The Card, a Story of Adventure in the Five Towns

by Arnold Bennett

  CHAPTER X

  HIS INFAMY

  I

  When Denry at a single stroke "wherreted" his mother and proved hisadventurous spirit by becoming the possessor of one of the firstmotor-cars ever owned in Bursley, his instinct naturally was to run upto Councillor Cotterill's in it. Not that he loved Councillor Cotterill,and therefore wished to make him a partaker in his joy; for he did notlove Councillor Cotterill. He had never been able to forgive Nellie'sfather for those patronising airs years and years before at Llandudno,airs indeed which had not even yet disappeared from Cotterill's attitudetowards Denry. Though they were Councillors on the same Town Council,though Denry was getting richer and Cotterill was assuredly not gettingricher, the latter's face and tone always seemed to be saying to Denry:"Well, you are not doing so badly for a beginner." So Denry did not careto lose an opportunity of impressing Councillor Cotterill. Moreover,Denry had other reasons for going up to the Cotterills. There existed asympathetic bond between him and Mrs Cotterill, despite her primtaciturnity and her exasperating habit of sitting with her hands pressedtight against her body and one over the other. Occasionally he teasedher--and she liked being teased. He had glimpses now and then of hersecret soul; he was perhaps the only person in Bursley thus privileged.Then there was Nellie. Denry and Nellie were great friends. For the restof the world she had grown up, but not for Denry, who treated her as thechocolate child; while she, if she called him anything, called himrespectfully "Mr."

  The Cotterills had a fairly large old house with a good garden "upBycars Lane," above the new park and above all those red streets whichMr Cotterill had helped to bring into being. Mr Cotterill built newhouses with terra-cotta facings for others, but preferred an old one instucco for himself. His abode had been saved from the parcelling out ofseveral Georgian estates. It was dignified. It had a double entrancegate, and from this portal the drive started off for the house door, butdeliberately avoided reaching the house door until it had wandered incurves over the entire garden. That was the Georgian touch! The moderntouch was shown in Councillor Cotterill's bay windows, bath-room andgarden squirter. There was stabling, in which were kept a Victoriandogcart and a Georgian horse, used by the Councillor in his business. Assure as ever his wife or daughter wanted the dogcart, it was either outor just going out, or the Georgian horse was fatigued and needed repose.The man who groomed the Georgian also ploughed the flowerbeds, broke thewindows in cleaning them, and put blacking on brown boots. Two indoorservants had differing views as to the frontier between the kingdom ofhis duties and the kingdom of theirs, in fact, it was the usual spacioushousehold of successful trade in a provincial town.

  Denry got to Bycars Lane without a breakdown. This was in the days,quite thirteen years ago, when automobilists made their wills and tookfood supplies when setting forth. Hence Denry was pleased. The small butuseful fund of prudence in him, however, forbade him to run the caralong the unending sinuous drive. The May night was fine, and he leftthe loved vehicle with his new furs in the shadow of a monkey-tree nearthe gate.

  As he was crunching towards the door, he had a beautiful idea: "I'lltake 'em all out for a spin. There'll just be room!" he said.

  Now even to-day, when the very cabman drives his automobile, a man whobuys a motor cannot say to a friend: "I've bought a motor. Come for aspin," in the same self-unconscious accents as he would say: "I'vebought a boat. Come for a sail," or "I've bought a house. Come and lookat it." Even to-day and in the centre of London there is still somethingabout a motor--well something.... Everybody who has bought a motor, andeverybody who has dreamed of buying a motor, will comprehend me. Uselessto feign that a motor is the most banal thing imaginable. It is not. Itremains the supreme symbol of swagger. If such is the effect of a motorin these days and in Berkeley Square, what must it have been in that dimpast, and in that dim town three hours by the fastest express fromEuston? The imagination must be forced to the task of answering thisquestion. Then will it be understood that Denry was simply tingling withpride.

  "Master in?" he demanded of the servant, who was correctly starched, butunkempt in detail.

  "No, sir. He ain't been in for tea."

  ("I shall take the women out then," said Denry to himself.)

