fraternity-第8节

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unction；　but　by　four　o'clock；　the　gases　which　had　made　him　feel　the　world　a　pleasant　place　had　nearly　all　evaporated；　and　he　was　suffering　from　a　wish　to　drink　again。　　Or　it　may　have　been　that　this　girl；　with　her　soft　look；　gave　him　the　feeling　that　she　ought　to　have　belonged　to　him；　and　as　she　did　not；　he　felt；　perhaps；　a　natural　irritation　that　she　belonged；　or　might　belong；　to　somebody　else。　　Or；　again；　it　was　possibly　his　natural　male　distaste　for　the　works　of　women　painters　which　induced　an　awkward　frame　of　mind。

Two　days　later　in　a　daily　paper　over　no　signature；　appeared　this　little　paragraph：　〃We　learn　that　'The　Shadow；'　painted　by　Bianca　Stone；　who　is　not　generally　known　to　be　the　wife　of　the　writer；　Mr。　Hilary　Dallison；　will　soon　be　exhibited　at　the　Bencox　Gallery。　　This　very　'fin…de…siecle'　creation；　with　its　unpleasant　subject；　representing　a　woman　（presumably　of　the　streets）　standing　beneath　a　gas…lamp；　is　a　somewhat　anaemic　piece　of　painting。　　If　Mr。　Dallison；　who　finds　the　type　an　interesting　one；　embodies　her　in　one　of　his　very　charming　poems；　we　trust　the　result　will　be　less　bloodless。〃

The　little　piece　of　green…white　paper　containing　this　information　was　handed　to　Hilary　by　his　wife　at　breakfast。　　The　blood　mounted　slowly　in　his　cheeks。　　Bianca's　eyes　fastened　themselves　on　that　flush。　Whether　or　noas　philosophers　saylittle　things　are　all　big　with　the　past；　of　whose　chain　they　are　the　latest　links；　they　frequently　produce　what　apparently　are　great　results。

The　marital　relations　of　Hilary　and　his　wife；　which　till　then　had　been　those　of；　at　all　events；　formal　conjugality；　changed　from　that　moment。　　After　ten　o'clock　at　night　their　lives　became　as　separate　as　though　they　lived　in　different　houses。　　And　this　change　came　about　without　expostulations；　reproach；　or　explanation；　just　by　the　turning　of　a　key；　and　even　this　was　the　merest　symbol；　employed　once　only；　to　save　the　ungracefulness　of　words。　　Such　a　hint　was　quite　enough　for　a　man　like　Hilary；　whose　delicacy；　sense　of　the　ridiculous；　and　peculiar　faculty　of　starting　back　and　retiring　into　himself；　put　the　need　of　anything　further　out　of　the　question。　　Both　must　have　felt；　too；　that　there　was　nothing　that　could　be　explained。　　An　anonymous　double　entendre　was　not　precisely　evidence　on　which　to　found　a　rupture　of　the　marital　tie。　　The　trouble　was　so　much　deeper　than　thatthe　throbbing　of　a　woman's　wounded　self…esteem；　of　the　feeling　that　she　was　no　longer　loved；　which　had　long　cried　out　for　revenge。

One　morning　in　the　middle　of　the　week　after　this　incident　the　innocent　author　of　it　presented　herself　in　Hilary's　study；　and；　standing　in　her　peculiar　patient　attitude；　made　her　little　statements。　　As　usual；　they　were　very　little　ones；　as　usual；　she　seemed　helpless；　and　suggested　a　child　with　a　sore　finger。　　She　had　no　other　work；　she　owed　the　week's　rent；　she　did　not　know　what　would　happen　to　her；　Mrs。　Dallison　did　not　want　her　any　more；　she　could　not　tell　what　she　had　done！　　The　picture　was　finished；　she　knew；　but　Mrs。　Dallison　had　said　she　was　going　to　paint　her　again　in　another　picture。。。。

