what love 
 was till she met me." 
 
 " Oh !" absently from QuiUian: his thoughts had taken 
 wing at mention of the word love. 
 
 " That was the night she let out she was in trouble 
 with her landlady, and I parted with five quid." 
 
 " She took it ?" said QuilUan as before. 
 
 " After a lot of fuss : but there's no denying she took it 
 in the end. 'Nother time she wondered why I hadn't 
 married. Told me I could have any girl in London if only 
 I went the right way about it." 
 
 QuiUian full well knew that there was one woman 
 whom Tommy could never hope to win. 
 
 " That was the day she dropped a dressmaker's bill from 
 her pocket : and, somehow or other, I insisted on settlin' 
 it." 
 
 " 'Nother time," confessed Tommy, " she said she 
 never felt she wanted to kiss a man till she saw me." 
 
326 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxv 
 
 Quillian bridled an inclination to ask Mrs. Bedwell's 
 trouble on that occasion; his forbearance was wasted, for 
 Tommy went on: " We were lookin' in a jeweller's 
 window at the time; an' she was almost nasty because I 
 bought her a wrist watch studded with pearls." 
 
 " I suppose she forgave you," remarked Quillian, who 
 got a certain dismal pleasure in contrasting the ' dear 
 little flapper ' with a certain pearl above price. 
 
 " We were the best of friends in five minutes. And 
 here we are." 
 
 QuilUan was willing and loathe to visit old friends : on 
 the face of it, he was thankful for anything to take him 
 out of himself : in his heart of hearts he preferred to be 
 solitary, even at the risk of suffering the pains he all too 
 frequently endured on account of his love for Vesper 
 Hemmingay. 
 
 Ever since the night his eyes had been opened, and he 
 had seen keenly where before he had been blind, he had 
 suffered the torments that he had believed were kept for 
 the damned. 
 
 These were of divers kinds, and the result of separate 
 causes. 
 
 First and foremost was the fact that she was, and 
 would be, so long as there was breath in his body, the one 
 possible woman in the world for him; since he could 
 never hope to win her for his own, his life was irreparably 
 blighted. 
 
 He took a sorry pleasure in recalling expressions of her 
 mobile features; glances from her ever-changing eyes; 
 cadences of her voice; and although these memories in- 
 creased his griefs tenfold, he endured them gladly, cheer- 
 fully, inasmuch as they seemed the poorest of incense to 
 burn before the shrine of the adored one. 
 
 The shrine, because since she had behaved honestly to 
 Lord Tayne, in revealing herself of her own free-will, 
 when she could so easily have got away, Quillian was 
 certain she was that exceptional thing, a beautiful woman 
 whose heart was free of the devils who found a hiding- 
 place in the hearts of such as she. 
 
 Away from these, were increasing reproaches for the 
 self-deception he had persistently indulged: he had loved 
 
CH. XXV] ' BEASTS AT EPHESUS ' 327 
 
 Vesper on first catching sight of her face, indeed ahnost 
 before she had got down from the bus in the Fulham 
 Road : and all the thovisand and one little services he had 
 taken the sharpest pleasure in rendering her, instead of 
 being inspired by friendship, were one and all dictated by 
 the most arrant selfishness since, according to a certain 
 authority on the human heart, they were performed 
 from a passionate desire to secure the favours of the 
 loved one. 
 
 He had taken a subtle pleasure in cultivating the 
 humility with which he had been endowed, and thought 
 he had been practising this all along : now, he was too well 
 aware that, in his dealings with Vesper, there had been 
 only the covetous leanings of the flesh. 
 
 And then there had been his frantic eagerness (he 
 knew now it was all pretence) to pluck but one brand 
 from the burning in order to make himself worthy of 
 Mercia Lownes ! The shameful irony of it ! 
 
 Worse than this, Vesper, who, with her woman's in- 
 tuition, must have long ago seen how the land lay with 
 his affections, would, in all likelihood, think of him as one 
 of the most paltry of humbugs. 
 
 Then there were (these were very hard to bear) biting 
 fits of jealousy with regard to Lord Tajme and the woman 
 he would soon make his own; they mostly came to him in 
 the night, when Quillian found sleep impossible, and 
 was dolorously alive to the pitiless crawUng of the 
 hours. 
 
 Mingled with these were acute self-reproaches for the 
 way he had muddled things from the start: he had no 
 business to tie himself up to Mercia in the headstrong 
 manner he had done : even after he had met Vesper, if he 
 had not been such a pigheaded fool, and had seen who 
 really held his heart, he could have faced Mercia, con- 
 fessed the facts of the case and asked for his release : as 
 things were, he was to see her on that afternoon, and tell 
 her as well as he might that he could never marry her : and 
 why not perform this unpleasant duty weeks back, and 
 conceivably have married Vesper into the bargain ? 
 
 And should QiiiUian think of the obstacles that existed 
 to union with Vesper — her heretic faith, and her father's 
 
328 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxv 
 
 connection with the Maltese ' College '■ — Quillian laughed 
 aloud in bitter derision of such scruples. 
 
 This would bring him to wondering if Vesper loved him 
 at all in return. 
 
 He was certain of her friendliness, and had ineffaceable 
 recollections of their day in Richmond Park to comfort 
 him should he doubt her liking for him: looks, manner, 
 little tendernesses (she had given him a fraction of her 
 tight skirt to sit upon so he should not catch cold from the 
 damp tree-trunk) had all assured him of her esteem : more 
 eloquent than any of these, was the something unspoken 
 between them which they had fought hard to keep in the 
 background. 
 
 But if she really loved him a little, as he was sometimes 
 bold enough to believe, why was she so distant with him 
 until she had learned he was engaged to be married; and 
 why had she shown such a disturbing light-heartedness 
 on top of this news ? 
 
 This harassed him a lot : he vexed his soul about it for 
 hours on end until some other aspect of the matter took 
 its place to torture him. 
 
 It must not be imagined that Quillian's life was a con- 
 stant round of suffering: there were merciful intervals 
 during which his heart was bruised into insensibility ; and 
 all he was aware of was a dull sense of something amiss. 
 
 It was at these times, for which Quillian was not a little 
 thankful, that he realized the futility of thinking what he 
 would have done had he had the last momentous months 
 over again: to assist this conviction, he recalled the lines 
 from Omar Khayy^nj which Vesper had repeated in the 
 Park: 
 
 " That moving finger writes ; and having writ, 
 Moves on : nor all thy Piety nor Wit 
 Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, 
 Nor all thy tears wash out a Word of it." 
 
 That moving finger had written to dire purpose for him : 
 and all the torments he had kjiown, and the many more to 
 come in the days that stretched so bleakly before him, 
 would not avail him one jot. 
 
 Fasting; prayer; above all, cold water as enjoined by 
 
CH. XXV] • BEASTS AT EPHESUS ' 329 
 
 the Guardianof St. Beruardine in case of need, had proved 
 disappointing. 
 
 Even the early Fathers (including TertuUian) failed him. 
 
 The barking of countless dogs greeted Tommy's vigorous 
 ring at the door; directly this was opened, the hint of 
 kennel which assailed Qviillian's nostrils at once took his 
 mind back to the occasion of his first coming to the Phil- 
 bricks and, in so doing, reminded him of the fateful de- 
 cision with regard to Mercia he had so foolishly taken. 
 
 Tommy, who was in a great hurry to snap up the under- 
 gardener who sang ' alto,' waited for Sir Percy in the 
 hall, where Quillian could see by the behaviour of the dogs 
 that something had gone wrong: they looked apprehen- 
 sively about them; huddled gregariously; now and again, 
 one would give another a furtive but sympathetic lick. 
 
 Sir Percy's greeting of Quillian was chastened by an 
 obvious nervousness of manner: he had not been talking 
 to the callers more than a minute or so before Quillian 
 perceived that his manner had much in common with 
 the dogs. 
 
 Sir Percy, also, glanced fearfully about him ; had some- 
 thing of their look in his eyes; and would infrequently 
 give them a hesitating but kindly pat : more than this, the 
 dogs appeared to look upon him as being in identical case 
 with themselves : they hung about his heels, and seemed 
 to tell him, so far as they were able, that things were cer- 
 tainly bad, but that it did not matter so much since one 
 and all were in the same boat. 
 
 An explanation was soon forthcoming. 
 
 " Sorry you've come at an unfortunate time, Quillian !" 
 said Sir Percy, " 'specially as I haven't seen you for ages. 
 Missed you a lot, and wondered what had become of you. 
 Fact is Beatrice is very ' difficult ' to-day, and has been 
 since yesterday. Things have gone wrong at the ' shows ' ; 
 not even a V.H.C.; and she has an unhappy knack of 
 letting us all know it. If it weren't that the dogs would 
 miss me, I'd go for a long ride." 
 
 Quillian accompanied Tommy and Philbrick into the 
 gardens where, after they had found the ' alto,' Tommy 
 talked to him at length : QuiUan was left to Sir Percy, and, 
 whilst thus employed, he was seized by overmastering 
 
330 THE HOME OF THETSEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxv 
 
 thoughts of Vesper; excusing himself to Philbrick, and 
 telling Tommy he was in the mood to walk, and that 
 the other would soon overtake him on his car, he was deaf 
 to their several protests, and set off in the direction of 
 ' Courts.' 
 
 He was all too accustomed to these frenzies of longing; 
 and heavy-handed experience had taught him it was no 
 use attempting to withstand them; he could only bear 
 with them as well as he might, and trust to time, the 
 great but leaden-footed healer, to mend the wounds in 
 his heart. 
 
 This morning, tree, hedgerow, and the beasts of the 
 field were lazing in the September sunshine ; their peace 
 furnished an almost irritating contrast to his unquiet 
 imaginings. 
 
 He passionately wondered what Vesper was doing 
 while he was treading that remote (in the sense of being 
 far away from her) road with quick, nervous steps : for all 
 he knew to the contrary (he had written to Sister Jane to 
 ask her not to tell him anything of her doings) she had 
 already married and was enjoying a prolonged conti- 
 nental honeymoon: the reflection that, but for his un- 
 forgivable blundering, he might have been in Tayne's 
 shoes gave him a pain in the head : the only consolation he 
 could get was the sorry hope that, even if Vesper did not 
 wish to think of him, he might sometimes enter her 
 thoughts unbidden. 
 
 He passed a row of cottages without which a man had 
 just pulled up with a piano-organ; after Quillian went 
 by he turned the handle and played the ' Dream Waltz ' : 
 Quillian had already discovered to his cost how music of 
 almost any kind quickened his longings for Vesper ; to- 
 day was no exception. 
 
 There was a slight wind in the direction in which he 
 was going; as he was pursued by the lilt of the hackneyed 
 melody, insistent memories of the loved one sung in his 
 heart. 
 
 He was more than ever conscious how slender a thing 
 was the ascetic barrier with which he had thought to 
 protect himself from the assaults of human frailty : he had 
 believed himself strong, and had taken a grim pleasure in 
 
CH. XXV] ' BEASTS AT EPHESUS ' 331 
 
 his strength: and now he was abased in the dust; was 
 clad in metaphorical sackcloth; and had thrown ashes 
 on his head, all before a woman whom his many years of 
 monastic discipline had taught him was a mere instru- 
 ment of the Evil One to lead man from the Narrow Way. 
 
 He was spiritually humbled ; and in full despite of the 
 promptings that sought to tell him that such an one as he 
 was playing a mean part in being so easily cast down 
 from his former aloof estate, he cried to himself, and with 
 a passionate conviction, that he was not worthy of her. 
 
