When a Man's Single: A Tale of Literary Life

by J. M. Barrie

  CHAPTER IV

  'THE SCORN OF SCORNS'

  St. Leonard's Lodge is the residence of Mr. William Meredith, anex-mayor of Silchester, and stands in the fashionable suburb of thetown. There was at one time considerable intercourse between this houseand Dome Castle, the seat of Colonel Abinger, though they are five milesapart and in different counties; and one day, after Rob had been on thePress for a few months, two boys set out from the castle to showthemselves to Nell Meredith. They could have reached the high road by aprivate walk between a beech and an ivy hedge, but they preferred toclimb down a steep path to the wild-running Dome. The advantage of thisroute was that they risked their necks by taking it.

  Nell, who did not expect visitors, was sitting by the fire in herboudoir dreaming. It was the room in which she and Mary Abinger hadoften discussed such great questions as Woman, her Aims, her Influence;Man, his Instability, his Weakness, his Degeneration; the Poor, how arewe to Help them; why Lady Lucy Gilding wears Pink when Blue is obviouslyher Colour.

  Nell was tucked away in a soft arm-chair, in which her father never sawher without wondering that such a little thing should require eighteenyards for a dress.

  'I'm not so little,' she would say on these occasions, and then Mr.Meredith chuckled, for he knew that there were young men who consideredhis Nell tall and terrible. He liked to watch her sweeping through aroom. To him the boudoir was a sea of reefs. Nell's dignity when she wasintroduced to a young gentleman was another thing her father could neverlook upon without awe, but he also noticed that it soon wore off.

  On the mantelpiece lay a comb and several hairpins. There are few moremysterious things than hairpins. So far back as we can go into the pastwe see woman putting up her hair. It is said that married men lose theirawe of hairpins and clean their pipes with them.

  A pair of curling-tongs had a chair to themselves near Nell, and shewore a short blue dressing-jacket. Probably when she woke from herreverie she meant to do something to her brown hair. When old gentlemencalled at the Lodge they frequently told their host that he had a verypretty daughter; when younger gentlemen called they generally calledagain, and if Nell thought they admired her the first time she spared nopains to make them admire her still more the next time. This was to makethem respect their own judgment.

  It was little Will Abinger who had set Nell a-dreaming, for fromwondering if he was home yet for the Christmas holidays her thoughtswandered to his sister Mary, and then to his brother Dick. She thoughtlonger of Dick in his lonely London chambers than of the others, and byand by she was saying to herself petulantly, 'I wish people wouldn't godying and leaving me money.' Mr. Meredith, and still more Mrs.Meredith, thought that their only daughter, an heiress, would be thrownaway on Richard Abinger, barrister-at-law, whose blood was much bluerthan theirs, but who was, nevertheless, understood to be as hard-up ashis father.

  The door-bell rang, and two callers were ushered into the drawing-roomwithout Nell's knowing it. One of them left his companion to talk toMrs. Meredith, and clattered upstairs in search of the daughter of thehouse. He was a bright-faced boy of thirteen, with a passion forflinging stones, and, of late, he had worn his head in the air, notbecause he was conceited, but that he might look with admiration uponthe face of the young gentleman downstairs.

  Bouncing into the parlour, he caught sight of the object of his searchbefore she could turn her head.

  'I say, Nell, I'm back.'

  Miss Meredith jumped from her chair.

  'Will!' she cried.

  When the visitor saw this young lady coming toward him quickly, he knewwhat she was after and tried to get out of her way. But Nell kissed him.

  'Now, then,' he said indignantly, pushing her from him.

  Will looked round him fearfully, and then closed the door.

  'You might have waited till the door was shut, at any rate,' hegrumbled. 'It would have been a nice thing if any one had seen you!'

  'Why, what would it have mattered, you horrid little boy!' said Nell.

  'Little boy! I'm bigger than you, at any rate. As for its notmattering--but you don't know who is downstairs. The captain----'

  'Captain!' cried Nell.

  She seized her curling-tongs.

  'Yes,' said Will, watching the effect of his words, 'Greybrooke, thecaptain of the school. He is giving me a week just now.'

