They call it Love

Chapter I. On Confections

" We have now come to the end of our very pleasant and, I would fain hope, not wholly unprofitable journey along the primrose path of poetry — the poetry of our beloved Master Shakespere. We have also given some consideration to that scheme of philosophy known as the Baconian. We have examined together the various coincidences both as regards form and thought which occur in the works attrib uted to Shakespere and those attributed to Bacon, and I think that the only possible conclusion that can be come to by sane minds — minds well balanced — minds not given to be carried away by the foolish and extravagant theories of such persons as seem to aim only at the destruction of previously unquestioned truths — the only possible conclusion that can be come to is, I think I may assert without fear of contradic tion, that the works attributed to Bacon were written by Shakespere."

Mr. Glossop, M.A. Oxon., smiled indulgently — almost pleasantly — around his audience in the lecture-room as he straightened out the typoscript on his desk, preparatory to returning it to his leather case. Mr. Glossop was very well satisfied with himself, and when one is satisfied with one's self one is usually satisfied with the people who are around one — that is, of course, satisfied that they are greatly in ferior to one's self. Mr. Glossop, M.A. Oxon., University Extension Lecturer, understood something of the art of pyrotechny in literature, or rather in lecturing, which is not exactly the same thing ; he knew that the commonplaces of a series of lectures can be relieved by a single startling phrase at the close. (So the professional pyrotechnist burns profitless powder for half an hour, and by a judicious flight of rockets at the close, sends his spectators home to the strains of the National Anthem feeling that they have got the worth of their money, and that a monarchy is the best possible form of government.

So the master of that form of mystification known as oratory cherishes a perora tion.) When Mr. Glossop smiled his audience closed their note books and looked at one another's hats, estimating their probable cost and duration, — it was for this they had at tended the course of Mr. Glossop's lectures, so that, indeed, it had not been wholly profitless. While in the act of departing, those of the girls who were acquainted chatted together upon various topics radiating from the smile of Mr. Glossop. Two — they were elderly, but not without hope — went so far as to talk even of the lecture. " I'm glad they're over," said one girl with red hair, which was usually much admired except by other girls with red hair. " I'm glad they're over. Charlie is back." " And you think that he will " came the diminuendo whisper, dwindling into a note of interrogation — which is not sounded — of her companion.

" He said he would." " Ah !" " And I don't see why papa shouldn't give his consent now . . . three hundred a year I" " I'm sure you'll do your best, dear." "I mean to. So would you, Hetty, if you had the chance." " We can't all have red hair, dear." And they walked away together smiling. " I'm glad they're over," said a young woman whose brain had run into a fringe on her forehead. " I'm glad they're done. My ' Hamlet' has broken his spinal cord, poor old chappie !" She had no brothers, and so fancied that " chappie" was the latest form of the affectionate diminutive. She showed her tattered hand-book — it contained all that was proper in " Hamlet"— to her friend. " I'm sorry they're over," said her friend, a very young girl with her hair flowing down her back — some people said ON CONFECTIONS. 9 she was too old to wear her hair in that absurd style ; others began to talk about a literary prize that she had won, but ended by talking of her hair.

" I'm sorry they're over." She tried, with but indifferent success, to stifle a sigh. " Oh, of course, we all know that," said her companion. " How do you all know ?" " By intuition, dear, and observation, dearie." " And what do you all know ?" " That Mr. Glossop smiles — yes, now and again. Why should you blush ?" " I don't." " You do. Do you blush for Mr. Glossop's smile, or does he smile because you blush ?" " We'll have to catch the tram-car." " If the lectures had gone on much longer, I'd have ruined myself over chocolate creams," said the eldest of a set of three girls, — the eldest was twenty and the youngest seven teen. " I'd rather have fondants," said the eldest. " What was that he said about Shakespere and Byron ?" " Bacon — Shakespere and Bacon," said the youngest. " Bacon ? I thought it was Byron.

I thought he said that Shakespere had written Byron's poems." " No, Bacon's Essays." " But Bacon's Essays aren't poetry." " I suppose not." " Haven't you read them ?" " I suppose I have. I've forgotten things that were twice as good as them." " Including the elements of English grammar. But if they're in prose how could Shakespere write them ? Shake spere couldn't write prose." " I wish I'd all the chocolate creams that I ate since we began the lecture course." " I wish that I had as good a turnout as that of Sir George Anderson," said the second of the group of three. She had not yet spoken. Spiteful persons tried to spoil her chances in life by calling her thoughtful, because she talked so little. She was not thoughtful — only lazy. " You'll have one if you annex a man who can make money," said the eldest egirl.