 He was possessed by a hunger of longing to do some- 
 thing to prove the love that welled within him : realizing 
 his impotence, he groaned in travail of spirit : he could do 
 nothing; and she would never know he held life, and all it 
 ofiered, as dust in the balance where her happiness, if not 
 her lightest wish, was concerned. 
 
 With what a gay courage would he sacrifice himself on 
 the altar of his devotion; even as he dwelled upon the 
 glory of such a self-denial, his fancy winged its flight. 
 
 It was as though he and she were living in the days of 
 the persecutions of the Christians in Imperial Rome, 
 persecutions dear to the heart of Christian apologists, who 
 conveniently forget that those who suffered martyrdom 
 had offended the tolerant Roman law by spreading the 
 miasma of anti-patriotism. 
 
 She was a Christian maiden about to be thrown to the 
 lions ; he, a spectator in the amphitheatre, who had great 
 possessions and loved her : such was the power of this love 
 that every consideration which should have held him 
 back was thrown to the winds : leaving his seat, he forced 
 a way into the arena, where they found heaven in meet- 
 ing death together. 
 
 If such an opportunity would only present itself, he 
 reflected — until he perceived the infamy of condemning 
 Vesper to a cruel end in order that he might prove his 
 devotion. 
 
 The fluttering of a skirt at the turn of a road caught his 
 eye : if only it might be Vesper, who had sought him out 
 because she loved him after all, and could not be happy 
 without him: such things were commonplaces of the 
 novels he had dipped into on first coming to London, so, 
 
332 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxv 
 
 with a sickly hoping against hope, he hastened his steps 
 in order to overtake whomsoever she might be. 
 
 Prosaic fact was not on all fours with fiction on that 
 September morning: beyond being tall, the woman 
 Quillian came upon had nothing in common with the 
 desire of his heart : she was plain and elderly ; and looked 
 the district visitor of the stage. 
 
 After he had laughed bitterly at expecting anything 
 else, his imagination roamed again : he pictured possible 
 environments from pages of the world's history, in all of 
 which he did something heroic in order to save, or please, 
 the adored one. 
 
 He was an inquisitor of the Romish Inquisition, an 
 institution his reading had told him was not the benev- 
 olent organization he had formerly been fissured was 
 the case ; Vesper, a trembling heretic : she was convicted ; 
 condemned ; and he planned her escape at the cost of his 
 life. 
 
 Then he was the leader of a mob of mercenaries ; she 
 among the spoil of a town his men had taken by assault : 
 they had drawn lots for her and 
 
 Before he could get any further, he was caught up by 
 Tommy's car and was compelled to listen to Tommy, 
 who was in high feather at having secured the coveted 
 under-gardener. 
 
 At something after four that afternoon, Quillian sat at 
 tea with Mrs. Lownes, who was, if anything, looking 
 younger and happier than when he had last seen her. 
 
 He had dreaded the interview as calculated to put him 
 in a sorry light; now he was with her, however, their 
 common sympathy, which had asserted itself as soon as 
 they had set eyes on each other, did something to lessen 
 his apprehensions. 
 
 " It's easy to see what is the matter with you," she 
 remarked, as soon as they had become at all confidential. 
 
 " Have I so changed ?" 
 
 " A lot." 
 
 " The reason is why I wrote asking you to see me." 
 
 " You have been ' fighting beasts at Ephesus,' " she 
 went on, and disregarding his remark. 
 
 Quillian smiled grimly. 
 
CH. XXV] ' BEASTS AT EPHESUS ' 333 
 
 " I've been in the same arena and can sympathize," she 
 said. 
 
 " And yet you're looking better than ever." 
 
 " I've reason to be." 
 
 " I'm so very glad to hear that !" he said almost in- 
 quiringly, 
 
 " Thank you. It's Joan." 
 
 " Joan !" 
 
 " I think she understands more than I gave her credit 
 for. We've become friends, and I get a lot out of that,'' 
 she sighed. 
 
 " I'm so glad." 
 
 " There's more in Joan than I thought. But I hate 
 talking of myself — to you. What you've been doing is 
 much more interesting." 
 
 Hesitatingly, and with the assistance of tactful prompt- 
 ing from Mrs. Lownes, the latter was soon acquainted 
 with the whole story, together with the fact that, since 
 his heart was held by another, he would not, could not, 
 insult Mercia by asking her to be his wife. 
 
 He had been a little curious to know what point of 
 view this elusive woman would take of his not very 
 creditable exploit in the fields of romance; she listened 
 with unruffled calmness to the more coherent portion of 
 his story ; after he had done, she said : 
 
 " What fools men are !" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " With all their ridiculous doubtings and hesitations. 
 Do you know what I should have done had I been in your 
 shoes ?" 
 
 " Something unusual." 
 
 " Once I'd made up my mind I wanted her, I should 
 have got out a special licence; got her into a cab — by 
 force, if necessary — and have married her offhand whether 
 she liked it or no." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " But she would have liked it, Mr. Simple. There's 
 only one wooing we women really understand; and that 
 is of the barbarian who bangs the woman he wants on the 
 head with a club and carries her off. The nearer men get 
 to that, the more we like it." 
 
334 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxv 
 
 " I won't fail to tell all this to Mercia," said Mrs. 
 Lownes presently, and with a certain feminine, if un- 
 motherly, satisfaction. 
 
 " No," returned Quillian decisively. 
 
 " Don't you waait her to know ?" 
 
 " I must tell her myself." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " It is my punishment. — One of them." 
 
 " Please yourself." 
 
 Thus it came about that some half an hour later Quillian 
 stood with Mercia on the terrace; she had come in from 
 the performing of some of her uncounted good works whilst 
 he had been with her mother : he perceived that she was 
 more elaborately turned out than formerly; otherwise 
 (doubtless he contrasted her in his mind's eye with the 
 peerless Vesper) he was surprised she had ever attracted 
 him. He was not a little ashamed of noticing, in spite of 
 himself, that she looked older ; ' sharper ' ; less whole- 
 some-looking than when he had first met her; this in- 
 creased a distaste for her which was undoubtedly set up 
 by her being the innocent cause of the mess he had made 
 of his love-affairs. 
 
 Her evident pleasure at seeing him again, although it 
 made his t^sk the more distasteful, did not lessen his re- 
 sentment. 
 
 They talked commonplace, and Quillian wondered how 
 best to tell her what he had to say, until Mercia looked 
 quickly about her, glanced at the costly ring upon her 
 engagement finger, and then put her hand upon his arm. 
 
 He started guiltily ; she withdrew it, saying as she did 
 so: 
 
 " I am sorry." 
 
 This was the most human thing in her he had yet met 
 with; it made it all the more difficult to summon his 
 courage to begin. 
 
 " It is I who am sorry," he forced himself to say. 
 
 She was quick to note the hardness in his voice; she 
 looked at him with apprehensive eyes. 
 
 " Because — because I am not good enough for you," he 
 went on, somewhat hj^ocritically. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
CH. xxv] ' BEASTS AT EPHESUS ' 335 
 
 " It was in my heart to write to you, and tell you; but 
 because I am at fault, I must give myself the pain of 
 telling you what I believed would be cowardly to write." 
 
 She did not speak, but nodded as much as to say that he 
 was to go on. 
 
 He told her forthwith as much of the matter as belonged 
 to his present purpose of giving her her freedom from one 
 so unworthy of her — at least, that is how he put it : it was a 
 halting, troublesome story ; he was thankful after he had 
 done, and with a sinking of spirit, waited for what she 
 might do or say. 
 
 If she had shown dismay ; violent grief ; or, most of all, 
 had chided him for his infidelity, he would have thought 
 far more of her than he did, for, after a silence he thought 
 would never come to an end, her eyes assumed a look of 
 holy resignation; then, she turned from him, and gazed 
 across the gardens and park with the set, meaningless 
 smile he had learned to know so well. 
 
 This, more than anything else, told him that here was 
 no creature of exquisitely human clay, but an abstraction 
 of Sunday-school virtues, whose colourless, humourless 
 perfection would almost drive him to evil ways if he were 
 foolish enough to join his life to hers. 
 
 His sufferings had made him brutally selfish in some 
 respects; perhaps, because of his realization of her in- 
 eptitude, together with the native proneness he shared 
 with the rest of his species to dislike those he had injured, 
 he was almost near to hating her on the spot. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 WATER OF SILOAM 
 
 The trees and women of Paris were clad in their gayest 
 spring raiment as Quillian drove from the Gare de Lyons 
 to the Hotel de Crillon; but he cared for none of these 
 things: his heart was heavy with a lasting discontent. 
 
 For eight months or more he had tried to find distrac- 
 tion in travel ; he had wandered across France and Italy ; 
 and had visited bits of Spain : and if the best that could be 
 said of him was that he was getting accustomed to the 
 griefs that ever gnawed at his heart, there was no denying 
 he was weighed down by a loneliness that was often well- 
 nigh unbearable. 
 
 During this time, he had heard nothing of Vesper; in 
 order that he should not come upon her changed name, he 
 had avoided looking at English newspapers ; and he had 
 asked those, including Mrs. Lownes, whom he corre- 
 sponded with, not to mention her in their letters. 
 
 Now that another spring was caressing the world, it 
 was as though a highly charged magnet were drawing him 
 to England; the nearer he got, the more powerful seemed 
 its attraction: he would not have broken his journey in 
 Paris had he not received a letter from Mrs. Chatillon (it 
 was one of many) saying she was staying in this city, and 
 would much like to see him if he could spare the time. 
 
 Quillian recalled how she had poured oil on his wounds 
 during the committee days of the now defunct ' White 
 Slave ' scheme ; he had believed it possible that seeing 
 her again might take him out of himself ; and ease, if only 
 temporarily, his appalling weariness of spirit. 
 
 Arrived at his hotel, he tubbed and rested after his 
 journey from AAdgnon; at something after four he sought 
 her out at her s^partment in the Avenue de Bois de 
 Boulogne. 
 
 336 
 
CH. XXVI] WATER OF SILOAM 337 
 
 The tasteful simplicity of her Parisian home was grate- 
 fiil to one who had become invired to the formality of hotel 
 accommodation; the more than friendly greeting she 
 welcomed him with was likewise pleasing to one who had 
 been solitary, and in more ways than one, so long. 
 
 She was always a well-dressed woman; to-day, she 
 wore a white chifion frock trinmied with sable: it was so 
 contrived that it s^med to give a necessary inch to her 
 stature. 
 
 "And how have you been all this long time?" he 
 asked, after she had given >iim some tea. 
 
 " Never mind me : tell me of yourself." 
 
 " There is nothing to tell," he replied. 
 
 " Nothing ?" 
 
 " That is of any importance." 
 
 " It depends on whom you're speaking to," she repUed. 
 
 " I suppose it does," he assented. 
 
 " WeU ?" 
 
 " I've simply been moving about." 
 
 " Any adventures — of the soul I mean ?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Sure ?" 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 He was sensible of, and by no means objected to, the 
 S5nnpathetic gaze of her fine dark eyes which, to-day, were 
 opened wide. 
 
 " And what are you going to do next ?" she went on. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " No plam ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No— ambitions ?" 
 
 " None — at present." 
 
 " Nothing at aU ?" 
 
 " Nothing at aU." 
 
 " Then you didn't thinlc me a nuisance for dragging you 
 out of your way ?" 
 
 " I was very glad." 
 
 " Oh ! Then you're in no hurry to rush away ?" 
 
 " I— I don't think so." 
 
