George Waring's Choice

Front matter

BY FRANK BARON LONDON WARD & DOWNEY York St., Co vent Garden TO A. N. R. As the world goes on, and while the present conditions of its life continue, more and more of its best men and women will be found, who, of set purpose, determine to take as little part as possible in its common rivalries and to live their life out of the crowd. The rest of the world very naturally abhors such people. Who does not join in the race will probably be hunted down in his turn, and roughly disposed of by the rabble. In most cases, after short experience he becomes tired of such ill-usage ; he elects to abandon his profession of heresy, and is content enough to pose for the remainder of his days as a harmless nullity among his fellow-men. Unless he be an exceptionally strong man, one who can hit harder than anybody VI else — in which case he will be counted a hero — he is speedily pronounced by himself and by others a failure.

And so the story of a pitiful little rebellion soon dwindles to its end. 8 1 have known four and twenty leaders of revolt, " said Ogniben when Chiappino vanished. George Waring could not be said either to have conquered the world or to have submitted to its rule, a la Chiappino. He stood apart, and let his fellows take what triumph they might. To parody Rossini's phrase, " he waited till the money-lovers' Sabbath was over. " I remember, one day he showed me some verses written by him when he was a youth — in the days before the necessity of counting everything by so much a column had fallen on him. Some of the ideas, I recollect, struck me as good, though expressed in a colourless way ; but, I think the real reason for his still keeping the papers in a shabby old portfolio of his undestroyed, was, shall I say? a certain reverence for the simple feeling and earnestness of the olden time, which in later Use had nearly altogether passed away.

The verses I remember best, however, were rather smart than idyllic. Genius he likened to a volcano, magnificent and useless— until our modern masters took it in band. But now a use had been found for it. The fires might blaze, the inner heat smoulder in imprisoned caves ; there was nothing the brave modern master could not find a use for — lo ! the volcano had become a brick-kiln, and millions of bricks per annum, all serviceable and all of exactly the same pattern, were being turned out by the " Volcano and Central Fires Company, Limited " . This George Waring's character was of strangely mixed qualities, one of those inevitably misunderstood by most people. From time to time such unevenly compounded natures are to be met with. They remind one of Light-houses, lying low on the horizon far off in the dark night, whose position you may discern at intervals as you cross from Dover to Calais or Ostend.

Chapter I

It was the first night of Trinity term at the Middle Temple. In the fine old Hall the usual crowd of students had assembled, with the practical pur pose of eating one more of the number of dinners necessary to forensic elegibility. There was also to be seen a sprinkling of barristers, occupying of right the two topmost tables, who dined there either because so good and cheap a dinner was not procurable anywhere else, or for the opportunity of dining with their friends in a way not to be enjoyed at club or restaurant. A few Benchers — - Judges and others mightily learned in the law, in whom the rule and ownership of the Inn are vested — dined by themselves at a long table at the western end of the Hall, slightly raised on a dai's above the other tables, placed at right angles to it. High above all, looms the richly carved oaken roof, dark with age, with open work like that of a church.

On this, the first evening of the summer term, the sunlight, playing through the western windows bright with the painted coats of arms of many a dead and gone Baron or Chancellor, rests here and there on the massive carvings overhead and lights up the pict uresquely-ranged knights' armour on the walls, which — rightly or wrongly — is always said in Hall to lie of quite modern production. Gleams of light also fall on the dark panelled walls, the lower portions of which are ornamented by long lines of variously coloured coats of arms belonging to the succession of Readers of the Inn, an order to which happily no active duties are now attached. Ten long tables fill up the body of the Hall, and the custom is that at each one of these, three messes, of four each, should sit, each mess in reality being a distinct dinner-party by itself.

This evening, the first mess but one on the left hand side consisted of four men, all wearing the full-sleeved gown denoting the barrister as distinguished from the sleeveless gown of the stu dent. The Captain, or Number One, of the mess was Mason, a middle-aged man, stolid-looking, square-faced, and clean-shaven, as befitted a lawyer trained in the formal school that flourished before the Judicature Acts made havoc with it. Then came Waring, a man of about thirty-five, with modern eye-glass and short brown beard and moustache; then Reynolds, one of the lesser lights of the Chancery Bar, pale and sharp-fea tured; then Lyne, a very boyish-looking and self confident practitioner at the Central Criminal Court. The soup had just been removed; according to custom the choice of the bottle of wine allowed the mess had without debate fallen on Port ; dinner tickets had been handed to the Captain; — and the conversation was resumed at the point where a few minutes before it had broken off, the subject being "the profession".