  "Come in! Come in!" cried a voice from the other side of the open doorof the drawing-room, Nellie's voice! The manners and state of a familythat has industrially risen combine the spectacular grandeur of thecaste to which it has climbed with the ease and freedom of the castewhich it has quitted.

  "Such a surprise!" said the voice. Nellie appeared, rosy.

  Denry threw his new motoring cap hastily on to the hall-stand. No! Hedid not hope that Nellie would see it. He hoped that she would not seeit. Now that the moment was really come to declare himself the owner ofa motor-car, he grew timid and nervous. He would have liked to hide hishat. But then Denry was quite different from our common humanity. He wascapable even of feeling awkward in a new suit of clothes. A singularperson.

  "Hello!" she greeted him.

  "Hello!" he greeted her.

  Their hands touched.

  "Father hasn't come yet," she added. He fancied she was not quite atease.

  "Well," he said, "what's this surprise."

  She motioned him into the drawing-room.

  The surprise was a wonderful woman, brilliant in black--not black silk,but a softer, delicate stuff. She reclined in an easy-chair withsurpassing grace and self-possession. A black Egyptian shawl, spangledwith silver, was slipping off her shoulders. Her hair was dressed--thatis to say, it was _dressed_; it was obviously and thrillingly awork of elaborate art. He could see her two feet and one of her ankles.The boots, the open-work stocking--such boots, such an open-workstocking, had never been seen in Bursley, not even at a ball! She was inmourning, and wore scarcely any jewellery, but there was a gleaming tintof gold here and there among the black, which resulted in a marvellouseffect of richness.

  The least experienced would have said, and said rightly: "This must be awoman of wealth and fashion." It was the detail that finished thedemonstration. The detail was incredible. There might have been tenmillion stitches in the dress. Ten sempstresses might have worked on thedress for ten years. An examination of it under a microscope could buthave deepened one's amazement at it.

  She was something new in the Five Towns, something quite new.

  Denry was not equal to the situation. He seldom was equal to a smallsituation. And although he had latterly acquired a considerable amountof social _savoir_, he was constantly mislaying it, so that hecould not put his hand on it at the moment when he most required it, asnow.

  "Well, Denry!" said the wondrous creature in black, softly.

  And he collected himself as though for a plunge, and said:

  "Well, Ruth!"

  This was the woman whom he had once loved, kissed, and engaged himselfto marry. He was relieved that she had begun with Christian names,because he could not recall her surname. He could not even rememberwhether he had ever heard it. All he knew was that, after leavingBursley to join her father in Birmingham, she had married somebody witha double name, somebody well off, somebody older than herself; somebodyapparently of high social standing; and that this somebody had died.

  She made no fuss. There was no implication in her demeanour that sheexpected to be wept over as a lone widow, or that because she and he hadon a time been betrothed, therefore they could never speak naturally toeach other again. She just talked as if nothing had ever happened toher, and as if about twenty-four hours had elapsed since she had lastseen him. He felt that she must have picked up this most usefuldiplomatic calmness in her contacts with her late husband's class. Itwas a valuable lesson to him: "Always behave as if nothing had happened--no matter what has happened."

  To himself he was saying:

  "I'm glad I came up in my motor."

  He seemed to need something in self-defence against the sudden attack ofall this wealth and all this superior social tact, and the motor-carserved excell
ently.

  "I've been hearing a great deal about you lately," said she with a softsmile, unobtrusively rearranging a fold of her skirt.

  "Well," he replied, "I'm sorry I can't say the same of you."

  Slightly perilous perhaps, but still he thought it rather neat.

  "Oh!" she said. "You see I've been so much out of England. We were justtalking about holidays. I was saying to Mrs Cotterill they certainlyought to go to Switzerland this year for a change."

  "Yes, Mrs Capron-Smith was just saying--" Mrs Cotterill put in.

  (So that was her name.)

  "It would be something too lovely!" said Nellie in ecstasy.

  Switzerland! Astonishing how with a single word she had marked the gulfbetween Bursley people and herself. The Cotterills had never been out ofEngland. Not merely that, but the Cotterills had never dreamt of goingout of England. Denry had once been to Dieppe, and had come back asthough from Timbuctoo with a traveller's renown. And she talked ofSwitzerland easily!