The second girl was silent. " Of course, we all expect to do that," remarked the youngest. " But doesn't Shakespere or somebody say ' Man proposes' ?" " Yes ; but man doesn't," said the eldest. " At least . . . Do you think Miss Talbot pretty?" " No, not pretty — gloriously handsome," cried the young est, with all the enthusiasm of a girl talking about another — an enthusiasm that sometimes dies out or, what is more deplorable, becomes artistic. When art takes the place of enthusiasm in a woman's praise of another woman's beauty, the result is sad. " I don't think her so wonderful," said the eldest. " It's because she takes Lily Cosway so much about with her that people think her so handsome. Lily makes a capital foil. I heard Mrs. Richardson say the other day that choosing a foil was everything."

" But Lily Cosway is pretty herself." " Of course ; but in another way. She's so fair and fluffy that she sets people admiring the brown hair and grey eyes of Miss Talbot— very ordinary grey eyes and very ordinary brown hair. Mrs. Richardson said that the art of choosing foils should be taught at school — that it's the most important part of a girl's education." " Rubbish !" cried the youngest. " Who would be such a fool as to make a bosom friend of a nasty girl simply be cause her black hair made one's fair hair look fairer? And what about the foils ? Aren't they to have a voice in the matter? Are the plain ones to lend themselves to the good looking ones in order that the good-looking ones may appear better looking still ?" " Mrs. Richardson says that no girl thinks she's plain," said the eldest.

" Oh, we all know that as well as Mrs. Richardson," cried the youngest. " Your Mrs. Richardson doesn't know every thing." " She's been married nine years, anyway, and has spent five of them in India," said the eldest.

Chapter II. On Reflections

While the various members of the ladies' class of the University Extension Lecture Course at Weighborough were gracefully dispersing, some to catch tram-cars, and others to do a little shopping — chiefly at the confectioner's — the car riage containing Minna Talbot and Lily Cosway was being driven through the town — the unlovely town of Weigh borough — and before the three girls, whose chat has just been faithfully recorded, had made their selection of con fections, it had crossed the bridge on its way to Ashdown. The two girls had attended the course of lectures de livered by Mr. Glossop ; and when Mr. Glossop had given his farewell smile, it was clearly understood by all the young ladies present that he meant it to radiate from the seats which were occupied by Miss Talbot and Miss Cosway.

No one would venture to doubt the right of Miss Talbot and Miss Cosway to be made the centre of any system of smile distribution that might be devised ; and Mr. Glossop, having had the benefit of a university education — not a University Extension education — would have been the last to call in question their privilege in this respect. In a lecture-room it is, of course, clearly understood that personal beauty counts for nothing. Beauty, not exactly of the soul, but of the intellect, is what counts — yes, next to a faithful memory for dates and an accurate appreciation of the Subjunctive Mood — but during the last five minutes of a course of lectures on the Great Elizabethan Writers it was understood that social prestige might, without impropriety, be recognised by a tactful and tasteful lecturer.

Mr. Glos sop was both tactful and tasteful. Miss Talbot was in the habit of driving to the weekly lecture in a carriage with two well-matched horses, and with a footman sitting beside the coachman, in chocolate livery faced with scarlet. In no town in the kingdom do such in dications of the possession of money count for more than in Weighborough. A self-made man is a man who has made himself wealthy at the expense of other men ; but only a self-made man fully appreciates the difficulty of the task : the other men are becoming so knowing, they can be got the better of only with great exertion. Now, Weighborough, being a self-made community, knew perfectly well that a carriage drawn by a pair of well-matched horses cannot be maintained except at a considerable expense, and as the spending of money must mean (they believed) the posses sion of money, they held in high esteem, as do all sensible people, and several others, nowadays, the persons who drive about behind well-matched horses.

Miss Talbot's guardian was one of the most prosperous and, consequently, most highly respected of the Weigh borough merchants. He showed his fellow-citizens that he had a keen appreciation of the importance of his position as a Weighborough merchant. He had never been known to make a jest. He knew that a man who never makes a jest will never be made a jest of. He had at one time been Mayor of Weighborough ; and, having shown himself thoroughly unscrupulous in the use he had made of his power at the head of the Municipality to forward the interests of the Government then in office, he had been knighted. He was Sir George Anderson — a widower of, perhaps, a year or two over sixty. As for Minna Talbot, his ward, it was clearly understood in Weighborough that both she and her brother, Gerald, had a considerable amount of money.