  Will said this as proudly as if his guest was Napoleon Bonaparte, butNell laid down her curling-irons. The intruder interpreted her actionand resented it.

  'You're not his style,' he said; 'he likes bigger women.'

  'Oh, does he?' said Nell, screwing up her little Greek nosecontemptuously.

  'He's eighteen,' said Will.

  'A mere schoolboy.'

  'Why, he shaves.'

  'Doesn't the master whip him for that?'

  'What? Whip Greybrooke!'

  Will laughed hysterically.

  'You should just see him at breakfast with old Jerry. Why, I've seen himmyself, when half a dozen of us were asked to tea by Mrs. Jerry, andthough we were frightened to open our mouths, what do you thinkGreybrooke did?'

  'Something silly, I should say.'

  'He asked old Jerry, as cool as you like, to pass the butter! That's thesort of fellow Greybrooke is.'

  'How is Mary?'

  'Oh, she's all right. No, she has a headache. I say, Greybrooke saysMary's rather slow.'

  'He must be a horror,' said Nell, 'and I don't see why you brought himhere.'

  'I thought you would like to see him,' explained Will. 'He made ahundred and three against Rugby, and was only bowled off his pads.'

  'Well,' said Nell, yawning, 'I suppose I must go down and meet yourprodigy.'

  Will, misunderstanding, got between her and the door.

  'You're not going down like that,' he said anxiously, with a wave of hishand that included the dressing-jacket and the untidy hair.'Greybrooke's so particular, and I told him you were a jolly girl.'

  'What else did you tell him?' asked Nell suspiciously.

  'Not much,' said Will, with a guilty look.

  'I know you told him something else?'

  'I told him you--you were fond of kissing people.'

  'Oh, you nasty boy, Will--as if kissing a child like you counted!'

  'Never mind,' said Will soothingly, 'Greybrooke's not the fellow to telltales. Besides, I know you girls can't help it. Mary's just the same.'

  'You are a goose, Will, and the day will come when you'll give anythingfor a kiss.'

  'You've no right to bring such charges against a fellow,' said Willindignantly, strutting to the door.

  Half-way downstairs he turned and came back.

  'I say, Nell,' he said, 'you--you, when you come down, you won't kissGreybrooke?'

  Nell drew herself up in a way that would have scared any young man butWill.

  'He's so awfully particular,' Will continued apologetically.

  'Was it to tell me this you came upstairs?'

  'No, honour bright, it wasn't. I only came up in case you should want tokiss me, and to--to have it over.'

  Nell was standing near Will, and before he could jump back she slappedhis face.

  The snow was dancing outside in a light wind when Nell sailed into thedrawing-room. She could probably still inform you how she was dressed,but that evening Will and the captain could not tell Mary. The captainthought it was a reddish dress or else blue; but it was all in squareslike a draught-board, according to Will. Forty minutes had elapsed sinceWill visited her upstairs, and now he smiled at the conceit which madeher think that the captain would succumb to a pretty frock. Of courseNell had no such thought. She always dressed carefully because--well,because there is never any saying.

  Though Miss Meredith froze Greybrooke with a glance, he was relieved tosee her. Her mother had discovered that she knew the lady who marriedhis brother, and had asked questions about the baby. He did not like it.These, he thought, were things you should pretend not to know about. Hehad contrived to keep his
nieces and nephews dark from the fellows atschool, though most of them would have been too just to attach any blameto him. Of this baby he was specially ashamed, because they had calledit after him.

  Mrs. Meredith was a small, stout lady, of whose cleverness her husbandspoke proudly to Nell, but never to herself. When Nell told her how hehad talked, she exclaimed, 'Nonsense!' and then waited to hear what elsehe had said. She loved him, but probably no woman can live with a manfor many years without having an indulgent contempt for him, andwondering how he is considered a good man of business. Mrs. Meredith,who was a terribly active woman, was glad to leave the entertainment ofher visitors to Nell, and that young lady began severely by asking 'howyou boys mean to amuse yourselves?'