  "I suppose it is very jolly," he said.

  "Yes," she said, "it's splendid in summer. But, of course, _the_time is winter, for the sports. Naturally, when you aren't free to takea bit of a holiday in winter, you must be content with summer, and verysplendid it is. I'm sure you'd enjoy it frightfully, Nell."

  "I'm sure I should--frightfully!" Nellie agreed. "I shall speak tofather. I shall make him--"

  "Now, Nellie--" her mother warned her.

  "Yes, I shall, mother," Nellie insisted.

  "There _is_ your father!" observed Mrs Cotterill, after listening.

  Footsteps crossed the hall, and died away into the dining-room.

  "I wonder why on earth father doesn't come in here. He must have heardus talking," said Nellie, like a tyrant crossed in some trifle.

  A bell rang, and then the servant came into the drawing-room andremarked: "If you please, mum," at Mrs Cotterill, and Mrs Cotterilldisappeared, closing the door after her.

  "What are they up to, between them?" Nellie demanded, and she, too,departed, with wrinkled brow, leaving Denry and Ruth together. It couldbe perceived on Nellie's brow that her father was going "to catch it."

  "I haven't seen Mr Cotterill yet," said Mrs Capron-Smith.

  "When did you come?" Denry asked.

  "Only this afternoon."

  She continued to talk.

  As he looked at her, listening and responding intelligently now andthen, he saw that Mrs Capron-Smith was in truth the woman that Ruth hadso cleverly imitated ten years before. The imitation had deceived himthen; he had accepted it for genuine. It would not have deceived himnow--he knew that. Oh yes! This was the real article that could hold itsown anywhere.... Switzerland! And not simply Switzerland, but arefinement on Switzerland! Switzerland in winter! He divined that in heropinion Switzerland in summer was not worth doing--in the way ofcorrectness. But in winter...

  II

  Nellie had announced a surprise for Denry as he entered the house, butNellie's surprise for Denry, startling and successful though it proved,was as naught to the surprise which Mr Cotterill had in hand for Nellie,her mother, Denry, the town of Bursley, and various persons up and downthe country.

  Mrs Cotterill came hysterically in upon the duologue between Denry andRuth in the drawing-room. From the activity of her hands, which, insteadof being decently folded one over the other, were waving round her headin the strangest way, it was clear that Mrs Cotterill was indeed underthe stress of a very unusual emotion.

  "It's those creditors--at last! I knew it would be! It's all thosecreditors! They won't let him alone, and now they've _done_ it."

  So Mrs Cotterill! She dropped into a chair. She had no longer any senseof shame, of what was due to her dignity. She seemed to have forgottenthat certain matters are not proper to be discussed in drawing-rooms.She had left the room Mrs Councillor Cotterill; she returned to itnobody in particular, the personification of defeat. The change hadoperated in five minutes.

  Mrs Capron-Smith and Denry glanced at each other, and even MrsCapron-Smith was at a loss for a moment. Then Ruth approached MrsCotterill and took her hand. Perhaps Mrs Capron-Smith was not soastonished after all. She and Nellie's mother had always been "veryfriendly." And in the Five Towns "very friendly" means a lot.

  "Perhaps if you were to leave us," Ruth suggested, twisting her head toglance at Denry.

  It was exactly what he desired to do. There could be no doubt that Ruthwas supremely a woman of the world. Her tact was faultless.

  He left them, saying to himself: "Well, here's a go!"

  In the hall, through an open door, he saw Councillor Cotterill standingagainst the dining-room mantelpiece.

  When Cotterill caught sight of Denry he straightened himself into acertain uneasy perkiness.

  "Young man," he said in a counterfeit of his old patronising tone, "comein here. You may as well hear about it. You're a friend of ours. Come inand shut the door."

  Nellie was not in view.

  Denry went in and shut the door.

  "Sit down," said Cotterill.

