Complete Works of George Moore

by George Moore

  ‘I have found a way out of it. It took me a long while, but I have found the way — there it is,’ he said, pointing to the type-writing machine. ‘They don’t suspect anything, not they, the fools; they don’t know what is hanging over their heads. I’ll tell you, Agnes, but you must not breathe a word of it to any one, if you did, they would take the machine from me: for they’d like me to remain a mere expense. As long as I’m that, they can do what they like, but as soon as I gain an independence, as soon as I am able to pay for my meals,’ he whispered, ‘I mean to put my house in order But you mustn’t breathe a word.’

  ‘I’ll never do anything, father, you ask me not to do.’

  ‘I shall be able to sweep out all those you don’t like. There are too many men hanging about here?’

  ‘Tell me, father, do you like Lord Chadwick?’ The Major’s face changed expression. ‘Have I said anything to wound you?’ she said, pressing his hand.

  ‘No, dear. You asked me if I liked Lord Chadwick. I was thinking. Somehow it seems to me that I rather like him, though I have no reason to do so. He thinks me crazy, but so do others; I know that my conversation bores him, he always tries to get away from me, yet somehow it seems to me that I do like him.’

  ‘Is he a fast man, father, is he like Lord Chiselhurst?’

  ‘He is much the same as the other men that come here. I don’t think he’s a bad man — no worse than other men. Is he kind to you, dear; tell me that; do you like him?’

  ‘Yes, father; he and Mr. St. Clare are the men I like best here. But why is he here so much, father, he’s no relation.’

  ‘He has dined and lunched here every day for the last ten years. He’s been an expense too.’

  ‘Mother said he is so poor that she has often to lend him money.’

  ‘He should have spent some of the money she lent him, on a type- writing machine, and striven as I do to make an independence. When I’ve got together a little independence, when I can pay for my meals and my clothes, you shall see; none that you dislike shall ever come here, dearest. I’ll put my house in order.’

  ‘But that will take a long time, father; in the meantime — —’

  ‘What, dear?’

  ‘Mother will want me to marry.’

  ‘They shall not force you to marry, they shall not ask you to do anything you do not like. Lord Chiselhurst ought to be ashamed, a man of his age to want to marry a young girl like you. I will go and tell him so.’

  The Major stood up, he was pale, and Agnes noticed that his lips trembled.

  ‘No, father,’ she said, ‘do not go to him; I do not know that he wants to marry me; it is only mother’s idea, she may be mistaken.’

  ‘You shall not be persecuted by his attentions.’

  ‘Lord Chiselhurst is a gentleman, father. Whatever his faults may be, I feel sure when he sees that I do not want him, that he will cease to think of me… Lord Chiselhurst is not the worst.’

  ‘Who, then, is the worst? Who is it that you wish me to rid you of?’

  ‘I don’t wish you to be violent, father, but you might hint to Mr. Moulton that I do not wish — —’

  ‘That man — he, too, is merely an expense.’

  ‘I am sure, father, that it is not right of him to put his arms round me — he tried to kiss me. I was alone in the drawing-room. And he speaks in a way that I do not like — I don’t know…. I don’t like him; he frightens me.’

  ‘Frightens you! That fellow — that fellow!’

  ‘Yes; he asks me questions.’

  ‘He never shall do so again. Is he in the drawing-room?’

  ‘Yes; but, father, you cannot speak to him now, there are people in the drawing-room.’

  ‘I don’t care who’s there.’

  ‘No, father, no; I beg of you. Mother will never forgive me…. Father, you mustn’t make a scene. Father, you cannot go to the drawing-room in those clothes,’ and in desperate resolve, Agnes threw herself between the Major and the door, pressing him back with both hands.

  ‘They think me a sheep, I have been a sheep too long, but they shall see that even the sheep will turn to save its lamb from the butcher. I’ll go to them, yes, and in these clothes — Agnes, let me go.’

  ‘I want you to speak to Mr. Moulton…. But not now, this is not the time.’

  He tried to push past her, but she resisted him, and sat down in front of his type-writing machine, pale and exhausted, the sweat pearling his bald forehead.