  'Do you keep rabbits?' she said to the captain sweetly.

  'I say, Nell!' cried Will warningly.

  'I have not kept rabbits,' Greybrooke replied, with simple dignity,'since I was a boy.'

  'I told you,' said Will, 'that Greybrooke was old--why, he's nearly asold as yourself. She's older than she looks, you know, Greybrooke.'

  The captain was gazing at Nell with intense admiration. As she raisedher head indignantly he thought she was looking to him for protection.That was a way Nell had.

  'Abinger,' said the captain sternly, 'shut up.'

  'Don't mind him, Miss Meredith,' he continued; 'he doesn't understandgirls.'

  To think he understands girls is the last affront a youth pays them.When he ceases trying to reduce them to fixed principles he has come ofage. Nell, knowing this, felt sorry for Greybrooke, for she foresaw whathe would have to go through. Her manner to him underwent such a changethat he began to have a high opinion of himself. This is often calledfalling in love. Will was satisfied that his friend impressed Nell, andhe admired Greybrooke's politeness to a chit of a girl, but he becamerestless. His eyes wandered to the piano, and he had a lurking fearthat Nell would play something. He signed to the captain to get up.

  'We'll have to be going now,' he said at last; 'good-bye.'

  Greybrooke glared at Will, forgetting that they had arranged beforehandto stay as short a time as possible.

  'Perhaps you have other calls to make?' said Nell, who had no desire tokeep them there longer than they cared to stay.

  'Oh yes,' said Will.

  'No,' said the captain, 'we only came into Silchester with MissAbinger's message for you.'

  'Why, Will,' exclaimed Nell, 'you never gave me any message?'

  'I forgot what it was,' Will explained cheerily; 'something about aribbon, I think.'

  'I did not hear the message given,' the captain said, in answer toNell's look, 'but Miss Abinger had a headache, and I think Will said ithad to do with that.'

  'Oh, wait a bit,' said Will, 'I remember something about it now. Marysaw something in a Silchester paper, the _Mirror_, I think, that madeher cry, and she thinks that if you saw it you would cry too. So shewants you to look at it.'

  'The idea of Mary's crying!' said Nell indignantly. 'But did she notgive you a note?'

  'She was too much upset,' said Will, signing to the captain not to leton that they had refused to wait for the note.

  'I wonder what it can be?' murmured Nell.

  She hurried from the room to her father's den, and found him theresurrounded by newspapers.

  'Is there anything in the _Mirror_, father?' she asked.

  'Nothing,' said Mr. Meredith, who had made the same answer to thisquestion many hundreds of times; 'nothing except depression in the boottrade.'

  'It can't be that,' said Nell.

  'Can't be what?'

  'Oh, give me the paper,' cried the ex-mayor's daughter impatiently.

  She looked hastily up and down it, with an involuntary glance at thebirths, deaths, and marriages, turned it inside out and outside in, andthen exclaimed 'Oh!' Mr. Meredith, who was too much accustomed to hisdaughter's impulses to think that there was much wrong, listenedpatiently while she ejaculated, 'Horrid!' 'What a shame!' 'Oh, I wish Iwas a man!' and, 'Well, I can't understand it.' When she tossed thepaper to the floor, her face was red and her body trembled withexcitement.

  'What is it, Nelly?' asked her father.

  Whether Miss Abinger cried over the _Mirror_ that day is not to beknown, but there were indignant tears in Nell's eyes as she ran upstairsto her bedroom. Mr. Meredith took up the paper and examined it carefullyat the place where his daughter had torn it in her anger. What troubledher seemed to be something in the book notices, and he concluded that itmust be a cruel 'slating' of a novel in one volume called _The Scorn ofScorns_. Mr. Meredith remembered that Nell had compelled him to readthat book and to say that he liked it.

  'That's all,' he said to himself, much relieved.