  And it was just as if he had said: "Now, you're a fairly bright sort ofyouth, and you haven't done so badly in life; and as a reward I mean toadmit you to the privilege of hearing about our ill-luck, which for somemysterious reason reflects more credit on me than your good luckreflects on you, young man."

  And he stroked his straggling grey beard.

  "I'm going to file my petition to-morrow," said he, and gave a shortlaugh.

  "Really!" said Denry, who could think of nothing else to say. His namewas not Capron-Smith.

  "Yes; they won't leave me any alternative," said Mr Cotterill.

  Then he gave a brief history of his late commercial career to the youngman. And he seemed to figure it as a sort of tug-of-war between hiscreditors and his debtors, he himself being the rope. He seemed to implythat he had always done his sincere best to attain the greatest good ofthe greatest number, but that those wrong-headed creditors hadconsistently thwarted him.

  However, he bore them no grudge. It was the fortune of the tug-of-war.He pretended, with shabby magnificence of spirit, that a bankruptcy atthe age of near sixty, in a community where one has cut a figure, is amere passing episode.

  "Are you surprised?" he asked foolishly, with a sheepish smile.

  Denry took vengeance for all the patronage that he had received during adecade.

  "No!" he said. "Are you?"

  Instead of kicking Denry out of the house for an impudent youngjackanapes, Mr Cotterill simply resumed his sheepish smile.

  Denry had been surprised for a moment, but he had quickly recovered.Cotterill's downfall was one of those events which any person of acuteintelligence can foretell after they have happened. Cotterill had runthe risks of the speculative builder, built and mortgaged, built andmortgaged, sold at a profit, sold without profit, sold at a loss, andfailed to sell; given bills, second mortgages, and third mortgages; andbecause he was a builder and could do nothing but build, he hadcontinued to build in defiance of Bursley's lack of enthusiasm for hiserections. If rich gold deposits had been discovered in BursleyMunicipal Park, Cotterill would have owned a mining camp and amassedimmense wealth; but unfortunately gold deposits were not discovered inthe Park. Nobody knew his position; nobody ever does know the positionof a speculative builder. He did not know it himself. There had beenrumours, but they had been contradicted in an adequate way. His recentrefusal of the mayoral chain, due to lack of spare coin, had beenattributed to prudence. His domestic existence had always been conductedon the same moderately lavish scale. He had always paid the baker, thebutcher, the tailor, the dressmaker.

  And now he was to file his petition in bankruptcy, and to-morrow theentire town would have "been seeing it coming" for years.

  "What shall you do?" Denry inquired in amicable curiosity.

  "Well," said Cotterill, "that's the point. I've got a brother a builderin Toronto, you know. He's doing very well; building _is_ buildingover there. I wrote to him a bi
t since, and he replied by the next mail--by the next mail--that what he wanted was just a man like me tooverlook things. He's getting an old man now, is John. So, you see,there's an opening waiting for me."

  As if to say, "The righteous are never forsaken."

  "I tell you all this as you're a friend of the family like," he added.

  Then, after an expanse of vagueness, he began hopefully, cheerfully,undauntedly:

  "Even _now_ if I could get hold of a couple of thousand I couldpull through handsome--and there's plenty of security for it."

  "Bit late now, isn't it?"

  "Not it. If only some one who really knows the town, and has faith inthe property market, would come down with a couple of thousand--well, hemight double it in five years."

  "Really!"

  "Yes," said Cotterill. "Look at Clare Street."

  Clare Street was one of his terra-cotta masterpieces.

  "You, now," said Cotterill, insinuating. "I don't expect anyone canteach _you_ much about the value o' property in this town. You knowas well as I do. If you happened to have a couple of thousand loose--bygosh! it's a chance in a million."

  "Yes," said Denry. "I should say that was just about what it was."

  "I put it before you," Cotterill proceeded, gathering way, and missingthe flavour of Denry's remark. "Because you're a friend of the family.You're so often here. Why, it's pretty near ten years...."

  Denry sighed: "I expect I come and see you all about once a fortnightfairly regular. That makes two hundred and fifty times in ten years.Yes...."

  "A couple of thou'," said Cotterill, reflectively.