Hilary　did　not　reply。

〃。。。。That　old　gentleman；　Mr。Mr。　Stone；　had　been　to　see　her。　　He　wanted　her　to　come　and　copy　out　his　book　for　two　hours　a　day；　from　four　to　six；　at　a　shilling　an　hour。　　Ought　she　to　come；　please？　　He　said　his　book　would　take　him　years。〃

Before　answering　her　Hilary　stood　for　a　full　minute　staring　at　the　fire。　　The　little　model　stole　a　look　at　him。　　He　suddenly　turned　and　faced　her。　　His　glance　was　evidently　disconcerting　to　the　girl。　　It　was；　indeed；　a　critical　and　dubious　look；　such　as　he　might　have　bent　on　a　folio　of　doubtful　origin。

'Don't　you　think；〃　he　said　at　last；　〃that　it　would　be　much　better　for　you　to　go　back　into　the　country？〃

The　little　model　shook　her　head　vehemently。

〃Oh　no！〃

〃Well；　but　why　not？　　This　is　a　most　unsatisfactory　sort　of　life。〃

The　girl　stole　another　look　at　him；　then　said　sullenly：

〃I　can't　go　back　there。〃

〃What　is　it？　　Aren't　your　people　nice　to　you？〃

She　grew　red。

〃No；　and　I　don't　want　to　go〃；　then；　evidently　seeing　from　Hilary's　face　that　his　delicacy　forbade　his　questioning　her　further；　she　brightened　up；　and　murmured：　〃The　old　gentleman　said　it　would　make　me　independent。〃

〃Well；〃　replied　Hilary；　with　a　shrug；　〃you'd　better　take　his　offer。〃

She　kept　turning　her　face　back　as　she　went　down　the　path；　as　though　to　show　her　gratitude。　　And　presently；　looking　up　from　his　manuscript；　he　saw　her　face　still　at　the　railings；　peering　through　a　lilac　bush。　　Suddenly　she　skipped；　like　a　child　let　out　of　school。　Hilary　got　up；　perturbed。　　The　sight　of　that　skipping　was　like　the　rays　of　a　lantern　turned　on　the　dark　street　of　another　human　being's　life。　　It　revealed；　as　in　a　flash；　the　loneliness　of　this　child；　without　money　and　without　friends；　in　the　midst　of　this　great　town。

The　months　of　January；　February；　March　passed；　and　the　little　model　came　daily　to　copy　the　〃Book　of　Universal　Brotherhood。〃

Mr。　Stone's　room；　for　which　he　insisted　on　paying　rent；　was　never　entered　by　a　servant。　　It　was　on　the　ground…floor；　and　anyone　passing　the　door　between　the　hours　of　four　and　six　could　hear　him　dictating　slowly；　pausing　now　and　then　to　spell　a　word。　　In　these　two　hours　it　appeared　to　be　his　custom　to　read　out；　for　fair　copying；　the　labours　of　the　other　seven。

At　five　o'clock　there　was　invariably　a　sound　of　plates　and　cups；　and　out　of　it　the　little　model's　voice　would　rise；　matter…of…fact；　soft；　monotoned；　making　little　statements；　and　in　turn　Mr。　Stone's；　also　making　statements　which　clearly　lacked　cohesion　with　those　of　his　young　friend。　　On　one　occasion；　the　door　being　open；　Hilary　heard　distinctly　the　following　conversation：

The　LITTLE　MODEL：　〃Mr。　Creed　says　he　was　a　butler。　　He's　got　an　ugly　nose。〃　　（A　pause。）

Mr。　STONE：　〃In　those　days　men　were　absorbed　in　thinking　of　their　individualities。　　Their　occupations　seemed　to　them　important…〃

