White Sand. The story of a dreamer and his dream

Chapter I

A DULL, misty afternoon, slipping imperceptibly into night ; rings of pallid vapour gathering round the gas lamps, whose jets shone white against the sallow dusk ; a smell of recent rain and descending smoke, and the rising effluvia of the streets. The fog, which hung heavy overhead and spread itself in a shifting veil below, shut in the reek of the city, and the imprisoned air surged from neighbour ing courts and alleys into the wider streets, thick with the emanations of ashpits and cellars, the fumes of cooking and the rank breath of multitudes. Occa sional children whined or paddled in the gutters ; boys hurried along the slimy pavements crying the evening papers. Near the end of the street there was the hurly-burly of traffic, and the intermittent jangle of passing omnibuses, and the hoarse voices of men and women issuing from the public-houses.

A The air tasted rank in the mouth, with a succulence of grime and a pungency that gripped the throat, and choked the lungs, and touched face and clothes with a pervading dirt ; it had been a day when in all the width of London there was nothing white, and the night itself would be hideous and besmirched. But no one at 17 Markham Terrace cared a jot for the weather or for the aspect of the streets ; for one thing, they were well used to such surroundings ; for another, it Avas easy to forget them in the pretty drawing-room, ablaze with the light and warmth of a splendid fire. The lamps were not yet lit, nor the curtains drawn ; it was Sylvia Carpenter's whim to have tea served by firelight only ; and Sylvia's whims had been law to herself and to her surround ings during all her spoilt life.

Besides, none of those who came so often in the early winter twilights ever grumbled at the arrangement. There was no tea to be had elsewhere, they said, that was quite so good as Sylvia's ; and a pretty face never looked quite so pretty as in the leaping light about her hearth. One felt warm and indolent, half invisible, and wholly irresponsible, in the midst of the kind surrounding shadows, where small flirtations were not nipped by the critical glare of publicity. ' I don't in the least know Avhy,' Mrs Kent-Craven remarked, in the corner whence she twinkled from behind a big red fan. ' Speaking strictly for myself, I don't do anything very vicious here, any more than elsewhere, of course. But there's a tiny7 flavour of im propriety about your firelight teas, Sylvia, my dear, which is distinctly pleasing.' There was a general laugh — people usually did laugh at Mrs Kent-Craven's speeches, even sometimes when they were seriously inclined, she gave them forth with such a quaint conviction.

Mrs Carpenter waved the silver teapot which she held towards the speaker. ' Ah ! ' she said. ' But I sit in the light, where every one can see me. I won't ansAver for people who choose the furthest corners.' She paused and looked about her inquiringly. Her face and voice changed instantly from the lightest laughter to an irrational petulance, which faded as suddenly to seriousness ; such changes made up half her beauty, which was that of an exquisite, but in credibly young, child. ' 1 should like to know,' she went on plaintively, ' where everyone is. Oh, yes, I know you're there, Evelyn, but there ought to be some other people.' ' I can only answer for myself said Mrs Kent-Craven gravely, over the edge of her big fan. ' And for Mr Liddell, who is in my neighbourhood. He has a lowly seat on a stray cushion, if you care to know.

And I see long things, like Mr Borlase's legs, advancing upon you through the darkness — yes, now I per ceive his head in the firelight, somewhere near the ceiling. Mr Alder is still invisible, but I suspect he's within hearing, so I mention him with reserve.' ' Oh ! ' said a girl sitting on the hearthrug, ' he won't mind. Do tell us all the wicked things that you know of him, unless they're too improper.' ' That depends on the circumstances,' Mrs Craven remarked suavely. ' It is always improper to jump to unwarrantable conclusions. It is generally rather youthful to jump to any conclusions at all.' ' Besides, I'm not interesting,' a new voice broke in from behind her chair. ' I'm too good, that's what's the matter with me. Oh, it's abominable, really. I've had my handwriting read, and my hands examined, and my head felt — not all at once, don't you know, but when they were each of 'em the rage.