  "Two hundred and fifty into two thousand--eight. Eight pounds a visit. Ashade thick, Cotterill, a shade thick. You might be half a dozenfashionable physicians rolled into one."

  Never before had he called the Councillor "Cotterill" unadorned. MeCotterill flushed and rose.

  Denry does not appear to advantage in this interview. He failed inmagnanimity. The only excuse that can be offered for him is that MrCotterill had called him "young man" once or twice too often in thecourse of ten years. It is subtle.

  III

  "No," whispered Ruth, in all her wraps. "Don't bring it up to the door.I'll walk down with you to the gate, and get in there."

  He nodded.

  They were off, together. Ruth, it had appeared, was actually staying atthe Five Towns Hotel at Knype, which at that epoch was the only hotel inthe Five Towns seriously pretending to be "first-class" in the full-pageadvertisement sense. The fact that Ruth was staying at the Five TownsHotel impressed Denry anew. Assuredly she did things in the grandmanner. She had meant to walk down by the Park to Bursley Station andcatch the last loop-line train to Knype, and when Denry suddenlydisclosed the existence of his motor-car, and proposed to see her to herhotel in it, she in her turn had been impressed. The astonishment in hertone as she exclaimed: "Have you got a _motor_?" was the least inthe world naive.

  Thus they departed together from the stricken house, Ruth sayingbrightly to Nellie, who had reappeared in a painful state ofdemoralisation, that she should return on the morrow.

  And Denry went down the obscure drive with a final vision of the poorchild, Nellie, as she stood at the door to speed them. It wasextraordinary how that child had remained a child. He knew that she mustbe more than half-way through her twenties, and yet she persisted inbeing the merest girl. A delightful little thing; but no _savoirvivre_, no equality to a situation, no spectacular pride. Just anice, bright girl, strangely girlish.... The Cotterills had managed thatbad evening badly. They had shown no dignity, no reserve, no discretion;and old Cotterill had been simply fatuous in his suggestion. As for MrsCotterill, she was completely overcome, and it was due solely to Ruth'scalm, managing influence that Nellie, nervous and whimpering, had woundherself up to come and shut the front door after the guests.

  It was all very sad.

  When he had successfully started the car, and they were sliding down theMoorthorne hill together, side by side, their shoulders touching, Denrythrew off the nightmarish effect of the bankrupt household. After all,there was no reason why he should be depressed. He was not a bankrupt.He was steadily adding riches to riches. He acquired wealth mechanicallynow. Owing to the habits of his mother, he never came within miles ofliving up to his income. And Ruth--she, too, was wealthy. He felt thatshe must be wealthy in the strict significance of the term. And shecompleted wealth by experience of the world. She was his equal. Sheunderstood things in general. She had lived, travelled, suffered,reflected--in short, she was a completed article of manufacture. She wasno little, clinging, raw girl. Further, she was less hard than of yore.Her voice and gestures had a different quality. The world had softenedher. And it occurred to him suddenly that her sole fault--extravagance--had no importance now that she was wealthy.

  He told her all that Mr Cotterill had said about Canada. And she toldhim all that Mrs Cotterill had said about Canada. And they agreed thatMr Cotterill had got his deserts, and that, in its own interest, Canadawas the only thing for the Cotterill family; and the sooner the better.People must accept the consequences of bankruptcy. Nothing could bedone.

  "I think it's a pity Nellie should have to go," said Denry.

  "Oh! _Do_ you?" replied Ruth.

  "Yes; going out to a strange country like that. She's not what you maycall the Canadian kind of girl. If she could only get something to dohere. ...If something could be found for her."

  "Oh, I don't agree with you at _all_," said Ruth. "Do you reallythink she ought to leave her parents just _now_? Her place is withher parents. And besides, between you and me, she'll have a much betterchance of marrying there than in _this_ town--after all this. Ofcourse I shall be very sorry to lose her--and Mrs Cotterill, too.But...."

  "I expect you're right," Denry concurred.