"I don't think things are as bad as you say, Mason. ' Wisdom will perish with us ' is what you old croakers always like to preach. " said Waring. " And yet the world goes on — on the whole, a little better than it used to, notwithstanding that a lot of your old precise methods have been discarded. And I am bold enough to assert this — that the science of law has advanced as much as any other science." "Ah, I don't know that, is it a science?" said Reynolds. " And besides, those old fellows were hard to beat. Look at Fearne, of ' Contingent Remainders.' When he began work on that tre mendous book of his, he got rid of every book in his library that was not a legal one— like tin early Christian, or that fierce fellow who burnt the Alexandrian library! You don't get much of that sort of thing nowadays."

"Let's change the subject — I hate this 'shop' that you fellows are always talking. Waring, you do a good deal of writing now, for the papers, and that sort of thing, don't you? Jervis was tell ing me about it the other day;" broke in Lyne. * It's very kind of him to take the trouble to talk about me, " answered Waring. * The fact is, it is not so easy, as you know, to make a living at the Bar, and I'm glad enough of these other pickings as a help to pay my way. I'll tell you what I've been doing lately — not half a bad idea, I flatter myself. Every one knows there are hosts of tales we've all heard and laughed over, that have become classic in fact, but unfortunately most of them have — well, a Rabelaisean tinge about them that would look queer in modern print. Now, I adapt these. Of course the story loses, but still, if it's good at all it will bear translation and even a little diluting."

"I quite agree with you," said Reynolds. Tilth merely for filth's sake is hateful, but go on." " I change the venue, and give the incident a new and still piquant but innocent dressing up. Thus it becomes suitable for the drawing-room, the boudoir, and the kitchen, (vide prospectus). One can't always do it, still I think I have occa sionally been rather successful in this line. But what a nuisance it is — the way one is trammelled in writing of human nature, face to face with this prudish and whimsical British public. The other day I recommended a book to a very charming lady, a cousin of mine. ' Oh, thank you, George, ' she said, 'but — is it one I can read to the children? ' Fancy measuring books by this standard — and yet it does not represent badly our beautiful British virtue-gauge ! I shall speak out brutally sometime, and then — with what joy will the Philistines scarify me ! * "Mere talk," said Reynolds, who shared chambers with Waring and knew some of his ways, " You havenot conviction enough for it — and besides, what's the good?

Neither you nor those who talk like you have a new morality to set up in place of the old. And, I suppose, even you will agree tfiat tfiere must be some sort of morality, after all?" " I don't agree, my dear Reynolds — that's just where it is " At this point the head-porter gave the usual three sonorous raps on one of the top tables, to call attention to the fact that grace after meat was about to be said. The senior Bencher read the grace ' Replenish our hearts with joy and gladness, &c.' and the Benchers retired to finish the evening in that snug Parliament Chamber of theirs. " Come up and have coffee with us, " said Waring to Mason and Lyne. " I'll make the coffee, and Reynolds shall do some fiddling for you, if you like. We had a quartet party the other night and nearly drove Bellot, the man upstairs, mad.

But, fearing an injunction I suppose, Reynolds has now entered into a solemn compact with him — not to play before six in the morning or after twelve at night, and on Sundays only during church time, when the fellow 's out. " The others accepted the invitation, and the four, after handing their gowns to the attendant in the robing-room, left the Hall and crossed to Hale Court, where at No. 4 the names of Mr. A. L. Reynolds and Mr. George Waring, Third Floor, were to be seen in the long list adorning the door post. They made their way up the winding stairs, past the many belettered doors of the ground-, first, and second floors ; and Waring having opened the heavy outer door of the chambers and hastily glanced at the letter-box to see if any letters had arrived by the six o'clock post, turned up the gas and the others trooped in.

They soon comfortably disposed of themselves on the various couches and chairs to be found in the sitting-room. Pipes were lighted, and the kettle, preparatory to coffee-making, was placed on the gas-stove in a small side-room, usually sacred to the laundress with her brushes and rows of boots. The men began talking about some of the other inhabitants of the Inn, reputed to be characters. " I wonder whether any of you ever met Hartley of No. 7 in this Court? " said Reynolds. " I am told his chambers are magnificently decorated with old carvings, mantel-pieces, door-ways, walls ; and his library is a very fine one. But — so the tattling laundresses say — the place has not been dusted for years. Probably, however, that's a lie, and only means that he does not employ one of them. He never goes out in the day-time, and is supposed to take his sleep then, like a wild beast.

