The Story of a Fool and his Folly

Front matter

THE STORY OF A FOOL AND HIS FOLLY THE LEISURE LIBRARY OF tompkii fflutitv&U* (JlotfCfe. Paper, 2s. ; Cloth gilt, 2s. (yd. EACH VOLUME With Coloured Frontispiece and Title- Page, and with original Full-Page Illustrations, Head-Pieces, and Initials. EARLY VOLUMES. By W. PETT RIDGE. THE SECOND OPPORTUNITY OF MR. STAPLEHURST. By a New Author. THE FLAW IN THE MARBLE. By NORA YYNNE. A FOOL AND HIS FOLLY. By MRS. H. M. BATSON. EARTH CHILDREN. [In the Press, London : HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Row. I

Chapter I

heard a report to the effect that you were engaged to Miss Gower the other day, Pole," said George Abbot. " Of course I contradicted it." Pole said " Why in the world ? " and looked astonished, and a little in dignant. " Oh ! I always contradict reports of engagements — it's kinder. Besides, I didn't believe this one." " Why shouldn't you have believed it ? " " I don't know, but I didn't ; some how marriage is the last thing I should have expected of you." Pole was a journalist, and Abbot could not separate the idea of irregular morals from an irregular income, but as he could not quite put this feeling into words he ended lamely, "You never gave me the impression of being in love with her." / " I don't see that was necessary," re torted Pole. " What would you have had me do ? I don't think we were bound to go about making ourselves ridiculous for solemn old Bank of Europe officials to laugh at us.

Miss Gower and I understand one another — we have understood each other for a long while." " But Miss Gower denies the engagement," Abbot said ; " she declares you are only friends." " Oh ! " Pole looked a little surprised for a moment. " Well, she would ot course — quite right too. That's the sort of thing a nice girl would naturally say in answer to impertinent questions. Of course she didn't say that to you, George — you didn't ask the question ; but it's the sort of answer she ought to give to such people as would ask the question." " I thought it was the sort of thing a woman said when she wasn't engaged, but would like to be," said Abbot, with an irritating air of wisdom. Pole said, " Oh, rot ! " and considered things for a moment — then went on frankly, — " I could quite understand any one doubting whether Miss Gower cared for me, but the other thing is nonsense, you know.

Why you've seen her too, George; she's so pretty and good-tempered — quite the prettiest girl I know ; and she's clever, very clever, although she's too young to have found it out. ... I say, next time you hear that report, don't contradict it, there's a good fellow. Her mother is one of the nicest women I know too." Abbot indulged in a characteristic commonplace about the wisdom of choosing a wife for the sake of the mother-in-law she would provide, which Pole did not answer. Then he began to smile inwardly with affectionate contempt for the young fool's point of view — it was so very young, so unlearned, so hopelessly misleading. " She deserves love, therefore I love her." It was scarcely worth while to be so young if one must be so ignorant. Then he began to think about another woman, a woman altogether different from Eveleen Gower, a woman who was not beautiful, and not good, nor, for the matter of that, very young either — and wondered, as he was always wondering, whether by any plan short of murder he would ever get that woman altogether for himself.

He pitied his young friend sincerely for the pros pect of a dull marriage with a good young woman to whom he would cer tainly remain faithful, partly because he was stupid, and partly because he was a gentleman. He said stupid, even in his own mind, but he knew he meant good, and knew, too, that he found it worth while to be a little less good, and a little less completely that other thing for the sake of feeling such love as he felt — the sort of love he knew Pole did not feel, and possibly would never feel. The self-righteous pity of virtue for vice is not nearly so gratifying to the vanity as the kindly pity of knowledge for ignorance. Anthony Pole was reflecting too. Quite a painful thought had struck him. Was it possible that poor old George had suffered through his reticence with regard to Eva ?

George had not met Eva often, but then he had met her, and that was enough. Eva hadn't liked him, had thought him a dull, underbred person, with wrong views of life, and growing bald into the bargain. Of course he was all these things, but still he had his feelings. A man of thirty five or even forty needn't have lost all his power of feeling emotion, even if he did hold an important position in the Bank of Europe. He was very sorry if his friend had been hurt, and thought he wouldn't tell Eva about the matter, be cause of course it wasn't her fault, so there was no need to make her feel sorry too. Only there must be no more mistakes : he would go out to Hampstead that very afternoon and ask that things should be put on a proper footing at once. A tacit understanding was all very well for him and Eva, but it wasn't fair to outsiders.