And they all said I was too good to live, and that I'd be cut off in the flower of my youth and innocence.' ' And you try,' said Mrs Kent-Craven, ' to live — up to it?' There was a sound of expostulation. ' I'm not so proud as all that,' he assured her. ' You don't find me making myself better than other people. No, I'm not proud. I do my best to climb down to the imperfections of your level — ' There was a general murmur of laughter, and Sylvia lifted pale, candid eyes. ' It sounds horrid ! ' she said, ' and I don't think you're so dreadfully good, Mr Alder. At least, you don't look it. I don't know how you feel.' ' That depends. At present, rather jolly, thanks. That's one of my \7irtues, don't you know ? I'm easily pleased.' ' Thank you ! ' Mrs Craven murmured. ' You're too kind. Now, when I see you in a very good temper I always put it down to a pleasing reminiscence of wrong-doing—' ' Or the anticipation of it' Mrs Carpenter lifted up a box of bonbons. 'Won't you all eat something sweet and be nice?' she said pathetically. ' When you talk like that it may be clever, but it doesn't always seem to me to be sense.

I suppose you understand it yourselves. But I wish you wouldn't, anyway. It isn't so awfully amusing when one doesn't understand.' Mrs Kent-Craven looked at her with amusement. ' Sylvia, you're delicious,' she said admiringly. ' Do you put it on, or were you born serious and expostu lating and plaintive ? And I wonder what is wrong with your anatomy that you can't perceive a joke ? ' Sylvia looked at her with a pout ' Well, I don't like jokes,' she said. ' When you're at school, they mean cold water down your back, or a spider in your bed, or pepper in your tea ; and when you get older, it means saying very nasty things with a very pretty smile — and everyone laughs but the person you say them of— -and me. No, I don't like jokes.' ' You're right — amazingly right,' the other returned, with a trickle of laughter in her voice. ' Now, I like to be amused ; it's my pet sin.

But it's only in a bad, bad world that jokes flourish. ' Nonsense — we dress 'em to suit the conventions. They go to church in lawn sleeves ; and I expect some of 'em '11 go to Heaven in a halo.' Mrs Carpenter shook her fair head petulantly. ' You're all very horrid,' she said, ' and I know you're talking rubbish. I Avish you would be serious and settle about Claire's dance ; that's important, you know ; and I want dreadfully to know what everyone is going to wear.' Mrs Kent-Craven waved her fan serenely. ' / shall wear ordinary clothes, unless someone will suggest something quite out of the common — and I speak from sad experience of fancy dress — out of the common — comfortable. No ruffs or wings or any such atrocities for me, if you please : I know what it means.' 'Rather!' and Alice Ireland, on the hearthrug, laughed indolently. 'Don't you remember, Evelyn, your bat's dress at the ball last Christmas ? ' ' I should think I did I' and the speaker broke into loud merriment. ' Oh, it was awful ! and the old fogies sat and looked as glum — •' Mrs Craven interrupted her, Avith a little disdain in her voice.

Claire could better forgive, as she con fessed to herself, worse sins than vulgarity. ' It's easy for us — but there's Mr Borlase — it's difficult to think of anything big enough for him — there's so much of him to cover.' ' That's unkind,' said Jack. ' You infer that I should carry a clothes-horse about with me and hide behind it ? ' ' It would ha\-e to be covered,' someone murmured, ' with the cloak of charity — ' He waved his hand. 'You're quite wrong. There are lots of dresses that would do for me — lots. A Cannibal King ; The Last of the Mohicans ; Macaulay's Newzealander. Oh ! I can think of all sorts of things. Penny in the slot, and the machine '11 do the rest.' ' But nothing a bit original,' Alice remarked, looking meditatively into the fire. ' All very common. One wants something much more out of the way, don't you know ? — something frightfully queer and odd and striking.' Sylvia shook her head decidedly. ' Oh, not too queer !