At dusk he creeps out — a strange ghost-like figure, with his trousers turned up, and a battered old hat. I have met him once or twice near Soho, and I fancy he dines or sups there. How he spends the rest of the night I'm sure I don't know ; but, they say he wanders all over London, and has been seen in the East end, in Covent Garden, near the Angel, in all sorts of places, studying life or — the idea has occurred to me — possibly looking for someone. Poor devil, per haps some woman who has gone to the bad." "Romantic Reynolds!" sneered Waring, "he is far more likely to be a newspaper-man in search of copy, or a novelist, or a poet, and if fie likes to wander o'nights, I believe there is no positive law against it." By this time the coffee was ready. Waring poured it out, each man helping himself to sugar and cognac; and Mason began to talk of some extraordinarily bad whist-playing of which he had been the victim at the Reform Club the night before.

He had got as far as the middle of the second rubber, when a knock was heard on the outer door, and Reynolds went to see who it was. He returned in a minute or so, and beckoned Waring to come to him. When they were in the passage, he whis pered : " There's a lady who wishes to see you. I did not like to ask her in. I don't remember her face, and — well, she looks like a lady." "All right," answered Waring, "I suppose it's some bothering girl — but, tell them, I'll be back in an instant." And he went to the door. CHAPTER H. Under an ugly old-fashioned gas-lamp that gave a feeble light to the dingy landing on the stairs in front of the chambers, the lady was waiting. Her dress was severely plain, with long cloak and veil, giving her something of a nun-like appearance. There was nothing strikingly beautiful in her face, though the expressive eyes, the delicately moulded fines of" the mouth, and the rosy complexion as of a child, made it pleasant to look upon.

She turned hastily as Waring opened the door. "Can I speak to you for a moment?" she said, and, as he bowed, she continued, "I come from Lizzie Wilson in Castle Street, Drury Lane. She is very ill, is dying, and has been asking to see Mr. Waring — that is your name? Please come at once." "Certainly, I will come," he answered in a low voice. Taking his hat from the stand and closing the door behind him, he came near her, "If you will tell me the number, I will go at once." "I am returning to her — there is no time to lose — it is not far please come with me, she wishes so much to see you!" She descended the stairs, and he followed in silence. They passed through the lonely Court, by the old weather-beaten Temple Church, through the gate way into Fleet Street — she moving rapidly, he fol lowing her, in silence.

It was a warm summer evening, and in the clear air the moonlight flooded the open spaces and gave a softened beauty to the irregular outlines of the vast pile of the Law Courts, such as in daylight never rests there. At this hour there is little bustle in the Strand, and no special note was taken by the few whom they passed, of the two hurrying by— the girl with anxious face, her little gloved hands clasped together, the man, with moody. stern-set expression, by her side but slightly behind. As they came to Wych Street and were there in the shadow, he approached her more closely. evidently with the thought that this might be a protection to her. Suddenly she turned towards him, and said, " Perhaps, I ought to tell you who I am. My brother is Rector of St. Mark's, near here. I believe you know him, and my younger brother Fred — they have mentioned your name sometimes.

I have been working of late as a Deaconess in the parish. " " Ah ! " he said, " Your younger brother was at my chambers when you called." He went on, speaking very quietly, " I don't know, Miss Lyne, if you will let me say how much I honour you for what you are doing, especially for your bravery to-night." An impatient gesture was her only response to this. " Possibly you may think it impertinent of me to say anything, when you remember where we are going. There is only one thing, however, that I must say. Believe me, Miss Lyne, I would not have let this poor girl be in misery if I had known. But it is two years since I last heard of her . . . ." " She has told me about fier fife, " the lady answered, without turning her face to him and speaking in a nervous constrained way. " It is all so sad ...

I don't know . . I cannot judge you. " They were now in Drury Lane, walking in the middle of the street, to avoid the numerous loung ers on the pavement, which at this time of the year appeared to answer all the purposes of a most convenient salon de conversation. Waring glanced at his companion, as she, evidently accustomed to the scene, hardly looking to right or to left, still led the way up the street. Yes, the long cloak and bonnet and veil that she wore showed that she was of some nursing sisterhood, and in such a neighbourhood a special dress of this kind no doubt would be of great help in enabling a young girl to pass unharmed amid such rough company. How young she looked, with that slim figure and those delicately outlined features — like those of a child, that the world has had no time to roughen and harden!