Would Sir George Anderson be their guardian if they had not each a fortune ? people asked — people who knew Sir George Anderson very well, indeed. Gerald Talbot was a painter who had already exhibited some singular works at those galleries in London where some singular works can be examined several times in the course of the year. He had studied in Paris, it was generally known ; but not much more was known about him in Weighborough beyond the one commanding fact of his having a fortune of his own. It is impossible to interest the people of Weighborough in a question of Art in any form ; but so soon as one speaks of fortunes in money, they become enthralled. Gerald Talbot appeared but seldom at his guardian's fine place, known as The Tower, at Ashdown, that picturesque village eight miles from Weighborough, through which three or four of the merchants hoped to slip into the county by building mansions in the neighbourhood.

Now and again, however, he visited the place and occupied the little studio which had been built in a secluded part of the grounds where one might expect a summer-house to stand. It was believed that he detested Weighborough. But why he should do so the citizens were at a loss to say. One of them suggested that Paris was accountable for this, as it was for a large number of other peculiar tastes on the part of men who were otherwise unobjectionable. Gerald Talbot had studied at Paris. He was a fool, the people said : he should have gone into business at Weighborough, and have aimed at the Mayoralty, and then a brilliant bank ruptcy. Weighborough had from time to time produced some eminent bankrupts, and at intervals some very ingeni ous commercial frauds had been perpetrated by the most re ligious of its citizens.

Lily Cosway, the pretty girl with the fair hair and fresh face, who had attended the course of University Extension Lectures and was now driving away from the last of the series by the side of Miss Talbot, was the only child of Mr. Harold Cosway, the historian of the Second Century. Mr. Cosway lived in a very roomy and picturesque house which he called a cottage, at Ashdown, and this circumstance had done more to make the name of Ashdown known through out the world than all the incidents connected with the residences of the Weighborough merchants in the neigh bourhood. People came from Boston to stand with their arms resting on the wooden gate leading into Mr. Cosway's garden ; and from Chicago to carve their names on the woodwork as a token of their sympathy with Mr. Cosway's labours — for four able-bodied lecturers were constantly travelling through the United States making the people acquainted with the achievements of Mr. Cosway.

The Weighborough residents in the neighbourhood of Ashdown could not quite understand why people should come from afar to gaze at a humble cot tage of two stories and to carve their names on the simple wooden gate at the entrance to the garden, when a mile further on they might catch glimpses of the mansion of an ex-Mayor of Weighborough, and run the risk of a prosecu tion by cutting their names on the great elm that stood on a mound just outside one of the lodges. But Boston and Chicago understood. The carriage of the ex-Mayor of Weighborough had passed over a mile or two of the road leading to Ashdown, and the mansion on the one hand and the cottage on the other, before Lily Cosway spoke to her friend. " Thank goodness, it's all over ! Thank goodness, we have seen the last of that man's smile I I don't think I could stand another of his smiles, Minna," she said.

" He means well, Lily," said Minna. " If there's a place where good intentions take the place of asphalt, the people who lay down the pavement are the people who mean well," said Lily. " To say that a man means well is nearly as bad as calling a girl good-natured." " But he never smiled except when he was at the point of finishing a lecture, and then it was only a little one." " That was the excuse made by a young woman in one of Captain Marryat's books. It wasn't accepted as an excuse. Oh, Minna, I'm so sick of Shakespere — the Shakespere of the University Extensioner — about as like the real Shake spere as Sir Thomas Lawrence's picture of Wellington is like the Duke of the tuppenny damn. I'm sick of Hamlet — all shuffle and soliloquy. I'm sick of the Descent of Man — the descent to the ground from the upper branches, when the wagging parts grew weak and the walking parts grew strong : that's Evolution in a nutshell."

" Good gracious, Lily, do you mean to say that you're sick of education ?" " No, not of education, only of learning. People get rid of their education to make way for their learning, I've been thinking for some time past. Thank Heaven, all my courses of lectures haven't been quite able to keep me from thinking." " If you have no saner thoughts than those, I'm sure your father will wish that the lectures had done a little more. What on earth has put those notions into your curly head, my dear?" " Sense — instinct — the natural woman — Eve. Oh, yes ; I've been working out the whole problem of the most recent form of man and the most recent form of woman. They're all the same inside as they ever were. The difference be tween the past and the present is only the difference between a watch in a gold case and one in a silver case — the works are the same in both."