 " And it wouldn't bore you to stay a day or two in 
 Paris, and see something of me ?" 
 
338 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVTLS [ch.xxvi 
 
 Quillian, who had been taken out of himself by meet- 
 ing his old friend, assured her that he would be very 
 pleased. 
 
 " And have you been quite well — physically — since 
 you've been away ?" 
 
 " Isn't it time I asked you a few questions ?" 
 
 " You can if you want to," she laughed. " Tell me 
 how you think I'm looking." 
 
 " As you always do." 
 
 " No older ?" 
 
 " Not a day." 
 
 " But I'm sitting with my back to the light — and that's 
 always' suspicious. Look now." 
 
 Quillian was not blind to the S5mimetry of her dark 
 comeliness; her fine eyes; above all, to the infinite capa- 
 city for emotion they displayed. 
 
 " Well ?" she said, as he did not speak. 
 
 " You might be just one day older," he laughed. 
 
 " It's not a subject to jest about," she sighed. " Still, 
 I'll forgive you, as it's seemed to cheer you up." 
 
 " I'm glad to see you looking so well," he returned. 
 
 " Not at seeing me ?" 
 
 " At least, it shows you've been enjoying yourself. 
 What have you been doing ?" 
 
 " Boring myself to death." 
 
 " Here or in England ?" 
 
 " Somerset, mostly." 
 
 " You have a home there, too ?" 
 
 " I have several homes, and yet not one, if you can 
 understand." 
 
 " I quite understand." 
 
 " I suspected you would. It takes so many essential 
 things to make one." 
 
 QmlUan nodded assent. 
 
 " Of course, it's foolish, as one never knows other 
 people's troubles, but I often envy the humblest cottage 
 where there's husbaitd, wife, and children." 
 
 There was a fall in the temperature of Quillian's com- 
 parative lightness of heart, and he asked : 
 
 " What have you been doing in Somerset ?" 
 
 " I've rather nice gardens there." 
 
CH. XXVI] WATER OF SILOAM 339 
 
 " WeU ?•■ 
 
 " I was fairly interested for a time, but what are 
 gardens if one has no one one cares about to wander in 
 them with ?" 
 
 " I suppose that appHes to most things ?" 
 
 " More to a woman thsin a man: a man can do so 
 much." 
 
 " And what are you going to do next ?" 
 
 " I wish I knew. Anyway, you're not in a hurry to 
 rush off for a day or two !" 
 
 " No," he said decidedly. 
 
 " To-morrow must take care of itself. Do yon know 
 Paris?" 
 
 " Tourist Paris." 
 
 " You must let me take you about." 
 
 " You will ?" 
 
 " Not to people I know. But where I please, and how 
 I please. You don't mind ?" 
 
 " I don't think so," he smiled. 
 
 " We won't start till to-morrow : you must be tired 
 to-day." 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 " Don't throw your youth in my face. I thought you 
 might be tired, and arranged for you to dine here. You 
 won't disappoint me ?" 
 
 The anxiety with which this was urged surprised and 
 not a little flattered QuiUian. 
 
 " I shall be very pleased," he told her. 
 
 " And so shall I," she returned. 
 
 Thus it came about that Quillian gave up aU thought 
 of returning to England, and passed many days with 
 Mrs. ChatUlon: they would meet at any and all times and 
 at different places, and spend long hours in curiously 
 diverse ways. 
 
 For all her wealth and social standing, she had an 
 astonishing knowledge of the many sides of Parisian life 
 (she told lum she was an ' Anglais de Chaillot,' smd had 
 to explain what it meant) ; under her guidance, he came 
 upon much that had hitherto been hid. 
 
 Sometimes, they would Hve the everyday life of those 
 of their condition; but since the ways of the wealthy are 
 
34G THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxvi 
 
 much the same in towns the world over, both he and she 
 got more entertainment from exploring the by-ways of the 
 exquisite city where Mrs. Chatillon had pitched her tent. 
 
 On these occasions, they would go about as ordinary 
 sightseers, and lunch and dine and sup wherever they 
 might chance to be ; and not infrequently in ' les petits 
 trous,' beloved of the Parisian gourmet. 
 
 The change from days that were a burden and a weari- 
 ness of the flesh to hours crowded with adventure, from 
 heavy-hearted isolation to the stimulating companion- 
 ship of Mrs. Chatillon, almost bewildered Quillian's 
 understanding : he was conscious of, and ever so thankful 
 for, relief from his load of care, for while he was with 
 her, his griefs at losing Vesper were dulled, and some- 
 times blotted out: it was as though an opiate had been 
 given to one in the grip of a painful malady. 
 
 Otherwise, the things that lingered in his memory were 
 chance impressions his mind snapshotted at odd times. 
 
 There was a girl crossing the boulevard who was a 
 splash of black and red: a long red feather stuck out 
 from her black hat : she had red lips, and the black dress 
 she lifted revealed a red underskirt. 
 
 Once they came upon an open place belonging to a 
 dancing-hall frequented by midinettes : it was all trees 
 and tables, and quite deserted: the many-hued paper 
 lanterns seemed to have been lit for the ghosts of departed 
 revellers who haunted the spot. 
 
 Then there was the degenerate mouth — ^the hall-mark of 
 his family — of Philip IV., as painted by Velasquez and 
 hung in the Louvre. 
 
 And a little family party which was celebrating some 
 event in a part of Paris where Quillian and his friend had 
 lost their way : the husband was elderly, puny, consump- 
 tive; his wife, black-eyed, buxom; they had a little boy 
 with the face of a depraved old man : the champagne they 
 swallowed made the husband cough ; his wife's eyes shine 
 ominously; the son appear more wicked, if that were 
 possible. 
 
 One afternoon Mrs. Chatillon and Quillian were seated 
 at a table in the Caf 6 de la Paix : she called his attention 
 to an old man and a young girl near by ; and all he could 
 
CH. XXVI] WATER OF SILOAM 341 
 
 see just then was a shining brown eye against a moth- 
 eaten grey beard. 
 
 There was a Sevres blue sky which slowly surrendered 
 to the darkness while they were dining at the Petit 
 Paillard in the Champs Elys^es: lastly, on leaving the 
 Cafe Riche, where they had supped after going to the 
 Theatre des Capucines, they had come into the crowded 
 boulevard, and among the gaily dressed throng was a 
 legless man who was propelling himself on a home-made 
 trolley. 
 
 And mingled with these more vivid memories, and 
 many others of a lesser insistence, were recollections of 
 Mrs. Chatillon's amused understanding of the world and 
 its ways; and of her unfaiUng friendship, which was 
 largely made up of a tender S3mipathy: sometimes it 
 seemed as if she were a stimulating friend; at others, it 
 was as though she were mothering him. 
 
 He did not see, or would shut his eyes to the fact, that 
 the attraction they had for each other became more 
 potent every day. 
 
 She occasionally dropped hints of the something that 
 had crippled her happiness; by putting two and two 
 together, he gathered she had started life with romantic 
 notions, and the highest hopes of a happy future, until 
 she had been persuaded to marry a hard-living man, and 
 more with the fatuous idea of assisting him to mend his 
 ways than consulting her deepest incUnations. 
 
 AH too soon she had discovered her grievous mistake : 
 she had suffered years of harsh treatment alternating 
 with neglect : it was only comparatively recently that she 
 had ordered her own destinies. 
 
 It was after one of these moments of self-revelation 
 that Quillian had said : 
 
 " Why don't you take your courage in both hands and 
 divorce him ?" 
 
 " Why should I ?" she returned. 
 
 " You would be free." 
 
 " What then ?" 
 
 " You could marry again, and perhaps " (Quillian was 
 not so cocksure on these matters as he had been) " find 
 happiness after all." 
 
342 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxvi 
 
 Mrs. Chatillon became reflective; her face had clouded; 
 and Quillian had asked : 
 
 " Have I said anything amiss ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I'm"sorry." 
 
 " In putting fooUsh ideas in my head." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 A further silence was broken by her saying : 
 
 " Life is only a series of servitudes ; in escaping one, I 
 should find another." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 " Well " (Mrs. Chatillon spoke with an unusual hesita- 
 tion) — " it's just conceivable I — I might get very fond of, 
 and perhaps marry, a man much younger than myself." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " It's a way with women of my age." 
 
 " Where's the harm if you love each other ?" 
 
 " Every, and the worst, harm. Think ! In so many 
 years — I am not going to say how many — I shall be fifty, 
 and an old woman. How old are you ?" 
 
 " Twenty-six." 
 
 " If — if he were a man of your age, you would then be 
 in your prime and attracted (it is the way of men of 
 forty) by mere girls. Imagine what I should suffer at 
 realizing how he loathed me (for he would) at the tie I 
 should be. And as the years passed, I should be more 
 of a dead weight to him; and more of a curse to myself, 
 with the mad jealousy of an old woman for a young 
 husband." 
 
 " You're assuming " 
 
 " I know," she impatiently interrupted. "It's sober 
 fact which nothing can alter." 
 
 " Then what are you going to do ?" 
 
 Mrs. Chatillon laughed lightly. 
 
 " What does that mean ?" 
 
 " To-morrow must take care of itself." 
 
 There were times (and as the days went by these 
 became less infrequent) when Mrs. Chatillon got tired of 
 going out and about ; she preferred to stay at her tasteful 
 home in the Avenue de Bois de Boulogne, where she lost 
 much of her former light-heartedness : she became moody 
 
CH. XXVI] WATER OF SILOAM 343 
 
 and prone to long silences which were often punctuated 
 with sighs. 
 
 Quillian began to wonder if he were getting on the 
 nerves of this woman, whom nothing seemed to satisfy 
 for long: he did his best to take her out of herself, and 
 with poor success. 
 
 He feared she would leave him in the lurch, and at the 
 mercy of the old malady; his anxiety on this score (he 
 did not fail to realize his selfishness) became such that he 
 made up his mind to question her. 
 
 " I want to ask you something," he began; and as he 
 spoke, he perceived that she had not been lost in thought, 
 as he had believed, but was keenly watching him from 
 out of her widely opened eyes. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " It's a little difficult." 
 
 " Surely it's not hard for you to ask me anything !" 
 
 " still " 
 
 " Knowing, as you must, I could refuse you nothing." 
 
 Quillian was curiously moved by an indefinable quality 
 in her voice. 
 
 " What is it ?" she went on. 
 
 " You've changed of late !" 
 
 " You have noticed it ?" 
 
 " And I wanted to know if — if I'm boring you ?" 
 
 " Is that all ?" she remarked almost contemptuously. 
 
 " It isn't a small thing to me." 
 
 " I mean, is that all you were going to ask of me ?" 
 
 " Y-yes." 
 
 " Here is your answer. You do not bore me : anything 
 but. Perhaps it would be better for me if you did." 
 
 Quillian pressed her regarding this last, but she would 
 tell him no more. 
 
 There came a time when Mrs. Chatillon would not see 
 Quillian at all. She was not well enough she said in the 
 little note she sent him by her maid. He must be tired 
 of taking out a middle-aged woman; and tiU she was 
 better, he had best amuse himself with some charming 
 Parisian girl, of whom there were plenty to choose from. 
 
 He begged that he might be with her, but she was 
 obdurate ; he sent her flowers ; fruit ; books ; sweetmeats 
 
344 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxvi 
 
 in profusion, together with anything he thought might 
 cheer her. 
 
 And then he had much ado to look after himself. 
 
 Left to his own devices in a city of which the novelty 
 had long worn off, Quillian was seized with a return of 
 his old discontents; these were the harder to bear since 
 the companionship he had been deprived of insisted on 
 his loneliness. 
 