  And they sped on luxuriously through the lamp-lit night of the FiveTowns. And Denry pointed out his house as they passed it. And they boththought much of the security of their positions in the world, and oftheir incomes, and of the honeyed deference of their bankers; and alsoof the mistake of being a failure.... You could do nothing with afailure.

  IV

  On a frosty morning in early winter you might have seen them together ina different vehicle--a first-class compartment of the express from Knypeto Liverpool. They had the compartment to themselves, and they wereinstalled therein with every circumstance of luxury. Both were enwrappedin furs, and a fur rug united their knees in its shelter. Magazines andnewspapers were scattered about to the value of a labourer's hire for awhole day; and when Denry's eye met the guard's it said "shilling." Inshort, nobody could possibly be more superb than they were on thatmorning in that compartment.

  The journey was the result of peculiar events.

  Mr Cotterill had made himself a bankrupt, and cast away the robe of aTown Councillor. He had submitted to the inquisitiveness of the OfficialReceiver, and to the harsh prying of those rampant baying beasts, hiscreditors. He had laid bare his books, his correspondence, his lack ofmethod, his domestic extravagance, and the distressing fact that he hadcontinued to trade long after he knew himself to be insolvent. He hadfor several months, in the interests of the said beasts, carried on hisown business as manager at a nominal salary. And gradually everythingthat was his had been sold. And during the final weeks the Cotterillfamily had been obliged to quit their dismantled house and exist inlodgings. It had been arranged that they should go to Canada by way ofLiverpool, and on the day before the journey of Denry and Ruth toLiverpool they had departed from the borough of Bursley (which MrCotterill had so extensively faced with terra-cotta) unhonoured andunsung. Even Denry, though he had visited them in their lodgings to saygood-bye, had not seen them off at the station; but Ruth Capron-Smithhad seen them off at the station. She had interrupted a sojourn toSouthport in order to come to Bursley, and despatch them therefrom withdue friendliness. Certain matters had to be attended to after theirdeparture, and Ruth had promised to attend to them.

&n
bsp; Now immediately after seeing them off Ruth had met Denry in the street.

  "Do you know," she said brusquely, "those people are actually goingsteerage? I'd no idea of it. Mr and Mrs Cotterill kept it from me, and Ishould not have heard of it only from something Nellie said. That's whythey've gone to-day. The boat doesn't sail till to-morrow afternoon."

  "Steerage?" and Denry whistled.

  "Yes," said Ruth. "Nothing but pride, of course. Old Cotterill wanted tohave every penny he could scrape, so as to be able to make the leasttiny bit of a show when he gets to Toronto, and so--steerage! Just thinkof Mrs Cotterill and Nellie in the steerage. If I'd known of it I shouldhave altered that, I can tell you, and pretty quickly too; and now it'stoo late."

  "No, it isn't," Denry contradicted her flatly.

  "But they've gone."

  "I could telegraph to Liverpool for saloon berths--there's bound to beplenty at this time of year--and I could run over to Liverpool to-morrowand catch 'em on the boat, and make 'em change."

  She asked him whether he really thought he could, and he assured her.

  "Second-cabin berths would be better," said she.

  "Why?"

  "Well, because of dressing for dinner, and so on. They haven't got theclothes, you know."

  "Of course," said Denry.

  "Listen," she said, with an enchanting smile. "Let's halve the cost, youand I. And let's go to Liverpool together, and--er--make the littlegift, and arrange things. I'm leaving for Southport to-morrow, andLiverpool's on my way."

  Denry was delighted by the suggestion, and telegraphed to Liverpool withsuccess.

  Thus they found themselves on that morning in the Liverpool expresstogether. The work of benevolence in which they were engaged had apowerful influence on their mood, which grew both intimate and tender.Ruth made no concealment of her regard for Denry; and as he gazed acrossthe compartment at her, exquisitely mature (she was slightly older thanhimself), dressed to a marvel, perfect in every detail of manner,knowing all that was to be known about life, and secure in a handsomefortune--as he gazed, Denry reflected, joyously, victoriously:

  "I've got the dibs, of course. But she's got 'em too--perhaps more.Therefore she must like me for myself alone. This brilliant creature hasbeen everywhere and seen everything, and she comes back to the FiveTowns and comes back to _me_."