  He fancied that Nell, being a girl, was distressed to see a book sheliked called 'the sentimental out-pourings of some silly girl who oughtto confine her writing to copy-books.' In a woman so much excitementover nothing seemed quite a natural thing to Mr. Meredith. The sex hadceased to surprise him. Having retired from business, Mr. Meredith nowdid things slowly as a good way of passing the time. He had risen towealth from penury, and counted time by his dining-room chairs, havingpassed through a cane, a horsehair, and a leather period before arrivingat morocco. Mrs. Meredith counted time by the death of her only son.

  It may be presumed that Nell would not have locked herself into herbedroom and cried and stamped her feet on an imaginary critic had _TheScorn of Scorns_ not interested her more than her father thought. Shesat down to write a note to Mary. Then she tore it up, and wrote aletter to Mary's elder brother, beginning with the envelope. She torethis up also, as another idea came into her head. She nodded severaltimes to herself over this idea, as a sign that the more she thought ofit the more she liked it. Then, after very nearly forgetting to touchher eyes with something that made them look less red, she returned tothe drawing-room.

  'Will,' she said, 'have you seen the new ponies papa gave me on mybirthday?'

  Will leapt to his feet.

  'Come on, Greybrooke,' he cried, making for the door.

  The captain hesitated.

  'Perhaps,' said Nell, with a glance at him, 'Mr. Greybrooke does nothave much interest in horses?'

  'Doesn't he just!' said Will; 'why----'

  'No,' said Greybrooke; 'but I'll wait here for you, Abinger.'

  Will was staggered. For a moment the horrible thought passed through hismind that these girls had got hold of the captain. Then he remembered.

  'Come on,' he said, 'Nell won't mind.'

  But Greybrooke had a delicious notion that the young lady wanted to seehim by himself, and Will had to go to the stables alone.

  'I won't be long,' he said to Greybrooke, apologising for leaving himalone with a girl. 'Don't bother him too much,' he whispered to Nell atthe door.

  As soon as Will had disappeared Nell turned to Greybrooke.

  'Mr. Greybrooke,' she said, speaking rapidly in a voice so low that itwas a compliment to him in itself, 'there is something I should like youto do for me.'

  The captain flushed with pleasure.

  'There is nothing I wouldn't do for you,' he stammered.

  'I want you,' continued Miss Meredith, with a most vindictive look onher face, 'to find out for me who wrote a book review in to-day's_Mirror_, and to--to--oh, to thrash him.'

  'All right,' said the captain, rising and looking for his hat.

  'Wait a minute,' said Nell, glancing at him admiringly. 'The book iscalled _The Scorn of Scorns_, and it is written by--by a friend of mine.In to-day's _Mirror_ it is called the most horrid names, sicklysentimental, not even grammatical, and all that.'

  'The cads!' cried Greybrooke.

  'But the horribly mean, wicked thing about it,' continued Nell, becomingmore and more indignant as she told her story, 'is that not two monthsago there was a review of the book in the same paper, which said it wasthe most pathetic and thoughtful and clever tale that had ever beenpublished by an anonymous author!'

  'It's the
lowest thing I ever heard of,' said Greybrooke, 'but thesenewspaper men are all the same.'

  'No, they're not,' said Nell sharply (Richard Abinger, Esq.'s, onlyvisible means of sustenance was the press), 'but they are dreadfullymean, contemptible creatures on the _Mirror_--just reporters, you know.'

  Greybrooke nodded, though he knew nothing about it.

  'The first review,' Nell continued, 'appeared on the 3rd of October, andI want you to show them both to the editor, and insist upon knowing thename of the writer. After that find the wretch out, and----'

  'And lick him,' said the captain.

  His face frightened Nell.

  'You won't hit him very hard?' she asked apprehensively, adding as anafterthought, 'perhaps he is stronger than you.'

  Greybrooke felt himself in an unfortunate position. He could not boastbefore Nell, but he wished very keenly that Will was there to boast forhim. Most of us have experienced the sensation.

  Nell having undertaken to keep Will employed until the captain's return,Greybrooke set off for the _Mirror_ office with a look of determinationon his face. He went into two shops, the one a news-shop, where hebought a copy of the paper. In the other he asked for a thick stick,having remembered that the elegant cane he carried was better fitted forswinging in the air than for breaking a newspaper man's head. He triedthe stick on a paling. Greybrooke felt certain that Miss Meredith wasthe novelist. That was why he selected so thick a weapon.