  She tried to calm him and to induce him to understand the scandal he would make if he were to go down to the drawing-room, dressed as he was. But her words did not seem to reach the Major’s brain. He only muttered that the time had come to put his house in order. Agnes answered, ‘Father, for my sake … not now.’ But he must obey the idea which pierced his brain, and before she could prevent him he slipped past her and opened the door.

  ‘Oh, father, don’t, for my sake, please.’

  His lips moved but he did not speak.

  ‘I will not make a scene,’ he said at last.

  ‘Father!’

  ‘I will not make a scene, but I must do something…. I promise you that I will not make a scene, but I must go down to the drawing-room in these clothes. In these clothes,’ he repeated. There was something in his look which conveyed a sense of the inevitable, and Agnes watched him descend the stairs. She followed slowly, catching at the banisters leaning against the wall. She noticed that his step was heavy and irresolute and hoped he would refrain. But he went on, step after step.

  V.

  He had intended to turn the entire crew out of the house; but Agnes had induced him to relinquish this idea, and, as no fresh idea had taken its place, he entered the drawing-room with no more than a vague notion that he should parade his old clothes, and reprove the conversation.

  ‘Olive, I’ve come down for a cup of tea.’

  ‘I don’t mind giving you a cup,’ said Mrs. Lahens, ‘but I think you might have taken the trouble to change your clothes: that’s hardly a costume to receive ladies in. Look at him, Lady Castlerich — that’s what I’ve to put up with.’

  ‘Lady Castlerich will excuse my clothes. You know, Lady Castlerich, that I’m very poor. Some years ago I lost my money, and since then I’ve been merely an expense. It is most humiliating to have to ask your wife for twopence to take the omnibus.’

  ‘My dear Major,’ said Harding, ‘what on earth is the matter with you? You’ve been working too hard…. But, by the way, I forgot to tell you I’ve just finished a novel which I shall be glad if you’ll copy it for me. You haven’t shown me your machine. Come.’

  ‘I shall be very glad to have your work to do, Harding, but I can’t talk to you about it just at present. You must excuse me, I’ve an explanation to make. Oh, do not think of going, dear Lady Castlerich, do not let my costume frighten you away. These are my working clothes. The last money I took from my wife was sixteen pounds to buy a type- writing machine. I made five shillings last week, four shillings went towards paying for the machine. When I am clear of that debt I shall make enough to pay for my room and my meals. I had always intended then to put my house in order.’

  ‘But, my dear Major,’ said Lady Castlerich, trying to get past him, ‘your house is charmin’, the drawing-room is perfectly charmin’, I don’t know a more charmin’ room.’

  ‘The room is well enough, it is what one hears in the room.’

  ‘Hears in the room! Major, I’m sure our conversation has been most agreeable.’

  ‘You’ll agree with me that it is a little hard that my daughter should have to sit in her bedroom all day.’

  ‘But we should be charmed to have her here,’ expostulated the old lady. ‘She was here just now, but she ran away.’

  ‘Yes; she ran away from the conversation.’

  ‘Ran away from the conversation, Major! Now what were we talking about, Olive?’

  ‘I don’t know…. He’s in one of his mad humours, pay no attention to him, Lady
Castlerich,’ said Mrs. Lahens.

  ‘Perhaps you were talking about your lovers, Lady Castlerich,’ said the Major.

  ‘I’m sure I couldn’t have been, for the fact is I don’t remember.’

  ‘I really must be going,’ said Harding; ‘goodbye, Mrs. Lahens. And now, Major, come with me and we’ll talk about the typing of the novel.’

  ‘Later on, Harding, later on, I’ve to speak about my daughter. There’s so much she doesn’t understand. You know, Lady Castlerich, she has been very strictly brought up.’

  ‘How very strange. I must really be going. Good-bye, Major, charmin’ afternoon, I’m sure.’

  ‘I hope,’ he said, turning to Lilian, ‘that I can congratulate you on your engagement?’

  ‘My engagement. With whom…. Mr. St. Clare? What makes you think that? We are not engaged; we’re merely friends.’