There must be a formal engagement, a ring and all the rest of it — indeed, there was really no reason why the marriage should not take place at once. He would have to work a little harder, instead of waiting until the work he did now was better paid, but that was a trifle — of course he could work harder if he wanted to. To be sure, Mrs. Gower always said — at any rate, had said once or twice lately — that she thought it a very great pity for girls to marry too young, but it was unlikely that she could have been thinking of him and Eva, or she would have objected long ago ; but if she did object, he must coax her a little — she was always amen able to coaxing. He walked from his rooms in the Strand and swung himself on to a Hampstead 'bus, feeling very vigorous and decided. The pleasure of the resolution to do something was as in vigorating as a change of air, after the old pleasure of letting good things take their own course.

He talked genially to the driver, and gave him tobacco. He went quicker and quicker up the hill after he left the 'bus, until he had to stop to get his breath when he reached the garden gate of Mrs. Gower 's little house. Mrs. Gower and her daughter were having tea in the garden. They both heard the gate click, and knew the step of the visitor. Mrs. Gower took another piece of bread-and-butter, and Eva went on steadily reading aloud. When Pole was half-way across the lawn, Mrs. Gower looked up and said, " Why, here is Anthony ! " And Eva said, " Why, so it is ! " and came forward, looking quite pleased. " It was such a fine day," said Anthony, "that I thought I would come out and see you." Then it occurred to him that he had never before found it necessary to give any special reason for his visits, and he flushed a little, and wondered if Mrs. Gower would notice the change.

" You are quite right to come when ever you can get any fresh air on such a day as this," Mrs. Gower said pleasantly. " If you will ring the bell, that hand bell, very loudly, it's quite possible the servants will hear, and then we will have some more tea. Eva has been reading aloud to me." " We have read all the books you sent the other day," said Eva : " this one is the last." " And we have been quarrelling over it," said Mrs. Gower. " Eva likes it, because it made her cry, and I don't like it, because it made me cry." " You don't either of you look as if you had been crying this afternoon," said Anthony. " Oh ! that was yesterday : to-day we have been having the happy ending. I hope there will be a happy ending or two in the next set you send." " Oh ! mother, you shouldn't have said that," cried Eva quickly; "we mustn't take it for granted that Anthony will go on sending us books for ever."

" Why yes, you must," said Anthony, " because of course I shall. Is there any special book you would like next time, Mrs. Gower ? " " You are a nice kind boy, and Eva and I take shocking advantage of you," said Mrs. Gower. Bring anything you like ; one ought to read the new books, I suppose ; even if they are dull, one ought to know what the newest dulness is like." They went on talking about the books for a few moments ; then Mrs. Gower said "They don't seem to have heard that bell in the house after all." She made a movement to rise, then changed her mind. "Eva dear," she said, "will you go and ask for some more tea ? " Anthony rose at the same time with Eva, whereupon she reseated herself. So he went alone to the house, rang the front-door bell and asked for his own tea. He was puzzled.

Once or twice while they had been talking he had had a momentary feeling that he was being snubbed, but had dismissed it instantly : he had done nothing to deserve snub bing. He had hoped when the bell was not answered that presently Mrs. Gower, in her kindly hospitable way, would go away herself, and send a servant out with tea, and then he could have told Eva he had something to say. When he came back to the lawn the three went on talking. Anthony was still puzzled. Something was making him ill at ease, but he could not quite find out what. No, he was certainly not being snubbed — nothing could be kinder or more cordial than Mrs. Gower's manner, and Eva was sweetness itself. There was no reason whatever why he should feel constrained ; and yet, why didn't Mrs. Gower make some easy excuse, and leave him alone with Eva ?

She was such a kind woman, and so fond of him ; he felt as sure of the mother's liking as the daughter's, and almost as well pleased with it. He suddenly remembered that for the last month or so she had been gradually giving up her old pleasant way of saying, "You two young people must amuse yourselves without me ; I have this or that or the other to do," and leaving them to chat, or read, or walk together. To be sure he and she and Eva were all so fond of each other that she was quite right in assuming she was never in the way, and to-day of course she could not possibly divine that he had anything special to say. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell all his mind to them both, then and there ; but when they would go on talking with such provoking ingenuous ness, the thing was a little difficult.