  He marched into the advertising office, and demanded to see the editorof the _Mirror_.

  ''Stairs,' said a clerk, with his head in a ledger. He meant upstairs,and the squire of dames took his advice. After wandering for some timein a labyrinth of dark passages, he opened the door of the daycomposing-room, in which half a dozen silent figures were bending overtheir cases.

  'I want the editor,' said Greybrooke, somewhat startled by the sound hisvoice made in the great room.

  ''Stairs,' said one of the figures, meaning downstairs.

  Greybrooke, remembering who had sent him here, did not lose heart. Heknocked at several doors, and then pushed them open. All the rooms wereempty. Then he heard a voice saying--

  'Who are you? What do you want?'

  Mr. Licquorish was the speaker, and he had been peering at the intruderfor some time through a grating in his door. He would not have spoken atall, but he wanted to go into the composing-room, and Greybrooke was inthe passage that led to it.

  'I don't see you,' said the captain; 'I want the editor.'

  'I am the editor,' said the voice, 'but I can see no one at presentexcept on business.'

  'I am here on business,' said Greybrooke. 'I want to thrash one of yourstaff.'

  'All the members of my literary staff are engaged at present,' said Mr.Licquorish, in a pleasant voice; 'which one do you want?'

  'I want the low cad who wrote a review of a book called _The Scorn ofScorns_, in to-day's paper.'

  'Oh!' said Mr. Licquorish.

  'I demand his name,' cried Greybrooke.

  The editor made no answer. He had other things to do than to quarrelwith schoolboys. As he could not get out he began a leaderette. Thevisitor, however, had discovered the editorial door now, and was shakingit violently.

  'Why don't you answer me?' he cried.

  Mr. Licquorish thought for a moment of calling down the speaking-tubewhich communicated with the advertisement office for a clerk to come andtake this youth away, but after all he was good-natured. He finished asentence, and then opened the door. The captain strode in, but refused achair.

  'Are you the author of the book?' the editor asked.

  'No,' said Greybrooke, 'but I am her friend, and I am here tothrash----'

  Mr. Licquorish held up his hand to stop the flow of the captain'sindignation. He could never understand why the public got so excitedover these little matters.

  'She is a Silchester lady?' he asked.

  Greybrooke did not know how to reply to this. He was not sure whetherNell wanted the authorship revealed.

  'That has nothing to do with the matter,' he said. 'I want the name ofthe writer who has libelled her.'

  'On the press,' said Mr. Licquorish, repeating some phrases which hekept for such an occasion as the present, 'we have a duty to the publicto perform. When books are sent us for review we never allow prejudiceor private considerations to warp our judgment. The _Mirror_ has inconsequence a reputation for honesty that some papers do not possess.Now I distinctly remember that this book, _The Vale of Tears_----'

  '_The Scorn of Scorns._'

  'I mean _The Scorn of Scorns_, was carefully considered by the expert towhom it was given for review. Being honestly of opinion that thetreatise----'

  'It is a novel.'

  'That the novel is worthless, we had to say so. Had it been clever, weshould----'

  Mr. Licquorish paused, reading in the other's face that there wassomething wrong. Greybrooke had concluded that the editor had forgottenabout the first review.

  'Can you show me a copy of the _Mirror_,' the captain asked, 'forOctober 3rd?'

  Mr. Licquorish turned to the file, and Greybrooke looked over hisshoulder.

  'There it is!' cried the captain indignantly.

  They read the original notice together. It said that, if _The Scorn ofScorns_ was written by a new writer, his next story would be looked forwith great interest. It 'could not refrain from quoting the followingexquisitely tender passage.' It found the earlier pages 'as refreshingas a spring morning,' and the closing chapters were a triumph of 'theart that conceals art.'

  'Well, what have you to say to that?' asked Greybrooke fiercely.

  'A mistake,' said the editor blandly. 'Such things do happenoccasionally.'