" You've certainly gone into the subject, but with what object?" " With what object? Why, the mapping out a future for myself and, incidentally, a future for woman generally." " That is an excellent object, certainly, my dearest. And have you yet laid out the parallels on your map ?" " I've done that, if little beyond it. Long ago, when I didn't take kindly to my school-books, my school-mistress took me aside, I remember, and talked to me very seriously about my future. How could I expect to take my place in society if I was conscious of not knowing the date of the Norman Conquest or the age of Queen Elizabeth when she died. I was given to understand that it would be quite im possible for me to go out to tea with respectable people so long as I couldn't tell at a moment's notice how the Wars of the Roses were brought about — for a time I might smile and pretend to know, but it would be impossible for me to keep up the deception for long.

I would be tripped up some day and exposed, while society made a mock of me." " And that was how you were induced to allow yourself to be educated ?" " Yes. I could not endure the thought of being held up to ridicule, especially as I knew that a girl whom I hated — her name was Amy something, and she was the paragon of the school : a pert little thing with a simper, who always said ' It is I' at the proper times — yes, I felt sure that she would be the first to betray my ignorance to the world. I was given to understand that the Norman Conquest and the age of Queen Elizabeth were the most popular topics in drawing-rooms." " And you have just discovered that you were deceived?" " Minna, I have lent myself to the deception until to-day ; but I will be deceived no longer. Do you know how many spinsters there are to every single man in the United King dom alone ?"

" No, I certainly don't." " You should be ashamed to confess it. Minna, the disproportion between the sexes is the foundation of all the great problems of the day." " You have found out that that's what's talked of in draw ing-rooms just now, instead of the Wars of the Roses?" " I have. Minna, it is my duty to tell you that the higher education — so called — of Women is responsible for the decay of marriage. The problem is the Decay of Marriage, and its Cause." " That's the title in full?" " Yes ; I've come to the conclusion that the higher education is accountable for the decay of marriage. We have been educated out of our need for husbands, just as papa has been educated out of the need for Gibbon, or you for a French Dictionary. We are made to prepare ourselves for spinsterhood instead of motherhood."

" Oh, Lily !" " Oh, people speak very plainly now-a-days. Why shouldn't they? Yes, I've come to the conclusion that we've been taught too much to rely upon our own resources for our happiness in the future. Woman has been taught to be in dependent. That's the great mistake. She should be taught dependence — yes, dependence upon man. There's nothing so good for a girl as to be happily married — now, is there?", " Happiness is happiness, whether it comes through being married or through graceful spinsterhood." " Of course ; but from the Voice that breathed o'er Eden until the present day, the happiness of marriage is acknowl edged to be greater than the felicity of an honourable spinsterhood. And yet our education places us no nearer that desirable goal. But that's not all — I say that it places us further away from it ; but we needn't discuss that — it's only a point."

" I don't feel quite prepared to discuss it. You see, I haven't been studying the Problem." " I can't blame you. I didn't begin to study it myself until quite a short time ago. I only studied the problems in ' Hamlet,' and the philology. I see my way clearly now, however." " And where does it lead to?" " It's not where — where is neuter ; it's whom, and whom is masculine — yes, sometimes." " What can you possibly mean, Lily ? You have got very deep and very dark." " You only think so because you haven't been studying the problem. What I mean to do is to make a bonfire of my books and to study man — yes, as the gamekeeper studies the pheasant — as the trapper studies the beaver." " This is very awful, Lily dear ; I don't think you should talk in this way." " I daresay — so we've been taught for years and years that's what I say : we've been taught everything except the one thing needful, which is The Man and How to Attract Him.

Now I mean to give myself up to that study, for I've come to the conclusion that our happiness — our success in life is almost wholly dependent upon our progress in that branch of knowledge. Really, when you come to think of it, there's hardly anything else worth studying in the world." She spoke so seriously that Minna Talbot burst out laughing. Lily's seriousness seemed absurdly inconsistent with the extreme fairness of her hair and the childishness of her face. " You are getting more terrible every minute," said Minna. " Yes, but I'm getting more interesting, too," said Lily. " It's rather sad, isn't it? that the more terrible things are the more interesting they become. How do you account for that ? Was it the Fall, do you suppose ?" " Good eegracious, Lily, do you mean to try and draw me into the consideration of your philosophy and problems and things ?"