Twice a maid came from the house to speak to Mrs. Gower of domestic affairs, and so gave her a graceful opportunity of withdrawing. She did not go. He was more and more surprised, but it was quite plain no unkindness was meant, for every word she spoke was affectionate and pleasant. At last a servant brought word that a visitor was in the drawing-room. Mrs. Gower looked for a moment as if she would have said, " Not at home," but her conscience was too much for her. She rose. Eva rose with her. Mrs. Gower turned pink to the roots of her curly white hair. " No, Eva. I really would rather you did not meet this person. I am trying not to know her as kindly as I can. You must stay here while I go and give her some tea. I can't be rude to her, but I don't want you to come." There was something apologetic in Mrs. Gower's appeal to her daughter.

Pole noticed without heeding it. He was to have his talk with Eva after all. " You should have said ' Not at home,' dear," suggested Eva. "She saw us," said Mrs. Gower simply, as it that settled the matter. " You will excuse me, Anthony." She smiled pleasantly as she passed him, and crossed the lawn towards the house. " Who is it ? " asked Anthony. " I did not hear." " A Mrs. Craigh. She knew mother once. Mother does not like her." "She must be very objectionable if she is beyond the pale of the mother's charity." " She isn't nice." " Poor little mother — she has to go and talk to a not nice person, and, what's worse, she has to steel her heart and try not to be ' nice ' herself — while we sit out in the sunshine here. She won't make much of the business, I'm afraid. I feel as if I ought to go indoors and see this visitor for her."

" I'm afraid that would look a little strange, wouldn't it ? " " Not in the least. It's my business to do all her disagreeable work, and yours too. You don't half know how to keep me up to the mark, you know. But never mind that : I wanted to speak to you about something else — something im portant." Eva was looking him frankly in the face with grave quiet brown eyes — he felt more embarrassed than he would have expected. " Some one asked George Abbot if we were engaged." " How — inquisitive ! " Eva caught her breath a little as she chose her word. " He told me about it this afternoon, and that he had said we were not." " Oh ! Of course." " Why, that's just it," said Anthony doubtfully : "just what I wanted to speak about. You see, poor George really didn't know, and I'm afraid he's a bit hurt — and that's hard on him, you know.

I didn't mean to tell you that, for fear you should think it was your fault. You always think things are your fault, you know. But it doesn't matter — my telling you about Abbot, I mean : the question is — about ourselves." " Ourselves. Yes." Eva's voice was quite pleasant and calm. He did not see her clenched hands hidden in the folds of her skirt. " Don't you think it's better to let people know," Anthony explained. " We'll ask your mother to tell them. It won't be quite so pleasant for us at first, people fuss so over an engagement when they know it ; but " — he spoke tenderly now, and rested his hand on her shoulders — " we don't want any more mistakes made, do we ? " "Ah!" Through the girl's restraint — through the quiet friendliness of her manner — the sob of passion burst like a flame.

Anthony was startled, and looked round quickly to see what could possibly have hurt or frightened her. " There is that horrid woman watching us through the window," she said quickly, and blushing painfully. " Oh ! well — it doesn't matter, does it ? since we want people to know." He stopped short, laughing a little. " But that wasn't quite the best way to inform them, you mean ? I was pretty near it, wasn't I, for in a moment more she'd have seen me kiss you. Let's go a little farther off and talk things over." It had been late in the afternoon when Mrs. Craigh had called. It was dusk when she left, and Mrs. Gower came back to the garden. She called Eva, and Eva came across the lawn alone. " Anthony has gone, of course ? " Mrs. Gower said. " Yes ; a few minutes ago." " I suppose you didn't ask him to stay to dinner ?

