CHAPTER VI
THE LAW OF SELECTION
In actual mundane time, to use a somewhat halting expression, ProfessorMarmion's walk had occupied about a couple of hours. His strangeexperiences had, of course, occupied none, since they had taken placebeyond the bounds of Time.
Meanwhile, Miss Nitocris had finished her digest of the morning papers,given the cook a few directions, and then gone out on the lawn at theback of the house to have a quiet read and enjoy the soft air andsunshine of that lovely May morning. She lay down in a hammock chair inthe shade of a fine old cedar at the bottom of the lawn, and began toread, and soon she began to dream. The news in the papers, even the mostresponsible of them, had been very serious. The shadow of war was oncemore rising in the East--war which, if it came, England could scarcelyescape, and if it did Someone would have to go and fight in that mostperilous of all forms of battle, torpedo attack.
The book she had taken with her was one of exceedingly clever versewritten years before by just such another as herself; a girl, beautiful,learned, and yet absolutely womanly, and endowed, moreover, with thatgift so rare among learned women, the gift of humour. Long ago, thisgirl had taken the fever in Egypt, and died of it; but before she diedshe wrote a book of poems and verses, which, though long forgotten--ifever known--by the multitude, is still treasured and re-read by some,and of these Miss Nitocris was one. Just now the book was open at thehundred and forty-third page, on which there is a portion of a poementitled _Natural Selection_.
Miss Nitocris' eyes alternately rested on the page for a few moments andthen lifted and looked over the lawn towards the open French windows.The verses ran thus:
_"But there comes an idealless lad, With a strut, and a stare, and a smirk; And I watch, scientific though sad, The Law of Selection at work._
_"Of Science he hasn't a trace, He seeks not the How and the Why, But he sings with an amateur's grace And he dances much better than I._
_"And we know the more dandified males By dance and by song win their wives-- 'Tis a law that with_ Aves _prevails, And even in_ Homo _survives."_
"Just my precious papa's ideas!" she murmured, with a toss of her head,and something like a little sniff. "What a nuisance it all is!Aristocracy of intellect, indeed! Just as if any of us, even my dearDad, if he _is_ considered one of the cleverest and most learned men inEurope, were anything more than what Newton called himself--a littlechild picking up pebbles and grains of sand on the shore of a boundlessand fathomless ocean, and calling them knowledge. I'm not quite surethat that's correct, but it's something like it. Still, that's not thequestion. How on earth am I to tell poor Mark? Oh dear! he'll have to be'Mr Merrill' now, I suppose. What a shame! I've half a mind to rebel,and vindicate the Law of Selection at any price. Ah, there he is. Well,I suppose I've got to get through it somehow."
As she spoke, one of the French windows under the verandah opened, and aman in a panama hat, Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, came out andraised his hat as he stepped off the verandah.
With a sigh and a frown she closed the book sharply, got up and tossedit into the chair. No daintier or more desirable incarnation of theeternal feminine could have been imagined than she presented as shewalked slowly across the lawn to meet the man whom the Law of Selectionhad designated as her natural mate, and whom her father, for reasonspresently to be made plain, had forbidden her to marry on pain of exilefrom his affections for ever.
The face he turned towards her as she approached was not exactlyhandsome as an artist or some women would have defined the word, but itwas strong, honest, and open--just the sort of face, in short, to matchthe broad shoulders, the long, cleanly-shaped, athletic limbs, and thefive feet eleven of young, healthy manhood with which Nature hadassociated it.
A glance at his face and another one at him generally would, in spite ofthe costume, have convinced any one who knows the genus that MarkMerrill was a naval officer. He had that quiet air of restrainedstrength, of the instinctive habit of command which somehow or otherdoes not distinguish any other fighting man in the world in quite thesame degree. His name and title were Lieutenant-Commander Mark GwynneMerrill, of His Majesty's Destroyer _Blazer_, one of the coolest-headedand yet most judiciously reckless officers in the Service.
There was a light in his wide-set, blue-grey eyes, and a smile on hisstrong, well-cut lips which were absolutely boyish in their anticipationof sheer delight as she approached; and then, after one glance at herface, his own changed with a suddenness, which, to a disinterestedobserver, would have been almost comic.
"I'm awfully sorry, Mark," she began, in a tone which literally sent ashiver--a real physical shiver--through him, for he was very, very muchin love with her.
"What on earth is the matter, Niti?" he said, looking at the fair faceand downcast eyes which, for the first time since he had asked theeternal question and she had answered it according to his heart'sdesire, had refused to meet his. "Let's have it out at once. It's a lotbetter to be shot through the heart than starved to death, you know. Isuppose it's something pretty bad, or you wouldn't be looking down atthe grass like that," he continued.
"Oh, it's--it's--it's a _beastly_ shame, that's what it is, so there!"And as she said this Miss Nitocris Marmion, B.Sc., stamped her foot onthe turf and felt inclined to burst out crying, just as a milkmaid mighthave done.
"Which means," said Mark, pulling himself up, as a man about to face amortal enemy would do, "that the Professor has said 'No.' In otherwords, he has decided that his learned and lovely daughter shall not, asI suppose he would put it, mate with an animal of a lower order--a merefighting-man. Well, Miss Marmion----"
"Oh, don't; _please_ don't!" she exclaimed, almost piteously, droppinginto a big wicker armchair by the verandah and putting her hands overher eyes.
He had an awful fear that she was going to cry, and, as the Easternssay, he felt his heart turning to water within him. But her highlytrained intellect came to her aid. She swallowed the sob, and looked upat him with clear, dry eyes.
