The Regent

by Arnold Bennett

  I

  Once, on a short visit to London, Edward Henry had paid half-a-crownto be let into a certain enclosure with a very low ceiling. Thisenclosure was already crowded with some three hundred people, sittingand standing. Edward Henry had stood in the only unoccupied spot hecould find, behind a pillar. When he had made himself as comfortableas possible by turning up his collar against the sharp winds thatcontinually entered from the street, he had peered forward, and seenin front of his enclosure another and larger enclosure also crowdedwith people, but more expensive people. After a blank interval ofthirty minutes a band had begun to play at an incredible distance infront of him, extinguishing the noises of traffic in the street. Afteranother interval an oblong space rather further off even than the bandsuddenly grew bright, and Edward Henry, by curving his neck firstto one side of the pillar and then to the other, had had tantalizingglimpses of the interior of a doll's drawing-room and of male andfemale dolls therein.

  He could only see, even partially, the inferior half of thedrawing-room--a little higher than the heads of the dolls--because therest was cut off from his vision by the lowness of his own ceiling.

  The dolls were talking, but he could not catch clearly what they said,save at the rare moments when an omnibus or a van did not happen to bethundering down the street behind him. Then one special doll had comeexquisitely into the drawing-room, and at the sight of her the fivehundred people in front of him, and numbers of other people perchedhidden beyond his ceiling, had clapped fervently and even cried aloudin their excitement. And he, too, had clapped fervently, and hadmuttered "Bravo!" This special doll was a marvel of touching andpersuasive grace, with a voice--when Edward Henry could hear it--thatmelted the spine. This special doll had every elegance and seemed tobe in the highest pride of youth.

  At the close of the affair, as this special doll sank into the embraceof a male doll from whom she had been unjustly separated, and thenstraightened herself, deliciously and confidently smiling, to take thetremendous applause of Edward Henry and the rest, Edward Henry thoughtthat he had never assisted at a triumph so genuine and so inspiring.

  Oblivious of the pain in his neck, and of the choking, foul atmosphereof the enclosure, accurately described as the Pit, he had gone forthinto the street with a subconscious notion in his head that thespecial doll was more than human, was half divine. And he had saidafterwards, with immense satisfaction, at Bursley: "Yes, I saw RoseEuclid in 'Flower of the Heart.'"

  He had never set eyes on her since.

  And now, on this day at Wilkins's, he had seen in the restaurant, andhe saw again before him in his private parlour, a faded and stoutishwoman, negligently if expensively dressed, with a fatigued, nervous,watery glance, an unnatural, pale-violet complexion, a wrinkled skinand dyed hair; a woman of whom it might be said that she had escapedgrandmotherhood, if indeed she had escaped it, by mere luck--and hewas point-blank commanded to believe that she and Rose Euclid were thesame person.

  It was one of the most shattering shocks of all his career,which nevertheless had not been untumultuous. And within hisdressing-gown--which nobody remarked upon--he was busy picking up andpiecing together, as quickly as he could, the shivered fragments ofhis ideas.

  He literally did not recognize Rose Euclid. True, fifteen years hadpassed since the night in the pit! And he himself was fifteen yearsolder. But in his mind he had never pictured any change in RoseEuclid. True, he had been familiar with the enormous renown ofRose Euclid as far back as he could remember taking any interest intheatrical advertisements! But he had not permitted her to reach anage of more than about thirty-one or two. Whereas he now perceivedthat even the exquisite doll in paradise that he had gloated over fromhis pit must have been quite thirty-five--then....

  Well, he scornfully pitied Rose Euclid! He blamed her for not havingaccomplished the miracle of eternal youth. He actually considered thatshe had cheated him. "Is this all? What a swindle!" he thought, as hewas piecing together the shivered fragments of his ideas into a newpattern. He had felt much the same as a boy, at Bursley Annual Wakesonce, on entering a booth which promised horrors and did not supplythem. He had been "done" all these years....

  Reluctantly he admitted that Rose Euclid could not help her age. But,at any rate, she ought to have grown older beautifully, with charmingdignity and vivacity--in fact, she ought to have contrived to be oldand young simultaneously. Or, in the alternative, she ought to havemodestly retired into the country and lived on her memories and suchmoney as she had not squandered. She had no right to be abroad.

  At worst, she ought to have _looked_ famous. And, because her name andfame and photographs as an emotional actress had been continually inthe newspapers, therefore she ought to have been refined, delicate,distinguished and full of witty and gracious small-talk. That she hadplayed the heroine of "Flower of the Heart" four hundred times, andthe heroine of "The Grenadier" four hundred and fifty times, and theheroine of "The Wife's Ordeal" nearly five hundred times, made itincumbent upon her, in Edward Henry's subconscious opinion, to possessall the talents of a woman of the world and all the virgin freshnessof a girl. Which shows how cruelly stupid Edward Henry was incomparison with the enlightened rest of us.