" Mrs. Gower asked care lessly. " No ; I asked him not to stay to night." " Oh ! there was no reason why you should do that, was there, my dear ? I hope Anthony didn't think it rude of me to leave you as I did. You see, I had no choice. I couldn't refuse to see that woman, and I didn't want to take you in with me." " Don't worry, dear. Anthony never thinks anything amiss that you do. Mother dear, I have something to tell you. That was why I asked Anthony to go. We — we have been talking." " Yes ? " The sharp anxiety in the word made it harsh, an eager question, and as much of a confession as the girl's one cry of joy had been. Eva went on speaking quickly. " He is coming to-morrow to speak to you, to tell you that we — I mean that he thinks people ought to be told of our engagement." " Your engagement !

" The mother got her breath on the word, and then went on speaking quite steadily, " My dear child, I didn't even know you were engaged. Don't you think you ought to have told me a little sooner, you and Anthony ? You have treated me rather shabbily, haven't you ? Here have I been chaperoning you most carefully all this while, for fear Anthony should think I was match-making — throwing my daughter at him. I am pleased now I do know, my love, but I assure you that I did not know it till this moment. You have made me and my chaperonage look a little ridiculous, haven't you ? " The daughter was quite as proud as the mother, though not so cunning of fence ; but she said, " Were you really afraid of his thinking that of you, mother ? " quite naturally ; and the two went indoors to dinner. They dined, and talked together all the evening, speaking placidly of the daughter's engagement as a long-settled fact.

If ever two women longed to lay their heads on each other's shoulders and cry their eyes out for joy at the end of long doubt and sorrow, this mother and daughter longed for such relief ; but each respected the pride of the other. To have owned relief now would have been a humiliating confession of past anxiety. Once or twice Mrs. Gower looked wist fully at her daughter, almost hoping for a sign of weakness, but, seeing none, kept rigidly to the tone she had taken. There are some women so well-bred that they respect the emotions even of their own children.

Chapter II

a HE two lovers sat in the little drawing-room at Hampstead, arguing. That is to say, Anthony was arguing. Eva was protesting against the inevitable — not that she hoped to evade it, but because the inevitable distressed her. With the end of the warm weather had come the knowledge that Mrs. Gower's health could not stand another winter in England. The doctor had ordered her to go abroad at once, and Eva and Anthony were discussing ways and means — a tiresome thing to do when means are limited and the one way irksome. " If only doctors had not such a provoking trick of prescribing one eight hundred a year ! " Eva had said this over and over again to herself all through a long night before, looking a little wan and tear-stained ; she said it to Anthony in the morning. " But I thought it was much cheaper to live abroad than in England?"

Anthony had said, surprised. " It is if you are pretty well off," Eva answered, puckering perplexed eye brows. " If you have a nice house, and give parties, and dress well, of course it is economy to give up your house, and stop having parties, and wear your old clothes. But mother and I can't spend less abroad than we do here; . . . and we can't give the house up without notice; . . . and there's getting there — wherever we go. I don't see what we are to do." She had spoken from the frankness of physical fatigue, and because, now her mother must not be troubled, it was so natural to turn to Anthony for com fort. This morning she was regretting having said so much, for Anthony had come with a suggestion which, sensible as it was, would have troubled her less if she had not felt that her confidences had invited it.

Eva must take her mother abroad at once — the doctor had said so; that matter was settled finally. And as for any extra expense, why, Anthony must meet it, of course — what could be more natural or more pleasant than that? " But you can't, Anthony," she protested. " How can you ? You are as poor as we are — I couldn't have told you about our worries if I hadn't known that." "But I needn't be," said Anthony. " If I do more work I sha'n't be." " But you hate work — you always say you hate work. I don't believe you have ever done a day's work more than you were obliged to in all your life." " No — and so it's time I began, my dear child," he said, looking very grown up and serious. " We are going to be married, you know, and if ever we are to have anything like an income, it is time I began to earn it.

I have often had chances of work that I've let slip, because I didn't happen to want money just then, and it didn't occur to me to get it and save it until I did." " But you will work too much, and be ill too — as ill as mother. I read in a paper the other day that more people die from nervous complaints — that's overwork, isn't it ? — than any other kind of illness. I sha'n't be here to watch you — and — and — I always have a fancy that you aren't very strong, Anthony." There are few things prettier than the motherly look in young eyes. Anthony bent over the soft, round young face and laughed with pleasure ; then he looked down the length of his stalwart frame, and laughed again. " I'm lazy ! that's all that's wrong with me. I never had a motive to work, I suppose, till you gave me one. When I was in America I could always make enough in three days to idle the rest of the week, and I used to do it too.