He was conscious, as he looked at her, of a singular beauty and charm in her appearance and he especially noticed her eyes — with that fearless pleasant-humoured look in them that distinguishes so many English girls brought up amid the tranquil surroundings of the best home-life. The air was warm, and from the public-houses, and old-clothes and furniture and fried-fish shops, came strong unsavoury odours; slatternly women and dirty children screamed and shouted; and the clear moon-light that penetrated to one side of the street, mingling with the yellow glare of the gas lamps, gave a certain grotesque brilliancy to the spectacle. Waring walked silently by the lady's side, hating the errand on which he had come. Lizzie Wilson was a girl whom he had known some years before, when she sang in the chorus at the Raleigh Theatre.

He had had a passing liking for her, such as some men feel for any pretty girl. After this she was away from London for long intervals, singing at provincial theatres; and when she came back and met him again, he found she had got into vulgar and drunken ways, and he soon managed to disembarrass himself of her . . . what an infernal jumble and mess it all was ! This girl's " I cannot judge you " exas perated him in a way he could hardly have explained to himself. And, besides, his nature was of sensitive fibre, and he was inclined to a morbid shrinking from ugliness and pain and discomfort of any kind. He hated his errand that night, and his heart hardened against the poor girl to whose death bed's side he was going. Halfway up the Lane, his conductress turned down a side street, much narrower, darker and less frequented than the one they had left.

The shops were small and veiy dingy-looking, mostly crammed with old and uncleanly rubbish of all sorts for sale; but the shops were an unimportant part of the houses, nearly all of these being let out in many tenements for the swarming population that dwelt there. The lady, crossing the street, passed through an open door-way on the left hand side, and Waring followed. The passage was broad and dust-stained, with panelled walls, and the first flight of stairs, faintly illuminated by a flickering oil lamp in a small tin bracket placed in a corner on the landing, was also broad; and there were barristers which once had been massive and handsome, but now were sorely hacked and worn, and ugly with filth and greasy polish on the undamaged parts from the contact of thousands of grimy hands. As the two passed up the stairs, most of the doors were open, and brawling voices and the smell of suppers being cooked in close, unventilated rooms, assailed them on the way.

The lady stopped at a door on the third floor, and, asking Waring to wait for a moment outside, opened it and passed in. Very soon she came out again and whispered, "She is very weak; please, don't stay long." And, as she saw the look upon his face, she added timidly, " Try to be kind to her." Waring entered the room, and at first could hardly see anything, as the only light was that of a small lamp on the chimney-piece. But as his sight became accustomed to the light, he perceived, in the corner between the door and the window, the bed on which the poor consumptive girl was lying. She lay on her side, her arms flung outside the counterpane which had been slightly thrust back. There was an air of neatness, almost of elegance in the scantily furnished room, which contrasted strangely with the squalor of the floors*. he had passed.

" It's .so good of you to come, George, " the girl said in a weak voice, but with a sudden triumphant brightness in her eyes. And then, noticing that the lady was about to leave the room, " Tell her to stay — I've no secrets to keep from anyone now. How well and strong you look, George . . . while I, do I look very ugly? Oh, I know I do — I am so,, so thin!" He moved near her and took one of her hands in his. " Poor Lizzie, you are a little thin, but you look as nice as ever. We'll take you out of this place, and before long you'll be as well as you used to be." She stroked his face with her other hand, and remained quiet for a few seconds. Then she said, "No, dear, it can't be, and I don't know that I wish it even if it could. I am so happy now that you have come, but I know I am near the end, and I'm not a bit, sorry . . .

George, I began to love you, and it made me so miserable and des perate ! And then I was all alone, away from Lon don .... and the men were always about me, and persecuted me. And then the champagne made me lively for awhile, and afterwards I was worse than ever. I lost heart and went wrong, George, but I could not forget you, do what I would .... It wasn't your fault, dear, at all, I know that." Suddenly she changed her tone. " It was jolly sometimes in the old days at Richmond, and when I went to see you at your chambers and we had tea together, wasn't it, dear?" Her voice began to grow weaker, as of one half asleep. " George, thank you." And her eyes closed. He bent down hastdy and kissed her on her thin lips and faded cheek; then, approaching Miss Lyne where she sat near the fire-place, he asked in a whisper if he migfit be allowed to pay for a nurse to watcfi there all night.