  It was his proudest moment. And in it he saw his future far moreglorious than he had dreamt.

  "When shall you be out of mourning?" he inquired.

  "In two months," said she.

  This was not a proposal and acceptance, but it was very nearly one. Theywere silent, and happy.

  Then she said:

  "Do you ever have business at Southport?"

  And he said, in a unique manner:

  "I shall have."

  Another silence. This time he felt he _would_ marry her.

  V

  The White Star liner, _Titubic_, stuck out of the water like a rowof houses against the landing-stage. There was a large crowd on herpromenade-deck, and a still larger crowd on the landing-stage. Above thepromenade-deck officers paced on the navigating deck, and above that wasthe airy bridge, and above that the funnels, smoking, and somewherestill higher a flag or two fluttering in the icy breeze. And behind thecrowd on the landing-stage stretched a row of four-wheeled cabs andrickety horses. The landing-stage swayed ever so slightly on the tide.Only the ship was apparently solid, apparently cemented in foundationsof concrete.

  On the starboard side of the promenade-deck, among a hundred other smallgroups, was a group consisting of Mr and Mrs Cotterill and Ruth andDenry. Nellie stood a few feet apart, Mrs Cotterill was crying. Peoplenaturally thought she was crying because of the adieux; but she was not.She wept because Denry and Ruth, by sheer force of will, had compelledthem to come out of the steerage and occupy beautiful and commodiousberths in the second cabin, where the manner of the stewards was quitedifferent. She wept because they had been caught in the steerage. Shewept because she was ashamed, and because people were too kind. She wasat once delighted and desolated. She wanted to outpour psalms ofgratitude, and also she wanted to curse.

  Mr Cotterill said stiffly that he should repay--and that soon.

  An immense bell sounded impatiently.

  "We'd better be shunting," said Denry. "That's the second."

  In exciting crises he sometimes employed such peculiar language as this.And he was very excited. He had done a great deal of rushing about. Theupraising of the Cotterill family from the social Hades of the steerageto the respectability of the second cabin had demanded all his energy,and a lot of Ruth's.

  Ruth kissed Mrs Cotterill and then Nellie. And Mrs Cotterill and Nellieacquired rank and importance for the whole voyage by reason of beingkissed in public by a woman so elegant and aristocratic as RuthCapron-Smith.

  And Denry shook hands. He looked brightly at the parents, but he couldnot look at Nellie; nor could she look at him; their handshaking wasperfunctory. For months their playful intimacy had been in abeyance.

  "Good-bye."

  "Good luck."

  "Thanks. Good-bye."

  "Good-bye."

  The horrible bell continued to insist.

  "All non-passengers ashore! All ashore!"

  The numerous gangways were thronged with people obeying the call, andhandkerchiefs began to wave. And there was a regular vibrating tremorthrough the ship.

  Mr and Mrs Cotterill turned away.

  Ruth and Denry approached the nearest gangway, and Denry stood aside,and made a place for her to pass. And, as always, a number of womenpushed into the gangways immediately after her, and Denry had to wait,being a perfect gentleman.

  His eye caught Nellie's. She had not moved.

  He felt then as he had never felt in his life. No, absolutely never. Hersad, her tragic glance rendered him so uncomfortable, and yet sodeliciously uncomfortable, that the symptoms startled him. He wonderedwhat would happen to his legs. He was not sure that he had legs.

  However, he demonstrated the existence of his legs by running up toNellie. Ruth was by this time swallowed in the crowd on thelanding-stage. He looked at Nellie. Nellie looked at him. Her lipstwitched.

  "What am I doing here?" he asked of his soul.

  She was not at all well dressed. She was indeed shabby--in a steeragestyle. Her hat was awry; her gloves miserable. No girlish pride in herdistraught face. No determination to overcome Fate. No consciousness ofability to meet a bad situation. Just those sad eyes and those twitchinglips.

  "Look here," Denry whispered, "you must come ashore for a second. I'vesomething I want to give you, and I've left it in the cab."

  "But there's no time. The bell's..."