 He was again a prey to the old heart-hunger for Vesper; 
 mingled with this was a craving for Mrs. Chatillon, which 
 he could not make out at all. 
 
 He well understood his longing for Vesper, but could 
 not comprehend why he should be attracted by another 
 woman ; at least, not until he analyzed his emotions, and 
 perceived that, apart from the fascination Mrs. Chatillon 
 held for him, the latter provided a means of patching up, 
 if not of ultimately healing, the wounds in his heart. 
 
 Yes, this is what it came to ; that he was maimed ; and 
 that she was to him another Pool of SUoam: she, a,lone, 
 could ease his many hurts, and some day make him 
 whole. 
 
 Following upon this realization, he sought more per- 
 sistently to see her ; her refusal put an edge on his desires 
 respecting her. 
 
 He became so tormented by his griefs regarding Vesper ; 
 his passionate anxiety to obtain the only possible allevia- 
 tion; his craving for the happiness Mrs. Chatillon's com- 
 panionship supplied, that he called at her flat, and after 
 asking for her maid, he sent a message saying he must 
 see her. 
 
 Rather to his surprise, his request was granted; he 
 was in considerable trepidation as to how he might be 
 received. 
 
 He was told to go to a certain room; on opening the 
 door, he found Mrs. Chatillon resting upon a settee. 
 
 She smiled at him with all the old frankness, and he 
 at once knew that his temerity was more than overlooked : 
 then he was dismayed at seeing her completely break 
 down, and give way to tears. 
 
 Quillian stood stock-still ; away from knowing what to 
 do, he was much taken aback at the sight of this proud 
 
CH. XXVI] WATER OF SILOAM 345 
 
 woman so helplessly surrendering to whatsoever her 
 sorrow might be : his heart was wrung with sympathy. 
 
 The next thing he was aware of was that she had risen 
 to her feet, and with a defiant look in her eyes. 
 
 " You don't care a bit I" she remarked. 
 
 " I care very much," he returned. 
 
 " You do ?" she asked, and smiled through her tears. 
 
 " I do. I thought you had done with me." 
 
 " Then " 
 
 She did not say any more; she sank on a chair, and 
 again gave way to tears. 
 
 He sat beside her, and asked : 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 She did not reply, and he repeated his question. 
 
 Still getting no response, he touched her arm. 
 
 She seized his wrist, and keeping her head away from 
 him, she said: 
 
 " Don't leave me !" 
 
 " I've no intention of doing so." 
 
 " Don't be angry with me." 
 
 " Why should I be ? Can't I do anything for you ?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Nothing at all ?" 
 
 " Nothing at all. That is why I'm so miserable." 
 
 Then, her extremity was such that, careless of appear- 
 ances, she turned to him, and wept unrestrainedly on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 He did his best to comfort her, and as he did so, he 
 was more and more drawn to this woman who thus proved 
 her complete confidence in him. 
 
 " Are you sure I can do nothing for you ?" he asked 
 presently. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " Won't you tell me what it is ?" 
 
 " I'll tell you that much." 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " I'm so lonely: so very, very lonely." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " So lonely ! How much, you will never know." 
 
 He placed the hand that was free upon the hand that 
 held his wrist. 
 
346 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxvi 
 
 " If — ^if I were not so alone in the world — if — ^if I had 
 a child, I should be happy," she faltered. " But my 
 heart's been empty so long: and unless it's full, every- 
 thing turns to ashes." 
 
 She again wept, and once more he sought to console 
 her; and as he did so, he was even more powerfully 
 attracted to this woman who understood him so well; 
 whose trust in him was such that she suffered her tears 
 to fall on his hands. 
 
 He, too, had endured much, he reflected. And since 
 her friendship solaced him, and since he was evidently 
 something to her, why should they not do their utmost 
 to succour each other ? 
 
 Then he was conscious that she had all but nestled in 
 his arms; she was laying quite still, and her cheek was 
 pressed to his. 
 
 Wholly out of consideration for her, he sought to free 
 himself; upon his making the attempt, her hold tightened 
 upon his arm. 
 
 He surrendered to her mood, and together they sat in 
 an eloquent silence. 
 
 Much that he had paid little or no attention to was 
 revealed to his ken: the voice of conscience was stilled 
 Qr he did not hearken to its promptings: he was only 
 aware of an overmastering desire to fly in the face of the 
 precepts of his earlier days, and seize with both hands 
 the happiness (together with the forgetfulness) he now 
 knew was his for the asking. 
 
 And every moment he was getting more possessed of a 
 subtle intuition that this much-tried woman was moved 
 by a like desire where he was concerned. 
 
 He was intoxicated by the scent of her hair ; it was as 
 much as he could do to prevent himself from telling her 
 how he was in the grip of a loneliness comparable to hers : 
 a loneliness she alone could remove. 
 
 Suddenly, she broke from him, and rose to her full 
 height. 
 
 " You must go," she said. 
 
 " Go !" he faltered. 
 
 " Anyhow, for to-day." 
 
 " But " 
 
CH. XXVII] WATER OF SILOAM 347 
 
 " I wish it. Not for my sake, as you might think, but 
 for yours." 
 
 " I don't wish to go," he said, 
 
 " I don't wish it, either. And you must know it, if 
 you're not a fool. But you're not that, or I wouldn't 
 have put up with you for five minutes. And you're a 
 good man, and I don't want you to decide anything you 
 might afterwards curse me for." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Go. You shall hear from me to-morrow." 
 
 He could have stayed if he had insisted; but he tore 
 himself away: the last he saw of her was her widely 
 opened eyes which were gazing at him almost reproachfully. 
 
 " I must either have you for always, which means until 
 you tire of me, or not at all," she wrote the next day. 
 " Decide one way, and if you do not wish to come, go 
 right away, and do not let me hear anything of you or 
 where you are : in this case, I shall understand ; and will 
 try and think you are going because you think well of 
 me. You will never know how much you are to me. 
 You are the only man I've ever really cared for." 
 
 Quillian was sorely troubled: he was thrown this way 
 and that: together with the fascination Mrs. Chatillon 
 had for him, here was a ready means of forgetting his 
 manifold griefs, and snatching some sort of happiness 
 from the tangle he had made of the threads of his life. 
 
 It was a sharp fight; in the end Quillian conquered: 
 the stubborn struggle told him the unsuspected potency 
 of the charm Mrs. Chatillon exercised. 
 
 He would not have come through as he did had he not 
 persistently kept before his eye the shining example of 
 Vesper who, on the night of her momentous visit to his 
 flat, had behaved so honestly with Lord Tayne. 
 
 And so that he might not be weak after his first frenzy 
 of high-minded resolve was exhausted, Quillian took the 
 next boat-train for England. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 FOOTSTEPS 
 
 QuiLLiAN walked the platform of the railway junction at 
 Roulers ; he had taken the midday boat from Dover, and 
 now waited for the train that would carry him to Ypres. 
 
 He had spent the best part of a harassed fortnight in 
 London, where he had been haunted by the thousand and 
 one associations of Vesper which crowded into his mind 
 at every turn: the wounds he had thought in a fair way 
 to be healed had opened and bled afresh : to one accus- 
 tomed to suffering as he, he was rudely surprised by their 
 capacity for pain. 
 
 He had been sorely tempted to seek the alleviation that 
 was his for the asking; and had been conscious of a 
 weakening of his resolution : he was thankful he had put 
 a distance between himself and Mrs. Chatillon, to whom 
 he had sought to explain by letter the course he was 
 striving to adhere to. 
 
 So he might not stumble by the way, it had occurred to 
 him that the best thing he could do was to pay a visit 
 to the monastery of St. Bernardine at Ypres ; take counsel 
 with the wise Guardian; and discover what sort of appeal 
 the old life made to one who had drunk deep of the wine 
 of things secular. 
 
 The idea had taken root in his mind, and now he was 
 acting upon it. 
 
 The only person he had informed of his resolve was 
 Mrs. Lownes, and in reply to a letter from her he had 
 received as he was leaving Paris. 
 
 Rather a strange thing had happened in connection 
 with Mrs. Lownes: she had written to ask him to defer 
 his departure for two or three days, and to let her know 
 the date he was crossing the Channel : he had done as she 
 
 348 
 
CH. XXVII] FOOTSTEPS 349 
 
 had wished, and with scarce a thought for the motives 
 that inspired this request. 
 
 Quillian paced the station platform with a heavy heart ; 
 he glanced idly at the two or three others who were 
 waiting; the smartly dressed knowing - looking young 
 woman with her shabby old mother; the two Flemish- 
 speaking country-folk ; the pompous station-master who 
 was strutting in all the glory of gold lace and a govern- 
 ment job. 
 
 He found himself envying the latter's conception of his 
 self-importance ; even as he did so, he was pulled up short : 
 he believed he had caught a glimpse of Vesper in the door 
 of one of the waiting-rooms. 
 
 His heart was a-beat ; and he knew a further dejection 
 of spirit, if that were possible : he had had similar illusions 
 far too often before to believe that this had anything that 
 was not in common with the others. 
 
 His train was signalled, and streamed into the station: 
 he immediately got into his smoking-compartment, and 
 stared with unseeing eyes at a devotional work he had 
 found in his pocket. 
 
 He fell to looking idly out of the window, and presently 
 caught sight of the spires and walls of Ypres across the 
 fields: they seemed to have been dumped there to get 
 them out of the way. 
 
 Until he reached the platform, he contrasted the fine 
 hopes with which he had set out with their sorry ful- 
 filment. 
 
 Doubtless he was no better ofE than most of his kind, 
 who had griefs of one kind and another to shoulder: 
 perhaps he had been at fault in making too sure of victory. 
 And, according to certain authorities, even if happiness 
 were obtained, it sooner or later turned to ashes in the 
 mouth: possibly there was something in the epigram of 
 a French wit to the effect that ' we are never so happy 
 or so unhappy as we believe we are.' 
 
 The train stopped, and Quillian got out; carrying his 
 bag, he gave up his ticket, and crossed the ill-kept grass 
 without the station in the direction of the Rue de LUle. 
 
 The smell of the decayed town assailed his nostrils, 
 and awakened vivid memories of his days at St. Ber- 
 
350 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxvii 
 
 naxdine : in the twinkling of an eye, he was aware that, 
 after having eaten of the fruits of life, no matter how 
 bitter they had been to the taste, he could not find it in 
 his heart to live for the rest of his days on the musty 
 crusts of ecclesiastical fare. 
 
 And as if to assist this conviction, he again had an 
 impression of the proximity of Vesper, and more sharply 
 than before: this further assured him that the idleness 
 inseparable from monastic life, in giving him overmuch 
 time to think of her, would retard the efforts of the great 
 healer. 
 
 But, in any case, he would see the Guardian, who would 
 give him his ear, and, doubtless, furnish advice out of 
 the store of his worldly knowledge. 
 
 Quillian's hand trembled as he rang the bell of St. 
 Bernardine ; while he waited for it to be answered, a further 
 curious experience befell him: he heard hesitating foot- 
 steps approaching on the pavement; footsteps which 
 awoke disturbing echoes in his heart : even if he had turned 
 his head, he could not see whom they pertained to, for 
 the door was in a sharp bend of the road. 
 
 There were, also, footsteps within, which seemed to 
 represent the claims of the spirit, and with the others, 
 that stood for the world, appeared to be contending for 
 his possession. 
 