Lily paused and looked with laughing eyes at the calm face of the girl beside her. " I wonder if it is possible that you know a good deal more about these same problems than I do, Minna?" she said, at last. " I know nothing about any problems, my dear," said Minna, with perhaps the least little roseate tint slipping over her face. " Nothing — except, of course, those about the triangles that we learned at school ; ' two sides of a triangle are greater than the third,' you know." " I do know. And I've also heard that the triangle is an emblem of life. It's an emblem of the united life of man and woman. The two sides are man, and they are greater than the remaining side, woman ; but all the same the re maining side is absolutely necessary to make up the com plete triangle. The human mind, Mr. Glossop told us, is capable of grasping almost any idea ; it is ; but it has not yet been able to evolve a triangle with only two sides."

" And what does all this lead up to ?" " Not what — whom : the masculine whom. I heard a few days ago that Mr. Clifford is coming to Ash Court next week." " What on earth " b 2* " Nothing on earth, my beloved. Marriages are made in heaven." " You actually mean " " Yes, if I'm clever enough. I doubt if I am, though. If I'd been taught the art—if I'd given up half the time to it that I've given to ' Hamlet'— I'd have more confidence in myself. It's not so easy getting oneself up on any subject so as to be able to make a creditable professional appearance in the course of a week or so. However, I must only do my best. Oh, why weren't we taught the art years ago, — the art that is a combination of all the arts, and so should be placed above every one of them ?" " Perhaps it was because it cannot be acquired by much study, my Lilyflower.

But take courage. I have ample confidence in your ability to learn." " You mistake the willingness for the capacity, Minna. No, no ; I shall have to cram for the work. I shall have to scamp it, I know, and the prize will go to someone who has graduated in the art — someone who won't love him half as well as I would." " Love — love him — him ! Lily, this is dreadful : a man whom you have never seen !" " Why dreadful ? I'm sure it's a good deal easier loving the unseen than the seen. That's why poets should never be photographed. Here we are at home. Do — do think over what I've been saying, and let me know to-morrow if you've found a flaw in my reasoning." "Reasoning? Reasoning? Ah, good-bye. Drop over to lunch to-morrow, as early as you piease, and we'll drive to The Firs." " We shall talk it all over."

" No, no ; you may talk : I can only promise to listen." The wooden gate, carved with the names of the Chicago pilgrims, was reached by the carriage ; the footman held the door open, and Lily got out after kissing her friend. She said, "Thank you, William," to the footman, as he unfast ened her gate for her, and he thanked her for her thanks with a respectful motion of his hand to the brim of his hat. She walked through the garden up to her father's cottage. ON RETROSPECTIONS. 19

Chapter III. On Retrospections

When Lily Cosway was laying aside her hat in her own room she could not help thinking that perhaps she had talked too fast and in too erratic a way to her friend Minna. Lily had now and again an uneasy consciousness of talking too fast and too unreservedly. Her preceptresses had from the earliest of her school-days given a considerable amount of study to the best means of increasing this consciousness on her part. They had occasionally been successful. Everyone knows that the force of the conviction of sin is proportionate to the disagreeable consequences of the sin that has been committed. When Lily Cosway got into a scrape through the rapidity with which she talked, she felt rather more remorse for her indiscretion than she did when she was only blamed, on principle, by the ladies who had undertaken the charge of her manners and her spine — the ladies who controlled her pronunciation in three languages and prevented her from crouching over a desk.

They as sured her that erratic speech, even when the Subjunctive Mood was carefully attended to, was reprehensible. Of course when the Subjunctive Mood was set at naught — as it usually was by Lily — another wash of black was added to the fundamental evil. But Lily continued to fly in the face of Providence and the Subjunctive Mood so long as she did not get into any scrape thereby. It was, as has already been stated, when she could not evade a scrape that she had a becoming con viction of sin under the statute of her Catechism. She then felt that for her own comfort's sake erratic speech on her part should be subjected to a severe control. But the spirit ual gendarmerie entrusted with this duty was too indiffer ently trained to become efficient at a moment's notice, and the result was usually failure.

Her preceptresses tried the experiment of putting her con science upon a stimulating diet. They had heard that won ders had been done in certain cases where the conscience of a young woman had exhibited anæmic tendencies. It might be, they thought, that a course of iron would do Miss Cos way's some good. They brought her within the sphere of influence, so to speak, of the spiritual tonics that were every week administered by an earnest, consequently, a young, clergyman, who preached in a church in the neighbourhood of the school. This dietetic experiment was not a remarkable success. Her conscience was not stimulated by the preacher. Her powers of satire were, for she referred, even in the presence of a school-mistress, and in terms that suggested the lemon rather than the peach, to the affectations of delivery of the preacher, and to the affectations of attention of the young women who sat in rows beneath him.