  ‘It was given out that you were engaged. Mr. Harding said it was physically impossible for you to see more than you did of each other.’

  ‘My dear Major,’ said Harding, ‘you’re mistaken; I never said such a thing, I assure you—’

  ‘Physically impossible,’ giggled Lady Castlerich. ‘That’s good. But won’t you see me to my carriage, Mr. Harding. Did you say physically impossible?’

  The Major looked round, uncertain whom to address next. Catching Mr. Moulton, who was stealing past him, by the arm, he said:

  ‘You, too, understand how humiliating it is to be a mere expense. Why don’t you buy a type-writing machine?’

  ‘Perhaps I shall … the first money I get,’ Mr. Moulton answered, and disengaging his arm he hurried away, leaving the Major alone with his wife. She sat in her arm-chair looking into the fire. The Major waited, expecting her to speak, but she said not a word.

  ‘I want to talk to you, Olive.’

  ‘To hear what I have to say about your conduct, I suppose. I have nothing to say.’

  ‘I’m not clever, like you, and don’t say the right thing, but something had to be done, and I did it as best I could.’

  ‘You’re madder than I thought you were.’

  ‘Something had to be done?’

  ‘Something had to be done! What do you mean? But it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes, it does, Olive. I want you to understand that Agnes must be saved.’

  ‘Saved!’

  ‘Yes, saved from this drawing-room; you know that it is a pollution for one like her.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Mrs. Lahens, turning suddenly, ‘that you said something about putting your house in order. I didn’t understand what you meant. Did you mean this house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you forget that this is my house. So you intend to rescue Agnes from this drawing-room. You can go, both of you…. I’ll have both of you put out of doors!’

  ‘You’ll not turn your daughter out of doors!’

  ‘If my drawing-room is not good enough for her, let her go back to the convent. You took her from me years ago; you never thought I was good enough for your daughter.’

  ‘There was Chadwick. I begged of you to break with him for the sake of your daughter. You might have done that. I made sacrifices for her; I endured this house; I accepted your lover.’

  ‘Accepted my lover! You did not expect a woman to be faithful to a man like you…. You didn’t think that possible, did you?’

  ‘What was I to do; what can a man do who is dependent on his wife for his support? Besides, there was more than myself to consider, there was Agnes; had I divorced you she would have suffered.’

  ‘Of course you never thought of yourself — of this house; I daresay you look upon yourself quite as a hero. Well, upon my word — —’ Mrs. Lahens laughed.

  ‘I don’t think I thought of myself. I daresay the world put the worst construction on my conduct. But you can’t say that I took much advantage of the fact that you were willing to let me live in the house. I gave up my room — I live in the meanest room — the kitchen-maid complained about it; she left it; there was no use for it. What I eat does not cost you much; I eat very little. Of course I know that that little is too much. Meantime, I’m trying to create a little independence.’

  ‘And meantime you shall respect my drawing-room…. But the mischief is done; you have insulted my friends; you have forced them out of my house. The story will be all over Mayfair to-morrow. It will be said that the sheep has turned at last. Nothing is to be gained by keeping you any longer.’

  ‘But Agnes?’

  ‘Agnes will remain with me…. You don’t propose to take her with you, do you?’

  ‘I couldn’t support her, at least not yet awhile, not even if Harding gave me the novel he was speaking of to copy.’

  ‘Support her! … Harding give you his novel to copy…. You poor fool, you could not spell the words.’

  ‘True, that is my difficulty…. But Agnes cannot remain here without me. That is impossible. To remain here, seeing your friends in this drawing-room! things to go on as they are! that child! Olive, you must see that that is impossible. It would be worse than before.’

  ‘If I refuse to have you here any longer, you’ve no one but yourself to thank.’

  ‘Olive, remember that she is our child; we owe her something. I have suffered a great deal for her sake; you know I have. Do you now suffer something. You’ll be better for it; you’ll be happier. I am in a way happier for what I have suffered.’

  ‘You mean if I consent to let you stay here?’

  ‘I was not thinking of that; that is not enough.’