The　LITTLE　MODEL：　〃Mr。　Creed　says　his　savings　were　all　swallowed　up　by　illness。〃

Mr。　STONE：　〃…it　was　not　so。〃

The　LITTLE　MODEL：　〃Mr。　Creed　says　he　was　always　brought　up　to　go　to　church。〃

Mr。　STONE　（suddenly）：　〃There　has　been　no　church　worth　going　to　since　A。　D。　700。〃

The　LITTLE　MODEL：　〃But　he　doesn't　go。〃

And　with　a　flying　glance　through　the　just　open　door　Hilary　saw　her　holding　bread…and…butter　with　inky　fingers；　her　lips　a　little　parted；　expecting　the　next　bite；　and　her　eyes　fixed　curiously　on　Mr。　Stone；　whose　transparent　hand　held　a　teacup；　and　whose　eyes　were　immovably　fixed　on　distance。

It　was　one　day　in　April　that　Mr。　Stone；　heralded　by　the　scent　of　Harris　tweed　and　baked　potatoes　which　habitually　encircled　him；　appeared　at　five　o'clock　in　Hilary's　study　doorway。

〃She　has　not　come；〃　he　said。

Hilary　laid　down　his　pen。　　It　was　the　first　real　Spring　day。

〃Will　you　come　for　a　walk　with　me；　sir；　instead？〃　　he　asked。

〃Yes；〃　said　Mr。　Stone。

They　walked　out　into　Kensington　Gardens；　Hilary　with　his　head　rather　bent　towards　the　ground；　and　Mr。　Stone；　with　eyes　fixed　on　his　far　thoughts；　slightly　poking　forward　his　silver　beard。

In　their　favourite　firmaments　the　stars　of　crocuses　and　daffodils　were　shining。　　Almost　every　tree　had　its　pigeon　cooing；　every　bush　its　blackbird　in　full　song。　　And　on　the　paths　were　babies　in　perambulators。　　These　were　their　happy　hunting…grounds；　and　here　they　came　each　day　to　watch　from　a　safe　distance　the　little　dirty　girls　sitting　on　the　grass　nursing　little　dirty　boys；　to　listen　to　the　ceaseless　chatter　of　these　common　urchins；　and　learn　to　deal　with　the　great　problem　of　the　lowest　classes。　　And　babies　sat　in　their　perambulators；　thinking　and　sucking　india…rubber　tubes。　　Dogs　went　before　them；　and　nursemaids　followed　after。

The　spirit　of　colour　was　flying　in　the　distant　trees；　swathing　them　with　brownish…purple　haze；　the　sky　was　saffroned　by　dying　sunlight。　It　was　such　a　day　as　brings　a　longing　to　the　heart；　like　that　which　the　moon　brings　to　the　hearts　of　children。

Mr。　Stone　and　Hilary　sat　down　in　the　Broad　Walk。

'Elm…trees！〃　said　Mr。　Stone。　　〃It　is　not　known　when　they　assumed　their　present　shape。　　They　have　one　universal　soul。　　It　is　the　same　with　man。〃　　He　ceased；　and　Hilary　looked　round　uneasily。　　They　were　alone　on　the　bench。

Mr。　Stone's　voice　rose　again。　　〃Their　form　and　balance　is　their　single　soul；　they　have　preserved　it　from　century　to　century。　　This　is　all　they　live　for。　　In　those　days〃his　voice　sank；　he　had　plainly　forgotten　that　he　was　not　alone〃when　men　had　no　universal　conceptions；　they　would　have　done　well　to　look　at　the　trees。　　Instead　of　fostering　a　number　of　little　souls　on　the　pabulum　of　varying　theories　of　future　life；　they　should　have　been　concerned　to　improve　their　present　shapes；　and　thus　to　dignify　man's　single　soul〃

〃Elms　were　always　considered　dangerous　trees；　I　believe；〃　said　Hilary。

Mr。　Stone　turned；　and；　seeing　his　son…in…law　beside　him；　asked：

〃You　spoke　to　me；　I　think？〃

〃Yes；　sir。〃

Mr。　Stone　said　wistfully：

〃Shall　we　walk？〃

They　rose　from　the　bench　and　walked　on。。。。

The　explanation　of　the　little　model's　absence　was　thus　stated　by　herself　to　Hilary：　〃I　had　an　appointment。〃

〃More　work？〃

〃A　friend　of　Mr。　French。〃

〃Yeswho