 The associations of the friary may have been responsible 
 for the concern for his soul which took hold of him just 
 then, for, as if to escape possible temptations of the 
 flesh, he again pulled the bell handle, this time violently ; 
 the door was immediately opened by a friar and a lay- 
 brother, whom Quillian did not know. 
 
 The footsteps in the road had quickened, and were 
 almost upon him; notwithstanding the insistent appeal 
 they made to his understanding, QuiUian entered the 
 monastery, and without glancing back. 
 
 The next moment, the door had closed ominously 
 behind him; and it was as though it definitely cut him 
 off from the ways of men and women. 
 
 He was shown into a waiting-room, where he had ample 
 leisure to reflect on what had befallen him : he more than 
 regretted hds precipitancy; and wished, if only to satisfy 
 
CH. XXVII] FOOTSTEPS 351 
 
 his curiosity, he had looked to see whom the one without 
 the monastery had been. 
 
 He was kept waiting such a long time that he believed 
 he had been forgotten : he was thinking of calling attention 
 to the fact of his presence when the lay-brother, who had 
 assisted at the opening of the door, came to tell him that 
 the Guardian would now receive him. 
 
 Quillian was forthwith conducted to his former spiritual 
 Father, who looked even grosser than of yore, and who 
 more than ever resembled a rudely carved idol: partly 
 from knowledge of how he had erred and strayed, partly 
 from force of habit, Quillian knelt at his feet. 
 
 " Greeting, my Father !" he faltered. 
 
 The priest did not reply; Quillian feared the Guardian 
 might have hardened his heart against him on account of 
 things that may have reached his ears, until he (Quillian) 
 perceived that the other was not a little affected by their 
 meeting. 
 
 The Guardian took a pinch of snuff ; blew his nose hard ; 
 took more snuff, and again trumpeted loudly, before 
 laying his hand upon Quillian's head, and teUing him 
 to rise. 
 
 Quillian did as he was bid. 
 
 " Now I can have a good look at thee, my son," said 
 the Guardian. " And do not turn away your eyes, for 
 I have aheady read all I wanted to know, and more." 
 
 " Is it so plain ?" 
 
 " For those who have eyes to see. Did I not warn thee, 
 my son, before you set out ?" 
 
 " You did, my Father." 
 
 " Was I not speaking words of truth ?" 
 
 " All you said was truth and more." 
 
 " The way is hard and beset with cunning pitfalls for 
 the unwary ?" 
 
 " To say nothing of the backslidings of one's heart." 
 
 " The heritage of all children of Adam. Were it not 
 for the Church, which is ever a good Samaritan to those 
 who fall by the way, mankind would be in sorry 
 case." 
 
 " Even so, my Father." 
 
 A short silence was broken by the Guardian asking : 
 
352 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxvii 
 
 " And what device of the Evil One has got the better of 
 thy inexperience ?" 
 
 QuiUian hung his head. 
 
 " You have talked with the daughters of men, my son ?" 
 
 " I have, my Father." 
 
 " And you disregarded my counsel, and had no com- 
 merce with the uncomely Marthas, as I would have had 
 thee do, but you were attracted by some fair Mary." 
 
 QuiUian bit his lip. 
 
 The Guardian was quick to notice this token of emotion, 
 and went on : 
 
 " And how many devils did she harbour in her heart ?" 
 
 " Not one," declared Quillian stoutly. 
 
 " Not one ?' " 
 
 " Not one. She was good and true." 
 
 The Guardian took a further pinch of snuff, and went 
 on: 
 
 " A good Catholic ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 " She was a Protestant." 
 
 " And her kin were heretics also ?" 
 
 " And enemies of the Church, my Father." 
 
 " And yet " 
 
 " I love her, my Father, And shall until I draw my 
 last breath." 
 
 He looked for reproof of his frowardness; instead, the 
 Guardian gently asked : 
 
 " And how did you come to lose her, my son ?" 
 
 " My Father !" exclaimed Quillian in surprise. 
 
 " What now ?" 
 
 " You are not angry ?" 
 
 " I love thee, and understand thee, my son. How 
 did you come to lose her ? " 
 
 " It was all blundering on my part." 
 
 " Which it is too late to repair ?" 
 
 "Too late: too late!" 
 
 " She is married to another ?" 
 
 " Even so, my Father." 
 
 The Guardian sighed: took more snuff; and said in 
 something of the manner of a man of the world : 
 
CH. XXVII] FOOTSTEPS 353 
 
 " And what are your plans for ttie future ?" 
 
 " I have no plans." 
 
 " No definite desire in your heart ?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Then why have you sought me out ?" 
 
 " To see you, my Father." 
 
 " For that I am right glad. You have often been in 
 my thoughts ; and I have never left you out of my prayers. 
 And you had no other design in coming to me ?" 
 
 Quillian hesitated, before replying: 
 
 " From time to time I have had thoughts of returning 
 whence I came." 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 " I cannot make up my mind." 
 
 He expected the Guardian would urge him to take up 
 the life he had broken on his departure from the monas- 
 tery, and was surprised to hear him speak of alien matters : 
 to these he gave indifferent heed ; his mind was troubled 
 by the impression he had received on the platform at 
 Roulers, and in the streets of Ypres, of the nearness of 
 Vesper. 
 
 There was no possibility of her being in such an out-of- 
 the-way place, he told himself ; and put down his fancies 
 to an imagination that had been disordered by all he 
 had gone through. 
 
 For a space Quillian was opening his eyes at the 
 Guardian's behaviour: he had always venerated him in 
 the old days for his piety and wisdom; consequently he 
 was greatly surprised to find the ecclesiastical Superior 
 forgotten in the boon companion the Guardian took it 
 on himself to be : but for his Franciscan robe, he might 
 have been a jolly man of the world. 
 
 The latter put aside what duties might have been his, 
 and insisted on Quillian's dining (it might have been a 
 special feast-day for the abundance of wines and meats 
 set before them) and spending the evening with him. 
 
 He talked of a thousand and one secular things, on 
 which he exhibited intimate knowledge ; told the drollest 
 stories; and was disappointed his guest did not follow 
 his example. 
 
 There was a matter that particularly delighted the 
 
 23 
 
354 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxvii 
 
 Guardian: he spoke of a certain elderly lady, a member 
 of one of Belgium's aristocratic families, who had been 
 an inmate of a convent for over twenty years: she had 
 become interested in some charity for succouring the 
 submerged, and in order to further the good work, she had 
 received a dispensation from Rome to renounce her vows. 
 
 After leaving the convent, she had become infatuated 
 with one of those she had assisted; he was twenty years 
 of age and was a butcher by trade : she had married him 
 in face of all opposition, and she and her husband had 
 opened a small butcher's shop at Mons. 
 
 These proceedings had caused such a scandal that her 
 highly placed relations had used their influence, with the 
 result that the marriage had been annulled, and the former 
 nun had been packed off to her convent, where she would 
 spend the rest of her days. 
 
 Although the Guardian had told the story many times 
 already, he roared with laughter after he had done, and 
 took numberless pinches of snuff. 
 
 After a while, Quillian merely heard snatches of his 
 host's conversation: the wine had mounted to his brain 
 and stimulated errant fancies: he again saw someone 
 very like Vesper in the door of a waiting-room at Roulers ; 
 and the footsteps he had heard without the monastery 
 haunted him until they beat persistently, rhythmically 
 on his brain: he bitterly, bitterly regretted he had not 
 troubled to discover whom they belonged to. 
 
 For a time he was his normal self; and the conversa- 
 tion took a more intimate turn; the Guardian insensibly 
 led him to unburden himself of his sorrows; little by little, 
 he confessed his heart to the other's sympathetic under- 
 standing, including his self-deception in seeking to pluck 
 but one brand from the burning. 
 
 " At least, my dear young friend, you have learned the 
 folly of regretting what cannot be undone !" said the 
 Guardian, after he had done. 
 
 " I know the foolishness of it in my heart." 
 
 " But the knowledge is not always easy to apply." 
 
 " Indeed, no." 
 
 " What of cold water !" 
 
 Quillian smiled wanly. 
 
CH. XXVII] FOOTSTEPS 355 
 
 " And prayer ?" 
 
 " I have prayed." 
 
 " And abstinence !" 
 
 " I have fasted: that, and even the early Fathers, 
 have failed me." 
 
 The Guardian reflected, before saying : 
 
 " Has it never occurred to you that in some ways you 
 have been blessed ?" 
 
 " My Father !" 
 
 " With your wealth of inexperience, you might have 
 loved and wedded a woman who had not seven but ten 
 thousand devils in her heart: who would have ruined 
 and disgraced you, and have brought you to despair." 
 
 " stm " 
 
 " I have not done. Say that you had married your 
 paragon." (Quillian shifted on his chair.) " From what 
 I know of the world, matrimony has a cruel knack of 
 showing the sawdust with which the heart's idol is 
 stuffed." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " A Frenchman has said that marriage is the tomb of 
 love ; and is it not one of your countrymen — Pope, I think 
 —who has written that ' directly a man knows a woman 
 he ceases to respect her ?' " 
 
 The mere thought of applying such devilish aphorisms 
 to the peerless Vesper filled Quillian with a dumb resent- 
 ment. 
 
 The Guardian looked pityingly on the young face on 
 which sorrow had set its ineffaceable seal, and went on : 
 
 " And that being the case, is it not a thousand times 
 better that a man should run no risk of disillusionment, 
 and thus always be enabled to treasure his ideal ?" 
 
 Quillian found his tongue. 
 
 " You don't know of whom you're speaking I" he cried. 
 
 " My son !" 
 
 " You don't know of whom you're speaking !" repeated 
 Quillian vehemently. " If you were anyone else, I should 
 tell you you were blaspheming !" 
 
 " Is — is she so much to you ?" asked the Guardian 
 gently. 
 
 " A touch of her hand, and I was in heaven." 
 
356 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxvii 
 
 "Even so?" 
 
 " And wanted nothing more on earth." 
 
 " My son ! My son !" 
 
 " It's nothing but the truth." 
 
 " It grieves me to see thee Uke this, and for a woman." 
 
 " Why do you speak slightingly of her ?" 
 
 " She has made thee sad. You were born for better 
 things." 
 
 " Better things ! I am not worthy of her." 
 
 " Pooh !" 
 
 " I am not Worthy : I am not worthy !" repeated Quillian 
 in all sincerity. 
 
 " So you may believe now, but " 
 
 " Why ! It was remembering how nobly she behaved 
 on a certain occasion which saved me from grievous sin !" 
 
 " A woman behave nobly !" 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " Surely her interests were not concerned !" 
 
 " They were, and keenly." 
 
 " I should like to hear." 
 
 Quillian was nothing loath to impress on the Guardian 
 that Vesper was quite different from any other woman 
 who ever lived: he forthwith told him (he had not done 
 so before) of Vesper's honesty on the night of her visit 
 to his flat. 
 
 After he had done, the Guardian was silent, until he 
 said: 
 
 " Tell me, my son; was she a good cook ?" 
 
 " That I do not know." 
 
 " For if she were, my son, and had I been in your shoes, 
 I should have taken care not to lose her." 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE journey's END 
 
 QuiLLiAN stood on the Admiralty Quay at Dover. 
 
 It was another such a day as that a year ago when, on 
 much the same spot, he had been a trifle ashamed of his 
 frank enjoyment of the May sunshine. 
 
 But this time the youth of the year did not get into 
 his blood and make it dance in his veins ; neither was he 
 held by the profusion of blue in sea and sky : the greyness 
 of his mood discoloured the world, and however gladly 
 it might pipe its song of Spring, there was no response in 
 his heart. 
 