  Why (he protested secretly), she was even tongue-tied!

  "Glad to meet you, Mr. Machin," she said awkwardly, in a weak voice,with a peculiar gesture as she shook hands. Then, a mechanical,nervous giggle; and then silence!

  "Happy to make your acquaintance, sir," said Mr. Seven Sachs, and thearch-famous American actor-author also lapsed into silence. But thesilence of Mr. Seven Sachs was different from Rose Euclid's. Hewas not shy. A dark and handsome, tranquil, youngish man, witha redoubtable square chin, delicately rounded at the corners, hestrikingly resembled his own figure on the stage; and moreover, heseemed to regard silence as a natural and proper condition. He simplystood, in a graceful posture, with his muscles at ease, and waited.Mr. Bryany, behind, seemed to be reduced in stature, and to havebecome apologetic for himself in the presence of greatness.

  Still, Mr. Bryany did say something.

  Said Mr. Bryany:

  "Sorry to hear you've been seedy, Mr. Machin!"

  "Oh, yes!" Rose Euclid blurted out, as if shot. "It's very good of youto ask us up here."

  Mr. Seven Sachs concurred, adding that he hoped the illness was notserious.

  Edward Henry said it was not.

  "Won't you sit down, all of you?" said Edward Henry."Miss--er--Euclid--"

  They all sat down except Mr. Bryany.

  "Sit down, Bryany," said Edward Henry. "I'm glad to be able to returnyour hospitality at the Turk's Head."

  This was a blow for Mr. Bryany, who obviously felt it, and grew evenmore apologetic as he fumbled with assumed sprightliness at a chair.

  "Fancy your being here all the time!" said he. "And me looked for youeverywhere--"

  "Mr. Bryany," Seven Sachs interrupted him calmly, "have you got thoseletters off?"

  "Not yet, sir."

  Seven Sachs urbanely smiled. "I think we ought to get them offto-night."

  "Certainly," agreed Mr. Bryany with eagerness, and moved towards thedoor.

  "Here's the key of my sitting-room," Seven Sachs stopped him,producing a key.

  Mr. Bryany, by a mischance catching Edward Henry's eye as he took thekey, blushed.

  In a moment Edward Henry was alone with the two silent celebrities.

  "Well," said Edward Henry to himself, "I've let myself in for it thistime--no mistake! What in the name of common sense am I doing here?"

  Rose Euclid coughed and arranged the folds of her dress.

  "I suppose, like most Americans, you see all the sights," said EdwardHenry to Seven Sachs--the Five Towns is much visited by Americans."What do you think of my dressing-gown?"

  "Bully!" said Seven Sachs, with the faintest twinkle. And Rose Euclidgave the mechanical, nervous giggle.

  "I can do with this chap," thought Edward Henry.

  The gentleman-in-waiting entered
with the supper menu.

  "Thank heaven!" thought Edward Henry.

  Rose Euclid, requested to order a supper after her own mind, staredvaguely at the menu for some moments, and then said that she did notknow what to order.

  "Artichokes?" Edward Henry blandly suggested.

  Again the giggle, followed this time by a flush! And suddenly EdwardHenry recognized in her the entrancing creature of fifteen years ago!Her head thrown back, she had put her left hand behind her and wasgroping with her long fingers for an object to touch. Having found atlength the arm of another chair, she drew her fingers feverishlyalong its surface. He vividly remembered the gesture in "Flower of theHeart." She had used it with terrific effect at every grand emotionalcrisis of the play. He now recognized even her face!

  "Did Mr. Bryany tell you that my two boys are coming up?" said she. "Ileft them behind to do some telephoning for me."

  "Delighted!" said Edward Henry. "The more the merrier!"

  And he hoped that he spoke true.

  But her two boys!

  "Mr. Marrier--he's a young manager. I don't know whether you know him;very, very talented. And Carlo Trent."

  "Same name as my dog," Edward Henry indiscreetly murmured--andhis fancy flew back to the home he had quitted; and Wilkins's andeverybody in it grew transiently unreal to him.

  "Delighted!" he said again.

  He was relieved that her two boys were not her offspring. That, atleast, was something gained.

  "_You_ know--the dramatist," said Rose Euclid, apparently disappointedby the effect on Edward Henry of the name of Carlo Trent.

  "Really!" said Edward Henry. "I hope he won't mind me being in adressing-gown."

  The gentleman-in-waiting, obsequiously restive, managed to choose thesupper himself. Leaving, he reached the door just in time to hold itopen for the entrance of Mr. Marrier and Mr. Carlo Trent, who weretalking with noticeable freedom and emphasis, in an accent which inthe Five Towns is known as the "haw haw," the "lah-di-dah" or the"Kensingtonian" accent.