I've seen lots of them and they're never successful. It ought to be pretty and danceable- — not the sort of thing you can only stand in — something soft and fluffy' ' Mr Liddell has an idea,' said Claire Kent-Craven. ' He really has. What do you think of insects ? For instance, a black beetle : you could make that delightfully gruesome. Or a spider : I can imagine a most fetching spider. I have half a mind to choose that for myself, after all. The webs would be so decora tive, and the flies — yes, don't poach, any of you : I intend to be a spider. I've a lot of little diamond flies and beetles and things, so I feel cut out for the part.' ' In which case,' said Liddell, with affected fervour, 1 / am cut out for the fly7. It couldn't be otherwise. " I, said the fly, with my little eye," as Shakespeare remarks — ' ' It isn't a bad idea,' Evelyn interrupted, loudly, ' though it isn't very new — no, I'm certain it's been done before, don't you know ? — still, we might make something out of it.

Sylvia, for instance, might go as a white butterfly, and Jack Borlase as a daddy-long legs.' ' True, it's a brute that don't sting, ain't it ?—harmless and innocent — me to the life. Thank you, Miss Ordish' ' Useless, too, and ugly — yes, it really hits off your little characteristics surprisingly, Jack, dear boy.' ' Do hold my hand, Mrs Carpenter ! Luke's getting dangerous. Don't you think he might go as a viper ? ' Mrs Carpenter made a sudden petulant movement. ' Do you think I should go as a white butterfly ? ' she said, anxiously. I wish you Avould help me to decide — I think it's rather a crawly sort of an idea, you know ; I wouldn't call myself a beetle or a spider for the world. I don't like anything that has more than four legs, and I prefer two — but, of course, a butterfly isn't so bad.

Claire, do tell me what you think ! ' ' I think that anything white and soft will suit you, Sylvia. Yes, really, I do — whatever you call it. But there's plenty of time to think it over yet, you know, only don't go in for anything too shocking.' Sylvia sighed disappointedly. ' I thought you said you hadn't asked anybody serious, Claire — anybody that would be easily shocked. My husband's not going, I know. There ! what makes you always laugh at me ? ' Mrs Kent-Craven stood up and shook her furs into place. ' Because you are so dreadfully pretty and so divinely foolish — on the surface, my dear. I know you've a very hard kernel of shreAvdness out of sight, and the result is adorable. Take it as a compliment if I laugh. I really haven't invited a flock of chaperons ; you'll all have to take care of yourselves, and I hope it will go off well.

I don't mind your being original and unconventional within limits.' ' Mais il faut avoir des limites mcme aux limites,' quoted Yorke Liddell, as he raised himself from his cushion in the corner and came forward to take leave. ' Don't confine yourself too strictly, Mrs Carpenter ; think of our feelings. Now, for myself, I like a little becoming eccentricity. What a lot Ave've talked about, haven't we ? We've been quite brilliant, especially, of course, myself. Yes, I'm going with Mrs Craven. She is dining alone with her bull-dog to-night and wants me to chaperon her.' ' " Lucky dogs both," as Horace Aveling would say7. By the way, he's back in the usual ruinous con dition.' There was a murmur of laughter, in which Claire Craven did not join. She was surveying the carpet with absorption. ' No, but really, good-bye ! ' she broke in. ' I didn't invite you to dinner, and I won't, Mr Liddell.

There's only enough for Cherub and me, but you may take me home if you like.' ' " Said the spider to the fly." Oh, certainly7, being a fly of an accommodating disposition — ' Their voices died behind the screen at the door, and Evelyn Ordish began to hunt for her gloves. ' folly woman ! ' she remarked. Her stock of English was limited. ' Quite nice,' and Luke Alder looked almost en thusiastic. ' Uncommonly amusing, and as smart as they make 'em — quite a good sort, Mrs Craven is, but too pretty to be unco guid, don't you think ? I only recognise virtue in last year's fashions, and a squint.' ' She's a dear little woman,' Jack interposed ; ' the right stuff all through ; you always know where to find her. And confoundedly good-looking.' ' Better — " she hath a way — " ' Alice Ireland yawned, and sprang on to her feet. ' You've nearly sent me to sleep over Mrs Kent- Craven's praises.