  "Bosh!" he exclaimed gruffly, extinguishing her timid, childish voice."You won't go for at least a quarter of an hour. All that's only a dodgeto get people off in plenty of time. Come on, I tell you."

  And in a sort of hysteria he seized her thin, long hand and dragged heralong the deck to another gangway, down whose steep slope they stumbledtogether. The crowd of sightseers and handkerchief-wavers jostled them.They could see nothing but heads and shoulders, and the great side ofthe ship rising above. Denry turned her back on the ship.

  "This way." He still held her hand.

  He struggled to the cab-rank.

  "Which one is it?" she asked.

  "Any one. Never mind which. Jump in." And to the first driver whose eyemet his, he said: "Lime Street Station."

  The gangways were being drawn away. A hoarse boom filled the air, andthen a cheer.

  "But I shall miss the boat," the dazed girl protested.

  "Jump in."

  He pushed her in.

  "But I shall miss the..."

  "I know you will," he replied, as if angrily. "Do you suppose I wasgoing to let you go by that steamer? Not much."

  "But mother and father..."

  "I'll telegraph. They'll get it on landing."

  "And where's Ruth?"

  "_Be h
anged to Ruth!_" he shouted furiously.

  As the cab rattled over the cobbles the _Titubic_ slipped away fromthe landing-stage. The irretrievable had happened.

  Nellie burst into tears.

  "Look here," Denry said savagely. "If you don't dry up, I shall have tocry myself."

  "What are you going to do with me?" she whimpered.

  "Well, what do _you_ think? I'm going to marry you, of course."

  His aggrieved tone might have been supposed to imply that people hadtried to thwart him, but that he had no intention of being thwarted, norof asking permissions, nor of conducting himself as anything but afierce tyrant.

  As for Nellie, she seemed to surrender.

  Then he kissed her--also angrily. He kissed her several times--yes, evenin Lord Street itself--less and less angrily.

  "Where are you taking me to?" she inquired humbly, as a captive.

  "I shall take you to my mother's," he said.

  "Will she like it?"

  "She'll either like it or lump it," said Denry. "It'll take afortnight."

  "What?"

  "The notice, and things."

  In the train, in the midst of a great submissive silence, she murmured:

  "It'll be simply awful for father and mother."

  "That can't be helped," said he. "And they'll be far too sea-sick tobother their heads about you."

  "You can't think how you've staggered me," said she.

  "You can't think how I've staggered myself," said he.

  "When did you decide to..."

  "When I was standing at the gangway, and you looked at me," he answered.

  "But..."

  "It's no use butting," he said. "I'm like that.... That's me, that is."

  It was the bare truth that he had staggered himself. But he hadstaggered himself into a miraculous, ecstatic happiness. She had nomoney, no clothes, no style, no experience, no particular gifts. But shewas she. And when he looked at her, calmed, he knew that he had donewell for himself. He knew that if he had not yielded to that terrificimpulse he would have done badly for himself. Mrs Machin had what shecalled a ticklish night of it.

  VI

  The next day he received a note from Ruth, dated Southport, inquiringhow he came to lose her on the landing-stage, and expressing concern. Ittook him three days to reply, and even then the reply was a bad one. Hehad behaved infamously to Ruth; so much could not be denied. Withinthree hours of practically proposing to her, he had run off with asimple girl, who was not fit to hold a candle to her. And he did notcare. That was the worst of it; he did not care.

  Of course the facts reached her. The facts reached everybody; for thesingular reappearance of Nellie in the streets of Bursley immediatelyafter her departure for Canada had to be explained. Moreover, theinfamous Denry was rather proud of the facts. And the town inevitablysaid: "Machin all over, that! Snatching the girl off the bloominglugger. Machin all over." And Denry agreed privately that it was Machinall over.

  "What other chap," he demanded of the air, "would have thought of it? Orhad the pluck?..."

  It was mere malice on the part of destiny that caused Denry to runacross Mrs Capron-Smith at Euston some weeks later. Happily they bothhad immense nerve.

  "Dear me," said she. "What are _you_ doing here?"

  "Only honeymooning," he said.