  'You shall make reparation for it!'

  'Hum,' said Mr Licquorish.

  'The insult,' cried Greybrooke, 'must have been intentional.'

  'No. I fancy the authoress must be to blame for this. Did she send acopy of the work to us?'

  'I should think it very unlikely,' said Greybrooke, fuming.

  'Not at all,' said the editor, 'especially if she is a Silchester lady.'

  'What would make her do that?'

  'It generally comes about in this way. The publishers send a copy of thebook to a newspaper, and owing to pressure on the paper's space, nonotice appears for some time. The author, who looks for it daily, thinksthat the publishers have neglected their duty, and sends a copy to theoffice himself. The editor, forgetful that he has had a notice of thebook lying ready for printing for months, gives the second copy toanother reviewer. By and by the first review appears, but owing to anoversight the editor does not take note of it, and after a time, unlesshis attention is called to the matter, the second review appears also.Probably that is the explanation in this case.'

  'But such carelessness on a respectable paper is incomprehensible,' saidthe captain.

  The editor was looking up his books to see if they shed any light on theaffair, but he answered--

  'On the contrary, it is an experience known to most newspapers. Ah, Ihave it!'

  Mr. Licquorish read out, '_The Scorn of Scorns_, received September 1st,reviewed October 3rd.' Several pages farther on he discovered, '_TheScorn of Scorns_, received September 24th, reviewed December 19th.'

  'You will find,' he said, 'that this explains it.'

  'I don't consider the explanation satisfactory,' replied the captain,'and I insist, first, upon an apology in the paper, and second, ongetting the name of the writer of the second review.'

  'I am busy this morning,' said Mr. Licquorish, opening his door, 'andwhat you ask is absurd. If the authoress can give me her word that shedid not send the book and so bring this upon herself, we shall insert aword on the subject but not otherwise. Good-morning.'

  'Give me the writer's name,' cried the captain.

  'We make a point of never giving names in that way,' said Mr.Licquorish.

  'You have not heard the last of this,' Greybrooke said from the doorway.'I shall
make it my duty to ferret out the coward's name, and----'

  'Good-morning,' Mr. Licquorish repeated.

  The captain went thumping down the stairs, and meeting a printer's devilat the bottom, cuffed him soundly because he was part of the _Mirror_.

  To his surprise, Miss Meredith's first remark when he returned was--

  'Oh, I hope you didn't see him.'

  She looked at Greybrooke's face, fearing it might be stained with blood,and when he told her the result of his inquiries she seemed pleasedrather than otherwise. Nell was soft-hearted after all, and she knew howthat second copy of the novel had reached the _Mirror_ office.

  'I shall find the fellow out, though,' said Greybrooke, grasping hiscudgel firmly.

  'Why, you are as vindictive as if you had written the book yourself,'said Nell.

  Greybrooke murmured, blushing the while, that an insult to her hurt himmore than one offered to himself. Nell opened the eyes of astonishment.

  'You don't think I wrote the book?' she asked; then seeing that it wasso from his face, added, 'oh no, I'm not clever enough. It was writtenby--by a friend of mine.'

  Nell deserves credit for not telling Greybrooke who the friend was, forthat was a secret. But there was reason to believe that she had alreadydivulged it to twelve persons (all in the strictest confidence). Whenthe captain returned she was explaining all about it by letter toRichard Abinger, Esq. Possibly that was why Greybrooke thought she wasnot nearly so nice to him now as she had been an hour before.

  Will was unusually quiet when he and Greybrooke said adieu to the wholefamily of Merediths. He was burning to know where the captain had been,and also what Nell called him back to say in such a low tone. What shesaid was--

  'Don't say anything about going to the _Mirror_ office, Mr. Greybrooke,to Miss Abinger.'

  The captain turned round to lift his hat, and at the same timeexpressed involuntarily a wish that Nell could see him punishing loosebowling.

  Mrs. Meredith beamed to him.

  'There is something very nice,' she said to Nell, 'about a polite youngman.'

  'Yes,' murmured her daughter, 'and even if he isn't polite.'