I don't know what you men see in her ; she's very ordinary, only rather sharp tongued, and she's not a saint, anyway. I should be in no end of a row if I said half the things she says — ' ' But then, dear, you do them, you know, Evelyn put in amiably. ' Instead of being nasty, come home with me, at once; it's quite dark and a beastly night. I hate fog ; it un curls one's hair, and gets into one's mouth, and tastes like bad tobacco.' ' Let's smoke all the way home to keep it out.' 'No,' said Alice; 'it's bad form to smoke in the streets, even when it's dark. I draw the line at that. Smoking's one of the things one only does amongst nice people, like swearing.' Alice had a soft, slow voice, and very perfect manners. She always impressed old ladies as being ' such a sweet girl.' Men chuckled when they heard this, and remembered things.

There was a general move, and Alder prepared to say good-bye also. ' Are you all going ? ' said Mrs Carpenter with a pout. ' How horrid of you ! ' ' Except Jack,' and Alder held her hand rather longer than he need have done, as indeed he did to most women, and most men did to Sylvia. ' It seems to me that he intends to stay ; be kind to him ; he can't help it if he's foolish, being built that Avay. One must make allowances, and if you could put him into a good temper, since he's to dine with me this even ing — Yes, I'm coming, Miss Ordish ! ' Sylvia kissed Alice and her cousin lukewarmly, standing on tip-toe and pecking at them according to the manner of women ; and Jack went to open the drawing-room door, while Miss Ireland assisted him. It took a little time, apparently. Then, as their voices died down the stairway, he came back into the room, with the air of being very much at home. ' Of course I ought to have gone away too,' he explained afterwards to his friend, Luke Alder. ' It was sheer insanity chucking away my chances with Alice, and all that ; but — well — when one's in love with them both, and a crowd of others as well — what's a fellow to do when he's got a heart of this size ? ' and he thumped himself remonstrantly. ' I couldn't do with less than half-a-dozen of them, if it came to marriage ; couldn't sort 'em out any nearer, and then I'd have to leave out such a lot of dear little girls.

That's the particular size of idiot I am Besides, Sylvia's married, and understands ; there's nothing serious between us ; it's pleasure.' He stood on the hearthrug, swaying contentedly from one foot to the other, with his hands thrust up to the elbows in his trouser pockets, and a happy looseness about himself and his clothes, smiling down upon Mrs Carpenter. She had nestled into the corner of the sofa, where the light from the fire just touched the small, pale face and shining hair. ' Shall I ring for lights ? ' she said. ' I suppose I ought! ' And I ought to go away — ' He paused. ' But I'm not going ; and we won't ring for lights either, just yet. It's all the same " ought," and we won't pay any attention to it. It's so nice to know exactly what one ought to do, for then one has a satisfaction in not doing it.' 'Why ought you to go?

Because Alice Ireland has gone and there's only me ? ' ' Because there's only you — exactly, and because Alice has gone, why not ? She's quite a nice girl and has lots of cash, and I'm bound to marry money some day. I'd rather she were a little less various in her flirtations— or because Claire Kent-Craven's gone, if you like. You'll allow she's jolly.' ' Yes, but I know she thinks me silly, and I don't believe I am, you know. Perhaps I can't make jokes or say clever things, but I see a good deal, and there's a lot of people that think I'm rather nice. You used to think so yourself, Jack, once. But you don't tell me so nowadays.' ' That's just it — why I should have gone, don't you understand ? I'm apt to make too much of a fool of myself, and, hang it all ! f haven't any business now. If you were only a little less nice, or I more sensible — ' He paused, and she waited with a serious, pleased composure till he should continue. ' I say ! ' and he plunged his hands deeper into his pockets — ' let's talk of something else, if you don't mind ?