  ‘Not enough! Well, what is enough? But I cannot listen,’ said Mrs. Lahens, speaking half to herself. ‘I’m keeping him waiting. What a fright I shall be! Our evening will be spoilt.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m going to dine with Chad, if you wish to know.’

  ‘You shall not go to Lord Chadwick,’ said the Major, walking close to his wife. Mrs. Lahens turned from the glass. ‘You shall not go,’ repeated the Major. ‘Go at your peril.’ … They stood looking at each other a moment with hatred in their eyes. Then with tears in his voice, the Major said, ‘For our daughter’s sake give him up. She already suspects, and it makes her so unhappy. She is so good, so innocent. Think of what a shock it would be to her if she were to discover the truth. Give up Chadwick for her sake. You’ll never regret. One day or other it will have to end; if you let it end now you’ll repair the past.’

  ‘Her innocence! her goodness! Had I married another man I might have been a virtuous woman. … The world asks too much virtue from women. If I had not had Chad I should have gone mad long ago. He’s been very good to me: why should I give him up? For why? What has my daughter done for me that I should give up all I have in the world; and what purpose would be served if I did? So that she should preserve her illusions a few months longer. That is all. If she remain in the world she must learn what the world is. If she doesn’t want to learn what the world is, the sooner she goes back to the convent the better. And now I must go; I’m late.’

  ‘You shall not go. You shall see no more of Lord Chadwick. You shall receive no more of your infamous friends. My daughter’s mind shall not be polluted.’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Major. Let me go, or I shall have you turned out of the house. I don’t want to, but you’ll force me to…. Now let me go.’

  The Major took his wife by the throat, and repeated his demand.

  ‘Say that this adultery shall cease, or else—’

  ‘Or else you’ll kill me?’

  ‘Father!’

  Agnes had stolen downstairs. She had waited a few moments on the threshold before she entered the room necessity ordained… and she stood pale and courageous between her parents.

  Mrs. Lahens sat down on the ottoman, and, when the servant arrived with the lamp, Agnes saw that her mother, notwithstanding her paint, was like death. The servant looked under the lamp’s shade and turned up the wicks; he drew the curtains, and at last the wide
mahogany door swept noiselessly over the carpet, and the three were alone.

  ‘I’m sorry, Agnes, that you were present just now. Such a scene never happened before. I assure you. A point arose between us, and I’m afraid we both forgot ourselves. It would be better if you went upstairs.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mrs. Lahens, ‘that you understand each other. It is I who had better go.’

  ‘No, mother, don’t go. I would not have you think that — that — oh, how am I to say it?’

  Mrs. Lahens looked at her daughter — a strange look it was, of surprise and inquiry.

  ‘Mother, I have been but an apple of discord thrown between you…. But, indeed, it was not my fault. Mother, dear, it was not my fault.’

  For a moment it seemed as if Mrs. Lahens were going to take her daughter in her arms. But some thought or feeling checked the impulse, and she said:

  ‘Talk to your father, Agnes. I cannot stay.’

  ‘You shall not go,’ said the Major, laying his hand on her arm. ‘You shall not go to Lord Chadwick.’

  ‘Oh, father; oh, father, I beg of you…. It is with gentleness and love that we overcome our troubles. Let mother go if she wants to go.’

  The Major took his hand from his wife’s arm, and Mrs. Lahens said:

  ‘You’re a good girl, Agnes. I wish you had always remained with me. If your father had not taken you from me, I might—’

  She left the room hurriedly, and, a few moments after, they heard her drive away in a cab.

  ‘Father, I know everything.’

  ‘You overheard?’

  ‘Yes, father. As your voices grew more angry I crept downstairs. I heard about Lord Chadwick. You must have patience; you must be gentle.’

  ‘Agnes, I have been patient, I have been gentle. That was my mistake.’

  ‘Perhaps, father, it would have been better if you had acted differently at first, a long time ago. But I’m sure that the present is no time for anger. I know that it was on my account, that it was to save me, that you — that you — you know what I mean.’

  ‘You’re right, Agnes. My mistake began long ago. But you must not judge me harshly. You do not know, you cannot realise what my position has been in this house. I could do nothing. When a man has lost his money — —’