 He had slept in the cell he had formerly occupied, and 
 had not been disturbed by the memories that clung to 
 the place: sleeping or waking, echoes of the footfalls he 
 had heard without the monastery had throbbed in his 
 brain ; and in his dreams, he was treading the path they 
 marked out, which ascended to dizzy heights of happi- 
 ness. 
 
 On being called by a friar knocking on his door, and 
 crying " Laudetur Jesus Christus," he had responded 
 " Amen," and had more than ever regretted he had not 
 discovered who was responsible for those haunting foot- 
 steps. 
 
 He had had permission to go to the chapel for ' Matins 
 and Lauds,' where he had gazed with rapt eyes at the 
 representation of St. Teresa above the high altar. 
 
 The cold resemblance she bore to the adored one had 
 inflameid the love in his heart: he had been unable to 
 pray; his one desire had been to return to England, and 
 to places identified with Vesper. 
 
 He had had word with the Guardian before coming 
 away : the latter had told him that, since he had coveted 
 
 357 
 
358 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxviii 
 
 a daugther of Eve, it was not in his blood to take up his 
 old life at the monastery; and had wished him God- 
 speed. 
 
 The greyness possessing him now he was no longer 
 cheered by the Guardian's fellowship; his lack of pur- 
 pose ; the ever-present hungering for what might have 
 been, made him almost wish he had never been born : 
 there would have been no doubt about this, had it not 
 been for the reflection that, in this case, his eyes would 
 never have been gladdened by a sight of Vesper. 
 
 He would have given all he had, and very many years 
 of his life, to have the past twelve months over again, 
 together with the knowledge that was now his. 
 
 But the moving finger of his trumpery fate had written; 
 and all the regrets, and all the heart-burnings were of no 
 avail to wipe out a letter of what had been set down: and 
 so far as Vesper was concerned, all he had to look forward 
 to was the chance of meeting her again and learning she 
 was happy. 
 
 Perhaps the sea, and sky, and sunshine infected him with 
 some of their wholesome philosophy ; in a very little while 
 he was more resigned to the trend of events, and took a 
 sadly sweet consolation in reflecting that sorrow imparted 
 a dignified detachment to those it marked out for its own, 
 and gave them a subtle understanding denied to the 
 heedless ruck. 
 
 It was as though the events of a year back were being 
 repeated, for Quillian heard someone behind him ; doubt- 
 less a porter, who had come to tell him the train was about 
 to start, he reflected, until he was pulled up short at 
 realizing they were of apiece with the footsteps that had 
 come to his ears while waiting without the friary. 
 
 He turned sharply, and his heart seemed to come up 
 in his throat: Vesper stood before him. 
 
 For some moments, he feared his imagination had done 
 bim a disservice: but there was no doubting it was she, 
 even if she had lost something of the bloom of youth : as 
 if to make absolutely certain, he was so bold as to touch 
 her with a trembling finger. 
 
 Her eyes sought his, before dropping them : they stood 
 together in a silence he tried in vain to break. 
 
CH. XXVIII] THE JOURNEY'S END 359 
 
 A porter shouted to them, and they hurried in the 
 direction of the train, where Quillian got his bag from 
 the man who had had it passed by the Customs. 
 
 " Travelling with the lady, sir ?" 
 
 Quillian was too dazed by Vesper's unaccountable 
 appearance to reply; they were bundled into the same 
 compartment as the train began to move. 
 
 The seats were full with the exception of two; these 
 were taken by Vesper and Quillian, who were on opposite 
 sides, and by no means facing each other. 
 
 For a considerable fraction of the two hours' journey 
 to London, Quillian sat in a stupor; a stupor that was 
 infrequently illumined by intervals of comparative 
 understanding; at these times he did not seek to com- 
 prehend the whys and wherefores of it all : he was trying 
 to realize that Vesper had seen him ; had approached him ; 
 and was journeying by the same train, and the same 
 compartment, to town. 
 
 He wondered if she had come by his boat from Ostend ; 
 if so, why had he been such a fool as to remain in the 
 cabin he had taken, and thus have missed her. 
 
 He fell to glancing at her with increasing frequency ; she 
 was very white, and seemed held by no common 
 emotion. 
 
 And as the train ruthlessly devoured the ridiculously 
 few miles separating them from London, he knew a great 
 fear with regard to what would happen at the journey's 
 end. 
 
 Even if she were not met by the man to whom she 
 was flesh of his flesh, London would swallow her up, 
 and he would see her no more. 
 
 This apprehension more and more dominated him ; the 
 outposts of the great city were as the gates of hell. 
 
 He again beheld her, and for a long time ; he was more 
 than ever conscious of the pallor of her skin, and a poor- 
 ness of outline, which it was hard to identify with her 
 luxurious lot. 
 
 Horrible thoughts seared his brain; she was unhappy; 
 might be ill-treated ; and he could do nothing. 
 
 He wished he could .gaze steadfastly into her eyes, for 
 only by so doing could he learn if anything serious were 
 
36o THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxviii 
 
 amiss: but she would not turn in his direction; she ap- 
 peared to be staring before her without seeing anything. 
 
 He was despairing of lessening his ignorance concerning 
 her, when she gazed at him and with a shy, soft glance, 
 which fired his blood, and made him curse the progress 
 of that pitiless train. 
 
 He was minded to go to her and ask her a thousand 
 things ; he was withheld by the presence of the others in 
 the compartment; they were elderly women who were 
 consumed with curiosity regarding them. 
 
 The train drew up at Victoria, and Quillian's heart 
 seemed, also, to have come to a stop : he fearfully scanned 
 the platform in order to discover whomsoever might be 
 waiting to rob him of Vesper. 
 
 He was thankful to see that there was no one about 
 whom he recognized; and on opening the door for her 
 to alight, he perceived that all she had with her was 
 a small bag: doubtless her luggage was registered. 
 
 They stood on the platform in an indecision that was 
 contrasted with the hurrying passengers; the shouting 
 porters: Quillian tried to appreciate the moments that 
 were left to Mm of her. 
 
 Again he strove to speak ; his agitation prevented him : 
 he wondered why she did not make a move. 
 
 It was not until they had the platform almost to them- 
 selves, that he faltered : 
 
 " What about your luggage ?" 
 
 " I have none," she replied in the well-remembered 
 voice which stirred him to the marrow. 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 Vesper shook her head. 
 
 "Which — which way are you going?" was his next 
 question: he waited in an agony of suspense for her 
 reply. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Not ?" 
 
 " Not yet." 
 
 They mvoluntarily, and very slowly, walked in the 
 direction of the barrier; after they had given up the 
 tickets, they lingered much as they had done on the 
 platform. 
 
CH. xxvm] THE JOURNEY'S END 361 
 
 And as they stood in the station, it was transformed 
 to Quilhan, for, instead of the bookstalls, and all the 
 paraphernalia of a terminus, he saw only the desire of 
 his eyes; the home they had made on the tiny oasis; 
 the yellow sands which stretched away till they were at 
 one with the sky. 
 
 He and she lived in a world of delights, where there 
 was no thought for the morrow; where travail and pain 
 were not; and their hearts sang with gladness. 
 
 Vesper's voice brought him sharply back to the ill- 
 starred present. 
 
 " Don't you want anything ?" she asked. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Tea or " 
 
 "No. Do you?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 A further silence was broken by his saying : 
 
 " I suppose you must be going ?" 
 
 " I suppose so. And you ?" 
 
 " I suppose so," he sighed. 
 
 They left the station, and lingered again outside: 
 whatsoever they had in mind was resolved by the driving 
 up of a taxi-cab ; and by an officious porter, who opened 
 the door in front of them. 
 
 Vesper gave an address in a low voice to the driver, 
 and got in: Quillian, who was held by a passionate anxiety 
 not to lose sight of her, followed : the next thing he was 
 sensible of was that they were moving quickly along 
 Victoria Street. 
 
 Until he made this discovery, he had been curious with 
 regard to whither she was bound : henceforth, ive did not 
 care one bit; with a prodigal abandonment to the joy 
 of the moment, all he was alive to was the fact of his 
 being with his love, and that he had her quite to 
 himself. 
 
 His hand sought hers, and she did not withdraw it; 
 the physical contact intoxicated his senses: he lay back 
 in the cab, and surrendered to romantic fancies which 
 were the more delicious after all he had endured. 
 
 No longer was he riding in a hired cab with a young 
 woman who belonged to someone else, and whom he 
 
362 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxviii 
 
 would soon lose sight of for good: he was a fairy Prince 
 who had won his Princess; and they were being drawn 
 by flower-bedecked horses along a flower-strewn road 
 to his realm of delight, where happiness lasted for ever, 
 and never turned to ashes in the mouth. 
 
 The houses and streets were decorated in their honour, 
 and as they passed the thousands who had come out to 
 greet and envy them, the magic of their presence effaced 
 the lines of care on their subjects' faces: the sick were 
 made whole; and hearts that had been heavy rejoiced. 
 
 It never once occurred to Quillian to question Vesper; 
 sufficient for the moment was the ecstasy thereof; his 
 happiness was such that he was certain that life at its 
 worst could not be so brutal as to cut it short. 
 
 He infrequently dared to glance at his fairy bride: 
 she was sitting much as she had done in the train; her 
 face was paler than ever, if that were possible; she was 
 staring before her with unseeing eyes: she might almost 
 have been turned into stone were it not for the trembling 
 of her long, dark eyelashes. 
 
 Then, as they journeyed onward, the streets became 
 more crowded; the traffic thicker: Quillian made some 
 sort of effort to come to grips with facts as they were, and 
 all he could arrive at was that he was, somehow, in 
 London, a London that differed vastly from the wilder- 
 ness he had left a few hours back. 
 
 In seeking to divine the alteration, he turned to the 
 window, whereupon Vesper's hand tightened in his, and 
 he was once more held by his fancies : his heart sang, and 
 with a gladness he had not thought it possible for mortal 
 to enjoy; a gladness that would last for ever. 
 
 The cab was stopped by the press of vehicles and, for 
 a moment, the song ceased : the next, he was back in the 
 realms of make-believe; they were waiting to change 
 horses. 
 
 Once more they were off, and although there was a sharp 
 declension in the prosperity of the streets, Quillian only 
 saw flowers ; they were piled in big nosegays, house-high, 
 on either side; the odours they scattered were like the 
 scent of his beloved's hair. 
 
 He was lost to all sense of his surroundings; and was 
 
CH. XXVIII] THE JOURNEY'S END 363 
 
 as one on the borderland of an exquisite dream, who 
 was aware that, even if he awakened, reality would be 
 quite as delicious. 
 
 The cab pulled up with a jerk that startled Quillian 
 from his dream : he dared not wonder what would happen 
 next. 
 
 " We get out here," said Vesper. 
 
 Quillian alighted, and was brutally aroused to a know- 
 ledge of things as they were on finding himself in a squalid, 
 Camden Town street, where the tallness of the houses 
 called attention to their naked and unashamed decay. 
 
 It was deserted, save for one or two down-at-heel 
 people; even the air seemed to taste of the undeviating 
 flatness of the inhabitants' lives. 
 
 He saw that Vesper was looking in her purse for money 
 to pay the driver ; forestalling her, he gave the astonished 
 driver a handful of money. 
 
 " You shouldn't have done that !" she said. 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " You should have let me pay." 
 
 "But— but " 
 
 " But what ?" 
 
 " I'm trying to understand." 
 
 " This is where I live." 
 
 " Where you live !" 
 