Let me see — yes, there's Claire's ball. Bless that ball, it's a perfectly innocent subject of conversation. Shall you really dress as a white butterfly? It's scarcely downy enough — a kitten would be better. A white kitten with claws — for you've got 'em, you know — something very soft and very white, rather naughty and altogether irresponsible. Yes, a white kitten ; one of those long-haired, fluffy little beggars, you know.' Sylvia looked up at him interestedly. All that con cerned her own adornment was absorbing to her. ' Yes — ' she said doubtfully. ' I had thought of a lot of white things, but so many of them were stupid. A poodle, for instance ; but a kitten's better, or a powder-puff — what do you think of a powder-puff?' ' So long as it's something soft and white and kiss able, like yourself— Oh, Dolly, I forgot ; and I always was that particular sort of a fool, don't you remember ?

Powder-puff, thistle-down — anything you like — they'll all suit you.' ' Yes, I think it would be pretty,' she continued thoughtfully, ' and I wish you would always forget, Jack. Why shouldn't you ? You're much nicer when you forget — ' ' Or when I remember. After all, it's remembering that does the mischief; remembering the jolly times we used to have together before you Avere married, Dolly. It didn't matter then, you know ; and after all, I was always pretty sensible.' ' Yes,' she said, and frowned slightly. ' Well, I had to be. That's the worst of a poor devil like me. But it's different now — it's got to be different, hasn't it ? ' ' I don't see why. Papa says I'm prettier than I used to be — ' and she smiled and glanced at him questioningly. Jack seated himself upon the sofa beside her. ' Devastatingly pretty,' he said with a groan. ' But still, oh, — you know, it's got to be different' There was a moment's pause. 1 I think I had better ring for the lights,' she said regretfully. ' Wait a minute, I'll make a cigarette.' ' I wish you wouldn't smoke,' she said, moving further away. ' You make me smell of tobacco, and I don't like it.

Besides, I want you to talk to me.' ' Dear girl, I'm smoking to keep you at a distance, a strictly moderate distance ; don't overdo it It's my beastly goodness, you understand. And this sofa is so long — do you remember the little seat behind the oleanders at your father's? That was not too large.' ' It was quite a proper size,' said Sylvia. < Yes— in those days. But I didn't need to smoke then, you know — by the way, where's your husband ? ' ' My— ? Oh, I don't know. What a funny question ! Downstairs in his study ; or out, perhaps. What does it matter ? ' Jack looked at her for a moment with a certain criticism in his eyes ; then it faded into his usual admiring tenderness — the tenderness of a big man for a very small, frail, lovely thing, the ex pression of a feeling that was of old continuance and strong, but unpassionate — and presently he laughed a little. ' He might come up here,' he said. ' Of course he might ; it wouldn't matter, only he'd be a nuisance — he always is.

But he very seldom comes here.' ' If he did, he might wonder why the lamps were not lit.' ' He knows it is a fancy that I have, and he never meddles with me. Besides, he's always wondering at something or other. He's been so long abroad that everything is topsy-turvy to him now.' ' I daresay times have changed.' ' So he says. He thinks that a woman can't do this and shouldn't do that. You should have seen how he froAvned at the women in Paris — riding bicycles in knickerbockers, you know. Some looked jolly. And he treats me as if I were made of sugar and eggshell. I'm sure I know a great deal more about life than he does, for he's so frightfully good — I don't believe he ever did anything wrong in his life. I hate good people, don't you ? ' ' Don't know many fellows built that way. Nor girl either, so far as one can see.' ' Of course not ; nice people are never too particular nowadays.

It's only outsiders. And I get so tired of trying to look good enough not to shock him ; I can't do it for long at a time. That's why I don't want to have him too much with me, you know.' ' Well, he looks rather stiff and serious ; but I don't know much of him, and that's a fact. I suppose we haven't much in common.' ' Oh, he's horrid sometimes, Avhen he's put out ; I'm quite frightened of him. And afterwards, he's — gooder — than ever.' Jack whistled a few bars of the latest comic opera. ' You know, I never thought it would turn out well,' he said gloomily ; ' he's much too old for you, and too — but if he spent twenty years in Algeria or Tunis or thereabouts — wasn't it ? — I don't think he can haA7e overstrained himself in the matter of virtue. I haven't been there myself, but from what I've heard — ' Jack had scruples which attacked him in unexpected places and he choked down certain reminiscences of a recent visit to Paris.