"There is no need," she answered. "A girl, a friend of Lizzie's at the theatre, is coming to stay through the night, and," she lowered her voice, " the doctor says there is little hope of her seeing another day, she is so weak that the end may be at any moment. I will send you a post-card in the morning. And now, good night." She took the little lamp in her hand to show him his way in the darkness. He bowed and without further word passed out. As he descended the stairs, he once raised his eyes to her where she stood with the lamp in her hand, looking down upon him; and he noticed the expression on her face — there was no smile there, but only a sad tired look, the sight of which somehow or other irritated him exceedingly.

Chapter III

He lit a cigar, and, leaving Drury Lane to his left, passed down one of the short streets leading to the Strand. Then, descending the steps at Water loo Bridge, he turned eastwards along the Embank ment in the direction of the Temple. There was a cool breeze from the river, where the tide, every ripple ghstening in the moonlight, was flowing high and strong on its inland course. This was a favourite nightly resort of Waring's, a scene at that hour almost entirely deserted by other people, and, with its long line of fights in sweeping curve from Westminster to St. Paul's, one that curiously suited his rambling moods. And it was especially so to-night, as he leaned over the parapet and watched the stream, only a few feet beneath him. " ' On tie badine pas acec I' amour' — I suppose it's true, and I'm the Perdican of the occasion.

What a ridiculous name ! . . . I wonder whether it's true — that I have anything to do with her dying in this way ? . . . I meant nothing — she was not a bad little thing, and I knew she liked to be with a fellow who treated her decently. But as for a grand passion, I never thought of it, and I don't believe she did. Of course, this Miss Lyne believes I broke the girl's heart. It's this cursed sentiment alism that knocks us all over! I don't care particularly for hard methodical fellows of the Mason stamp, but by Jove ! they've the best of it. Their souls are 'not bigger than the poor-box slit,' as Heine says — but what of that? . . . Damn everything. I wish that little girl was not dying. — Ah! Doctor, how are you? " The last words were spoken aloud, and addressed to a man crossing the road, evidently with the purpose of joining him.

There are some men who instinctively know if they are liked or not, others who never trouble about it one way or the other; and the Doctor belonged to the latter class. No one's approach could have been less welcome to Waring at the present moment, especially as he had a conviction that this person, who was much given to acting the amateur detective, must have been on his track for some time before. " I just saw you crossing the Strand, and thought I'd follow you," he said innocently. The man was short of stature, rather stout, with closely cropped beard and moustache of sandy hue — Ernest Croyle, by name, recently appointed one of the House Surgeons of the St. James' Hospital. People generally liked him as a modest unassuming young fellow, with remarkably pleasant manners. Of these "pleasant manners," by the way, he once let out the secret in an unguarded and drunken moment.

" It's the easiest tiring in the world— if you only know the trick of it; I found it out one day, and ever since I've stuck to it, and, my dear fellow, I can tell you it has paid me, paid me over and over again. Whenever I meet a man or woman whom I know, I look delighted, and put on what you may call an empresse sort of ah. So they think they are giving me pleasure simply by being on view to me — and it flatters them, the fools! Then I laugh at everything they say — nearly every tiring, for of course there are occasions when you must play the opposite game. But in ordinary society there's nothing that pleases people so much as to find they've been saying something funny, and, begad ! they're grateful to you. Grin and laugh — that's all my secret, but I assure you, it's worth knowing." I'm afraid it must be confessed that Mr. Croyle was a selfish, cold-blooded and quite ignoble indi vidual, but he was amusing, easy-mannered, and companionable, and it is well known that the dear world cherishes such among its chief favourites.

It seemed, he was on his way to look up Lyne, who was a distant relation of Iris, and Waring had no choice but to accompany him to Hale Court and to listen by the way to an account, given in jaunty style, of some recent and very gruesome Hospital experiences. When Waring opened the heavy outer door of the chambers, the sound of fiddling was heard from within — Reynolds giving his friends "a little music." The piece was Raff's "Cavatina," a favourite of his and one that he played with, for him, considerable expression. To most of the listeners, however, the effect was more amusing than entrancing. The player stood near the piano — at which Lyne was seated, steadily stumbling through the pianoforte accompaniment. The violin was held high against the shoulder, the head almost nestling down over it, and the player's body swayed backwards and forwards with the tune, his lips and eyebrows moving the while with odd jerks and twitches, also in accord with the music.