 " Would you like to come in ?" 
 
 " Yes, but " 
 
 " You were always a ' yes, but.' I'll see if it's all right 
 upstairs. Then you may understand." 
 
 There was a length of frowsy grass between the railings 
 and the house; he followed her along this, and up the 
 steep steps to the door; this she opened with a key. 
 
 " I won't keep you a minute," she said. 
 
 He would have detained her, but she disappeared from 
 his ken into the gloom of the passage, which was noisome 
 with the sour reek begotten of the cooking of countless 
 lodgers' meals. 
 
 Quillian was dazed by the turn of events ; so far as he 
 could think at all, the only thing he could get hold of 
 was that existence in this unspeakable street had nothing 
 in common with the wife of Lord Tayne. 
 
364 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxvill 
 
 A vista of an exquisite possibility opened before his 
 eyes; fearing to dwell upon it in a life that was crowded 
 with heartbreaking disappointments, he was regretting 
 he bad not questioned Vesper, and had arrived at the 
 truth of things, when the clanging of the gate was followed 
 by approaching footsteps. 
 
 He turned, and found himself facing one who was like 
 and yet unlike Grumby; unlike, because he looked more 
 purposeful and more responsible than he had been in the 
 old days. 
 
 " Bless my soul, sir, is that you?" said Grumby on 
 catching sight of Quillian. 
 
 "It is you, Grumby ?" 
 
 " That it is, sir. To think I should see you again !" 
 
 " Do you live here ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, worse luck." 
 
 " Then you can tell me " 
 
 " And to-day's a feast-day, sir, as, of course, you're 
 aware." 
 
 " Miss Hemmingay that was " 
 
 " It's St. Didymus, sir " 
 
 " I know, but " 
 
 " And the changes that have taken place !" 
 
 " Yes, yes " 
 
 " And all for the worse, sir. Things have happened 
 dreadful." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked Quillian quickly; he 
 thought the other might be referring to Vesper. 
 
 "I have to work now, sir; work regular," groaned 
 Grumby. 
 
 " But Miss Hemmingay ! Tell me if " 
 
 " Is that you, Grumby ?" cried a well-remembered 
 voice from the basement door. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," humbly replied the man addressed. 
 
 "Jess you come down at once: you're two minutes 
 late." 
 
 Quillian glanced down, and recognized the face of Mrs. 
 Gassmann; it was distorted with anger. 
 
 " Must go, sir; the missus," explained Grumby. 
 
 " You married Mrs. Gassmann ?" 
 
 " Yes, worse luck." 
 
CH. XXVIII] THE JOURNEY'S END 365 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Now I have to work; work 'ard for a living. Serves 
 me right for marrying a damned Protestant." 
 
 QuUlian's ears were assailed by a continuous wrangling 
 below (Grumby seemed to be getting the. worst of it) 
 until his heart was gladdeiied by hearing footsteps 
 descending the stairs, and by Vesper's voice saying : 
 
 " You cai; come up now." 
 
 Scarcely knowing what he was doing, he followed her 
 up the ill-carpeted stairs, and into a room on the first 
 floor, where a bowl of wallflowers, a typewriter, and a 
 pile of manuscript on a table were the most conspicuous 
 things among the dreary furniture. 
 
 Vesper had taken off her hat and gloves, and Quillian's 
 eyes at once sought the fingers of her left hand, in order 
 to see if she wore a wedding-ring: to his unspeakable 
 delight they were innocent of decoration. 
 
 He was overborne by a scrupulosity that was assisted 
 by Vesper's behaviour: she did not speak; and did not 
 once glance towards him ; she stood as one forlorn by the 
 mantelshelf. 
 
 QuiUian gazed long at her; but she did not move: it 
 was only upon his emotion getting the better of him that 
 he went over to, and faced, her. 
 
 He strove to voice his heart : all he could say was : 
 
 " Vesper ! Vesper !" 
 
 The pain in his voice awoke her to life. 
 
 She trenxbled; glanced at him with no remarkable 
 expression in her eyes; looked away; and again met his 
 gaze, this time with a steadfast helplessness. 
 
 Then, as if moved by a common purpose, they put out 
 their arms to each other. 
 
 Their lips were about to meet, when she drew back ; a 
 disconcerting hardness canie into her face. 
 
 " Vesper ! Vesper !" he cried. 
 
 " Tell me one thing," she returned breathlessly. 
 
 " Yes ?" 
 
 " Have you ever kissed Mrs. Chatillon ?" 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Have you ever kissed that Mrs. Chatillon ? Tell me 
 — I must know." 
 
366 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch.xxviii 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Swear!" 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Swear: swear !" she cried vehemently. 
 
 " I swear." 
 
 Vesper sighed a deep content : her eyes and Ups melted 
 into a surpassing tenderness. 
 
 The next thing Quillian was conscious of was that she 
 had wound her arms about his neck, and had drawn his 
 lips to hers. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THEN AND NOW 
 
 The room that Quillian tried to get at the Grosvenor 
 Hotel had just been taken: he must have made some sort 
 of appeal to the lady clerk he spoke to, for she persuaded 
 the man to whom it had been allotted that it had been 
 given to him in mistake. 
 
 Quillian thanked and tipped her handsomely; and 
 was thus enabled to indulge his desire to pass his last 
 night of celibacy in the room he had slept in on first 
 coming to London. 
 
 It presented the same barren formality to his interested 
 gaze: after he had vainly sought to contrast the mental 
 outlooks of his two widely separated tenancies, he sat 
 on the bed and was borne on the current of his thoughts. 
 
 His bride of to-morrow — their abounding love for each 
 other was the source of this flow; he tried, with poor 
 success, to go over in his mind the succession of incidents 
 which led up to his present felicity. 
 
 The fact of their meeting on the Admiralty pier at 
 Dover had by no manner of means been the affair of 
 chance it had appeared on the face of it: his great good 
 fortune had been entirely owing to the kindly offices of 
 Mrs. Lownes, who, on learning that Vesper could not find 
 it in her heart to marry Lord Tayne, had made the 
 former's acquaintance, and had waited for an opportunity 
 to bring her and Quillian together : hence her letter asking 
 him to let her know the day he was crossing the Channel. 
 
 And it had been Vesper whom he had caught sight of on 
 the platform at Roulers ; it had been her footsteps he had 
 heard on waiting to be admitted to the monastery : fear- 
 ing a repulse, she had lacked courage to address him. 
 
 Other things he had ascertained about her — these less 
 
 367 
 
368 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxix 
 
 directly-— were that there had been a terrible upset with her 
 father at her flying in the face of Providence, as he had 
 called it, in giving up Lord Tayne ; he had refused to live 
 with his daughter, and she had been compelled to augment 
 the tiny income she inherited from her mother by type- 
 writing: she would have been hard put to it to make 
 ends meet, had it not been for the forbearance of 
 Mrs. Grumby, with whom she had lodged. 
 
 It had been much of an effort to raise the return fare to 
 Ypres; she had stoutly refused Mrs. Lownes' offers of 
 assistance ; and had resolved that, if she went, it would be 
 with her own money. 
 
 Quillian had written to thank Mrs. Lownes for having 
 played dea ex machina in his affairs: he had received 
 a characteristic reply, telling him that, since she owed 
 him a grudge for the way he had behaved to Mercia (who 
 was thinking of taking vows), and since the gods punish 
 men by giving them their desires, she was paying him out 
 by what she had done. 
 
 Quillian, who could have hugged Mrs. Lownes for her 
 abiding concern for his happiness, had at once set about 
 arranging to marry Vesper as soon as may be. 
 
 He would have wedded her off-hand (Vesper would have 
 been nothing loth) had it not been necessary for her to be 
 prepared for her reception into the bosom of the Church — 
 an indispensable preliminary to their becoming man and 
 wife. 
 
 The priest, who had instructed her, had been loud in his 
 praises of the rapid progress she had made. 
 
 And as Quillian sat in the formal hotel bedroom in the 
 darkening spring evening, his mind dwelt on his recent, 
 and last, parting from Vesper. 
 
 She had not liked his going to an hotel at all : he might 
 see someone he preferred to her, she had told him, and had 
 said that hotels were always catching fire : if it had not 
 been for fear of not looking her best on the morrow, her 
 anxiety for anything untoward befalling him would keep 
 her awake all night. 
 
 If he saw anyone very alluring, he was instructed to 
 think hard of his sweetheart : and he was to fly for his life on 
 the first alarm of fire, and without thought for anyone else. 
 
CH. XXIX] THEN AND NOW 369 
 
 She had given him the softest of glances; the most 
 lingering of kisses: he did not know even now how he 
 had torn himself away. 
 
 This brought him to the contemplation of her fairness, 
 so far as he could carry it in his mind. 
 
 After all she had gone through, it was sifiall matter for 
 wonder that she was looking poorly on the day he had met 
 her again : but happiness, and freedom from the necessity 
 of taking economic thought for the morrow, had wrought a 
 wondrous change : her features had softened ; her wonder- 
 ful eyes had become more wonderful than they had ever 
 been, if that were possible ; and there were tones of her 
 voice which almost brought a lump to his throat. 
 
 And if the change in her appearance were remarkable, 
 even more surprising was the alteration in her spirits. 
 
 She was alive with an irresponsible light-heartedness 
 which found expression in unnumbered sallies and a 
 thousand pretty ways; things that made Quillian com- 
 pletely her slave. 
 
 There were exceptions to her levity, exceptions that 
 revealed barely suspected emotional deeps, and told him 
 in no uncertain voice how much he was to her. 
 
 The suddenness with which Quillian had been raised 
 from the abysses of despair to the heights of an almost 
 delirious happiness had put an edge on his devotional 
 bias, which had been blunted by his familiarity with 
 sorrow: this was why he was frequently taken aback by 
 a material outlook Vesper often betrayed. 
 
 To-night, and in spite of a disposition (inspired by her 
 last kiss) to think her perfect, insurgent recollections 
 came into his mind, and would not be denied. 
 
 When he had gently broached the subject of her con- 
 version, he had expected searchings of conscience. 
 
 " That's all right," she had replied, and off-handedly. 
 
 " But " 
 
 " But what ?" she had asked in surprise. 
 
 " Aren't you going to give such a serious matter 
 thought ?" 
 
 " The only thing I'm worrying about is whether this hat 
 makes me look green." 
 
 " Yes, dearest, but " 
 
 24 
 
370 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxix 
 
 " Good old ■ yes but.' Don't worry your head about 
 trifles. I'd beat a tambourine; and wear a Salvation 
 bonnet — even smash windows — if it brought me nearer 
 to you." 
 
 He had become reflective, and she had said : 
 
 " Surely you're not worrying about hereafter and all 
 that — that sort of thing ! The present is good enough 
 for me. And do you know why ?" 
 
 " Tell me." 
 
 " Because it's the nearest you and I shall ever get to 
 heaven." 
 
 Another time she had said : 
 
 " What do you think Father Cave wanted me to be- 
 lieve to-day ?" 
 
 " Something for your soul's good, sweetheart." 
 
 " He expects me to believe the world was actually 
 made in seven days." 
 
 " It's an article of the Catechism." 
 
 " What happens if I don't — can't believe it ?" 
 
 " If you cannot believe with the faith of a little child, 
 you had better refer your difficulties to Father Cave." 
 
 " What'd be the use ? He as good as said the other 
 day that it was well for me I was ' going over ' ; other- 
 wise, I shouldn't have an ' earthly ' of salvation." 
 