Sylvia opened wide her large, pale eyes. ' Oh ! ' she said surprisedly. ' I thought the women there were all black — and ugly. But — I don't really understand him, Jack ; he thinks we're all saints ; all we women. It's so stupid.' ' Well, it's a matter of opinion. Saints, eh ? No, it's scarcely the Avay Ave make 'em nowadays. And yet I like the sort of little girl we grow, myself There was another pause. ' Decidedly you must ring for the lamps,' Jack said with conviction. The fire had fallen to a dull, hot glow, and the room lay warmly between light and darkness. Outside, the fog had thickened, and the night was stained by it to a sallow murkish black ; the rain trickled steadily through an invisible sky, and the pavements ran inch deep with mud and water. In Markham Terrace the night looked its forlornest and its dreariest ; for there all the dirt and the cold and the misery were shut out into the fog, and closed shutters or drawn curtains hid the rooms where delicate women lived their white and cleanly lives, remote from the blackness of night and the soil of the streets.

So it seemed, at least, to Adam Carpenter, to whom the colour of white skin was still beautiful, and surely matched the inner purity. He smiled as he came to his own door, and opening it, entered the warm hall, thinking happily to himself of his fair little wife, no more than a few feet away from him, in the nest he had made for her. She was so small and pale and fragile, with her faint grey eyes, and silver flaxen hair ; so small that a summer wind might have carried her away ; so lovely, as people said, and as he knew : though after all those long years of hot sun and glar ing sand, it had seemed to him her greatest beauty that she was so white, so purely white. The butler came into the hall, carrying lamps, and set them down to help his master out of his fur coat. ' A nasty night, Stevens.

And your mistress has only rung for lights now? ' Adam said, with a smile ; his little Avife had many whims — pretty, girlish fancies ; this, for the firelight, was one of them. ' She is alone, then ? ' ' There have been several to tea, sir,' the man said, with a cough ; Mrs Carpenter's servants were split into factions, but the men adored her. She was pretty enough to be allowed to have caprices. ' I think — there's some still there. Will you go to the study as usual, sir ? there's a good fire.' His master rarely went to the drawing-room if visitors were there, and the butler though he might as Avell not go now. ' Them being alone, and the lights only goin' up — not that he'd see anything amiss in aught that she'd do, but — ' and he added aloud, with a persuasive em phasis, 'a h'excellent fire in the study, sir.' Mr Carpenter knit his brows.

It was annoying, for he would like to see that his wife was none the worse of this weather, and was not over-tired by these inconsiderate visitors that had stayed so long. Per haps, if he went up, they might go away the sooner. Yes, he would see. He turned towards the staircase, and the butler followed him closely with the lamps, an expression of resigned enjoyment on his face, and much unnecessary noise, as Adam opened the drawing-room door and entered, along with a sudden flood of light. ' How late you are to-night, Sylvia ! ' her husband said, threading his way amid tables and chairs. ' You were all in the dark. And so your guests are gone ? ' ' You quite surprised me — you so seldom come up in the afternoon,' she said pettishly, barely turning towards him, as she stood warming a foot upon the B fender. ' No, you know Mr Borlase, don't you ?

We were waiting for the lights— I rang for them a long time ago.' Adam started as a very tall figure reared itself from the sofa, and ejaculated the monosyllables that stand for a modern greeting, falling back promptly into the comfort of his corner as Mr Carpenter placed himself on a small chair near by. There was a few minutes' awkward silence — Sylvia cross, Jack lazily amused, Adam conscious of an increasing irritation. Surely, even in the freedom of the present day, it was not yet the custom to sit alone in the dark with another man's young wife? Sylvia was always telling him that he was antiquated and out of date. No doubt it was true, for things had changed so much. One could do nowadays what would have been impossible twenty years ago. But still- Sylvia laughed a little, and glanced at him across her shoulder. ' You look so ridiculous, Adam, perched on that small chair.