"It isn't quite that, Mark," she continued. "You know I wouldn't standanything like that even from the dear old Dad. Much as I love him, andeven, as you know, in some senses almost worship him, it isn't that.It's this theory of heredity of his--this scientific faith--bigotry, Icall it, for it is just the same to him as Catholicism was to theSpaniards in the sixteenth century. In fact, I told him the other nightthat he reminded me of the Spanish grandee whose daughters wereconvicted of heresy by the Inquisition, and who showed his devotion tothe Church by lighting the faggots which burned them with his ownhands."
"And what did he say to that?" said the sailor, not because he wanted toknow, but because there was an awkward pause that needed filling.
"I would rather not tell you, Mark, if you don't mind," she said slowlyand looking very straightly and steadily at him. "You know--well, Ineedn't tell you again what I've told you already. You know I care foryou, and I always shall, but I cannot--I dare not--disobey my father. Iowe all that I ever had to him. He has been father, mother, teacher,friend, companion--everything to me. We are absolutely alone in theworld. If I could leave him for anybody, I'd leave him for you, but Iwon't disobey him and break his heart, as I believe I should, even foryou."
"You're perfectly right, Niti, perfectly," said Commander Merrill, in atone of steady conviction which inspired her with an almost irresistibleimpulse to get up and kiss him. "You couldn't honestly do anything else,and I know the shortest way to make you hate me would be to ask you todo that something else. But still," he went on, thrusting his hands intothe pockets of his Norfolk jacket, "I do think I have a sort of rightto have some sort of explanation, and with your permission I shall justask him for one."
"For goodness' sake, don't do that, Mark--don't!" she pleaded. "Youmight as well go and ask a Jewish Rabbi why he wouldn't let his daughtermarry a Christian. Wise and clever as he is in other things, poor Dad issimply a fanatic in this, and--well, if he did condescend to explain,I'm afraid you might mi
stake what he would think the correct scientificway of putting it, for an insult, and I couldn't bear to think of youquarrelling. You know you're the only two people in the world I--I--Ohdear, what _shall_ I do!"
It was at this point that the Law of Natural Selection stepped in.Natural laws of any sort have very little respect for the refinements ofwhat mortals are pleased to call their philosophy. Professor Marmion wasa very great man--some men said he was the greatest scientist of hisage--but at this moment he was but as a grain of sand among the wheelsof the mighty machine which grinds out human and other destinies.
Commander Merrill took a couple of long, swift strides towards the chairin which Nitocris was leaning back with her hands pressed to her eyes.He picked her up bodily, as he might have picked a child of seven up,put her protesting hands aside, and slowly and deliberately kissed herthree times squarely on the lips as if he meant it; and the third timeher lips moved too. Then he whispered:
"Good-bye, dear, for the present, at any rate!"
After which he deposited her tenderly in the chair again, and, with justone last look, turned and walked with quick, angry strides across thelawn and round the semi-circular carriage-drive, saying some things tohimself between his clenched teeth, and thinking many more.
A few yards outside the gate he came face to face with the Professor.
"Good-morning, sir," said Merrill, with a motion of his hand towards hishat.
"Oh, good-morning, Mr Merrill," replied the Professor a little stiffly,for relations between them had been strained for some considerable timenow. "I presume you have been to the house. I am sorry that you did notfind me at home, but if it is anything urgent and you have half an hourto spare----"
He stopped in his speech, silenced by a shock of something like shame.He was prevaricating. He knew perfectly well that "it" was the mosturgent errand a man could have, next to his duty to his country, thathad brought the young sailor to his house. Twenty-four hours ago hewould not have noticed such a trifle: but it was no trifle now; for tohis clearer vision it was a sin, an evasion of the immutable laws ofTruth, utterly unworthy of the companion of Nitocris the Queen in thatother existence which he had just left.
"You have seen Niti, I suppose?" he continued, with singular directness.
"Yes," replied Merrill. "You will remember that the week was up thismorning, and so I called to learn my fate, and your daughter has toldme. I presume that your decision is final, and that, therefore, there isnothing more to be said on the subject."
"My decisions are usually final, Mr Merrill, because I do not arrive atthem without due consideration. I am deeply grieved, as I have told youbefore, but my decision is a deduction from what I consider to be anunbreakable chain of argument which I need not trouble you with.Personally and socially, of course, it would be impossible for me tohave the slightest objection to you. In fact, apart from your execrablefighting profession, I like you; but otherwise, as you know, I cannothelp looking at you as the survival of an age of barbarism, a hark-backof humanity, for all the honour in which that trade is held by anignorant and deluded world; and so for the last time it is my painfultask to tell you that there can be no union between your blood and mine.Outside that, of course, there is no reason why we should not remainfriends."
"Very well, sir," replied Merrill, "I have heard your decision, and MissMarmion has told me she is resolved to abide by it; I should besomething less than a man if I attempted to alter her resolve. We areordered on foreign service this week, and so for the present,good-bye."
He lifted his hat, turned away and walked down the road with teethclenched and eyes fixed straight in front of him, and a shade of greyunder the tan of his skin.
The Professor looked after him for a few moments and turned in at thegate, saying:
"It's a great pity in some ways--many ways, in fact. He's a fine youngfellow and a thorough gentleman, and I'm afraid they're very fond ofeach other, but of course to let Niti marry him would be the negation ofthe belief and teaching of more than half a lifetime. I hope the poorgirl won't take it too keenly to heart. I'm afraid he seems rather hardhit, poor chap, but of course there's no help for it. Just fancy me thefather-in-law of a fighting man, and the grandfather of what might be abrood of fighters! No, no; that is quite out of the question."
The Mummy and Miss Nitocris: A Phantasy of the Fourth Dimension Page 7