 Quillian had been silent, and she had continued: 
 
 " Imagine believing I'd go to hell on a twopenny- 
 farthing difference of doctrine ! I almost told him I'd 
 been there already." 
 
 " Dearest !" 
 
 " Nothing could be worse than existing, for that's all it 
 was, on eighteen shillings a week; gnawing my heart out 
 for love of you ; and knowing I was getting plainer every 
 day." 
 
 Later she had asked : 
 
 " How often is it necessary to go to confession ?" 
 
 " At least four times a year," he had told her. 
 
 " Won't I make Father Cave's hair stand on end — at 
 least, what there is of it !" 
 
 " Dearest !" 
 
 " It's time he knew what life was, and — and What 
 
 are you staring like that for ?" 
 
CH. XXIX] THEN AND NOW 37i 
 
 " At what you said." 
 
 " Sorry ! I'm afraid I've a perverted sense of humour." 
 
 " How are you getting on with your studies — with 
 Father Cave, I mean?" 
 
 " Famously. I say, ' yes, yes, yes ' to everything he 
 says ; and all the time I'm thinking of what I'm to wear on 
 our honeymoon." 
 
 " But, sweetheart " 
 
 " Don't you worry about that. I know what suits me; 
 and I'm gomg to make you proud of me; and love me ever 
 so much." 
 
 " I love you for your wayward self," he had told her. 
 
 " Any fool of a woman can win a man: it's the wise 
 woman who keeps him all to herself," she had replied. 
 
 More of apiece with this declaration was something 
 that had occurred a week back ; he had forgotten it till now. 
 
 It was the day she h,ad explained something he had 
 hitherto failed to understand — this, why she had been so 
 elated at learning of his engagement to Mercia. 
 
 She had taken to him in the Fulham Road, she had told 
 him, when something had urged her to look round, and 
 she had seen him beMnd : he had more than captured her 
 imagination upon his calling at the hospital ; and she had 
 behaved coldly to him, as she did not want her father 
 to take advantage of his (Quillian's) undoubted interest 
 in her. 
 
 As for her reception of the news of his betrothal, she had 
 been both pleased and depressed: her gaiety had been 
 largely forced in order to conceal her chagrin. 
 
 Quillian had been silent; his thoughts for once were 
 concerned with the Mercia to whom he had behaved so 
 ill; so far as his surpassing happiness would permit, he 
 wondered how much her heart was bruised by his be- 
 haviour. 
 
 Vesper had noticed his abstraction, and had sharply 
 asked : 
 
 " What are you thinking of ?" 
 
 Before he could reply, she had added : " Were you think- 
 ing of that Mrs. Chatillon ?" 
 
 " No, Vesper." 
 
 " If you were " 
 
372 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH. xxix 
 " But, dearest- 
 
 " How I hate that woman !" 
 
 " She was a very good friend to me." 
 
 " Nice friend 1 Couldn't you see she was head over 
 ears in love with you and trying to get you for herself ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Chatillon was — — " 
 
 " Don't speak of her, and never mention her again. I 
 hate her; hate her; hate her !" she had declared hotly. 
 
 Quillian had been astonished by Vesper's vehemence; 
 he had looked in surprise, that was not unmingled with 
 admiration, at the fire in her eyes; the colour on her 
 cheeks ; the quivering of her lips : before he could say any- 
 thing, she had gone on: 
 
 " Let me say this, and get it over; and if you take it to 
 heart, we'll get along swimmingly : — You keep to me, and 
 I'll be ever such a darling. But once you run after 
 another woman, I'll be a little devil !" 
 
 " I'm not likely to, dearest. I love and want you 
 alone." 
 
 " But you don't know what devils some women can be. 
 Any man's fair game to them, and if he's " 
 
 Seeing the perplexity that came over his face, she had 
 broken off, come over to him, and repeatedly kissed his 
 lips and his eyes ; had told him he was everything in the 
 world to her; and that she wished he was poor, so that 
 she might work for him. 
 
 It was her imperfections that made her so human, he 
 told himself ; and it was this humanity that made her so 
 exquisitely lovable. 
 
 Quillian was startled by a knock on the door ; he went to 
 it, to learn he was wanted on the telephone ; he was seized 
 with a great fear, and as he went down the stairs, the 
 dread thought came to him that the Fates had repented of 
 the kindliness they had lately shown him, and that some- 
 thing untoward had happened to his sweetheart : he trem- 
 bled in every limb as he put the receiver to his ear. 
 
 " Who is it ?" he asked in a voice he strove to control. 
 
 " Is that my Paul ?" returned Vesper's voice, where- 
 upon an immense load was lifted from his heart. 
 
 " Thank God !" he exclaimed fervently. 
 
 " Do you mind my ringing you up ?" 
 
CH. xxixj THEN AND NOW 373 
 
 " Delighted, dearest. Before I knew it was you, I 
 feared something had happened to you." 
 " Then you have thought of me ?" 
 
 Of course." 
 
 Much ?" 
 
 You're never out of my mind. I couldn't think of 
 anything else if I were wicked enough to try." 
 " And you're quite all right ?" 
 
 Quite. And you ?" 
 
 And you haven't seen anyone nicer than me ?" 
 
 Not yet." 
 
 Go straight to bed, and then you won't." 
 
 I was just going. Have you been thinking of me ?" 
 
 Occasionally." 
 
 Is that all ?" 
 
 Once or twice, then. And — Paul !" 
 
 Yes, Vesper." 
 
 Don't forget to-morrow." 
 
 I'll try Hot to." 
 
 That's a good boy. I thought I'd have twopenn'rth 
 to remind you." 
 
 " It was very sweet of you." 
 
 Sure you're all right ?" 
 
 Sure." 
 
 You're not sorry it's all fixed up ?" 
 
 Not very." 
 
 Neither am I — ^at least, not very. Now go to bed, 
 sweetheart, and dream of me." 
 
 Good-night, my Vesper." 
 
 Is that all ?" 
 
 We're on the telephone, and " 
 
 Who cares ! Do who's listening good." 
 
 Good-night, my darling: and God bless you." 
 
 I only want you to bless me. Good-night, my Paul." 
 
 Vesper !" 
 
 Yes, dearest !" 
 
 Is that all?" 
 
 For to-night. Are you there ?" 
 
 Yes — ^yes." 
 
 It is you ?" 
 
 Don't you know my voice ?" 
 
374 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [ch. xxix 
 
 " Listen; I'm going to whisper something." 
 
 " Yes— yes." 
 
 Quillian strained his ears, and just heard: 
 
 " I love you: I love you." 
 
 Back in the seclusion of his room, Quillian's mind 
 dwelt on a recent visit to his home, where this time 
 to-morrow he would be with his bride. 
 
 He had gone to the room that would be theirs; the 
 room he had almost fearfully entered after dining with 
 the Philbricks. 
 
 Vesper had told him that wallflowers were her favourite 
 flowers; he had seen to it that his gardens were full of 
 them; and that they were of every obtainable hue. 
 
 And as he had gazed from a window, and listened to 
 the stream-music, the wallflowers had thrown up their 
 scent to where he stood, and delighted his nostrils: he had 
 hoped they would keep their richest fragrance for the 
 morrow. 
 
 It was always sweet to linger in a garden with the 
 woman one loved, he reflected : and they would watch the 
 year's procession of flowers, which would bloom the fairer 
 in memory of the time the newly made man and wife had 
 first stood together at the window. 
 
 Nor was this all. 
 
 In the days to come, when the passing of many proces- 
 sions of flowers had whitened their hair and ripened their 
 love, they would do as his father and mother had done, 
 and walk in the gardens at sunset-time with their arms 
 about each other. 
 
 Quillian's heart leapt at the feast of happiness which 
 was so bounteously provided. 
 
 There was no doubt of it all now: the cup of his bliss 
 was full to the brim; and promised to remain so. 
 
 She was his ; and he hers : and so long as God's blessing 
 rested on them, nothing else mattered. 
 
 Before Quillian got into bed, he knelt and prayed long 
 for Vesper; that her days should be long; that his lifelong 
 devotion should smooth the rough places in her 
 pathway. 
 
 It was some time before he fell asleep : as on the first 
 occasion of his resting in that room, his mind was filled by 
 
CH. XXIX] THEN AND NOW 375 
 
 a curious sense of expectation, much as though something 
 untoward were about to happen. 
 
 He had not drawn the bUnd, and his eyes were arrested 
 by a bit of the glare of the great city : the roar of the traffic 
 was borne to his ears until (this had happened before) 
 both the glare and the roar increased tenfold. 
 
 Now it seemed to his tense apprehensions that the 
 glare came from the mouth of the Pit: the roar of the 
 traffic was as the murmurings of the unmeasured, im- 
 measurable pain of the world that seethed without the 
 window. 
 
 Quillian was held by a great fear ; not for himself, but 
 for the woman he loved. 
 
 He feared their adorable absorption in each other 
 would not assist to save her soul alive: he doubted his 
 competency to prevent her voice from contributing to the 
 clamour of those in travail. 
 
 The impressions of fire and torment faded from his ken, 
 but ia sense of apprehension remained. 
 
 His condition of mind was akin to that in which he 
 had sometimes lain awake as a little child, possessed by a 
 nervous dread of the Powers of Darkness. 
 
 And once more, as in those far-away days, he shut his 
 eyes and sought to comfort himself by repeating all but 
 forgotten doggerels which, once more, came trippingly to 
 his tongue. 
 
 The first was taught him by a sailor uncle, who had 
 retired from the Navy, and who was happy with 
 his astronomical telescope which was fitted with a 
 speculum. 
 
 The rhyme was as follows : 
 
 ' The Ram, the Bull, the Heavenly Twins; 
 And next the Crab the Lion shines. 
 The Virgin and the Scales ; 
 The Scorpion, Archer, and He-Goat; 
 The Man who carries the Watering Pot; 
 The Fish with glittering tails.' 
 
 The first verse and refrain of ' Primrose Farm,' the 
 song his mother sang to his father, came into his mind ; he 
 said it to himself as before : 
 
376 THE HOME OF THE SEVEN DEVILS [CH.xxix 
 
 ' She sat at quiet Primrose Farm 
 In the old oat parlour dim, 
 While out of the window one little arm 
 Leant down the flow'rs to trim. 
 He opened the wicket; he loved her so: 
 He asked her his bride to be. 
 ' There's someone else,' she answered low. 
 And her tears fell silently. 
 
 ' For some must love, and some must wait : 
 And some must find their love too late.' 
 
 This was followed by a country rhyme taught him by 
 an old nurse: 
 
 ' If the geese don't lay 
 By Candlemas Day, 
 Cut ofi their heads 
 And throw them away.' 
 
 Then, other sea-faring doggerels he had learned from 
 his sailor uncle : 
 
 ' If to sta,rboard red appear, 
 It's your duty to keep clear; 
 To act as judgment says is proper; 
 " Port " or " Starboard," " Astern " or " Stop her." ' 
 
 ' If upon your port is seen 
 A steamer's starboard light of green ; 
 There is not much for you to do : 
 Green to red keeps clear of you. 
 
 ' Green to green, red to red. 
 Perfect safety; go ahead.' 
 
 Lastly, a simple prayer he had learned by heart at his 
 mother's knee: this he slightly altered, so that it might 
 embrace his Vesper : 
 
 ' Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, 
 Bless the bed We lie upon. 
 Four angels to guard Our bed. 
 Two at the foot and two at the head ; 
 Two to watch Us while We pray, 
 And two to carry Our souls away.' 
 
 Five minutes later, Paul QuiUian fell asleep. 
 
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