I am ashamed of myself now, of course ; but it seemed so stupid to work for money I didn't want ! Many a time I've played poker till I hadn't a penny left, so as to give myself a motive for working all the next week. Once I played for my dress suit or a new one, and lost. I had to get that paid pretty quick, for I was going to a dinner I wouldn't have liked to miss ; and then, on the very night of the dinner, our working chier fell ill, and I had to bring out the paper single-handed — just at the crisis of a presidential election too. Of course I couldn't leave the office till the numbers were announced. I'd made up my mind how the election would go, and I wrote a triumphant column, saying my man was elected by a big majority, and had it screwed into the press ready for when the news came.

I wrote another para graph saying that the other man had got in and that every one was a fool, just in case of emergency. Then I sent for my traps and dressed, and sat with my ear to the telephone bell, waiting for the news, and hoping that if I was late they'd wait dinner for me : and I never noticed thehum-hummingof the machines at work in the basement. And presently I heard a crowd shouting in the street below, and went to the window, and there was our late edition pouring out through the slide into the street and the news-boys catching them and doing a splendid trade, while the opposition paper over the way stuck up great placards in all their windows with : "THE EXPRESS IS PRINTING A LIE," in letters a foot long. The printers hadn't understood my orders. I flew down to the engine-room to stop the press, and there was the proprietor raging round the place, screaming curses, and the invalid editor wrapped up in blankets, cursing faintly, but much worse ; and I joined in — I'm not sure I didn't beat them both.

No one had thought of stopping the press, and the telephone bell upstairs began to ring like mad, and a messenger to yell downstairs for the sub-editor — that was me. And when I went upstairs, there was my man elected right enough. I wrote out my resignation and took it to the chief, but he was drinking a whisky-and-soda by then, and just said, ' Don't be a fool, Anthony ; brush that whitewash off your coat.' The paper opposite was a trifle hard on me next day, and wrote sarcastic paragraphs about a ' slim dude ' in the Express office, who was writing love verses when he ought to have been watching the printers. But my editor retaliated by an article saying ' if he had a man in his office clever enough to know what was going to happen half an hour before the event, it was no wonder less enterprising papers felt spiteful ' — and raised me five hundred dollars.

That's American Journalism." " You never told me of that before." " I'd forgotten. Then, you see — you reminded me of it. It will be quite as easy to write all that rubbish as tell it. I'll work off all my American reminis cences, and I've no doubt it will be an immense success and some one will raise my salary here on the strength of it, and when you come home with the mother well — quite well — you will find me very prosperous indeed, and it will be entirely because you were a nice, sensible girl, and did what I told you." " But what if you find you can't get more work, just when you want to ? " she said doubtfully. " I don't know much about it, except that when I want to buy things, the prettiest are all gone just when I have the money to pay for them." " That'll be all right ; I saw some men yesterday and arranged to do two or three things."

" Anthony, do you mean you made all the arrangements before you came to talk to me about it ? " " Yes ; I thought it would save time. I thought if I got all that part of it off my mind I should be better able to argue and convince you. — of course it does discount the value of discussion a little ; but I wasn't so much concerned to make you do what is so absolutely the only thing to be done that you've no choice, as to convince you that you are not selfish in doing it." " That's hopeless, I afraid," Eva said. " You see, I want to go so much that I can't help being glad. Don't you see it is all so nice for mother and me ? We sha'n't even be anxious — for the doctor only said there would be danger if she stayed in England. And I always did want to go abroad so much. I'm so ignorant, you know, I don't know the things other girls know — and of course going abroad will teach me a great deal.

You will like me better when I come home, won't you ? I shall be cleverer — I daresay I can learn lots of things if I try. It will be so very nice for mother and me — and all the while you will be working yourself to death in London ! " " Oh, I haven't promised to work myself to death, you know," said Anthony cheerfully ; " but at any rate it won't make my work more unpleasant to know you are enjoying yourself. We couldn't well be married when you come back if I worked myself to death, and it is part of the arrangement that we are to be married in the spring. I had serious thoughts of selling the piano and buying a special licence instead, and being married before you went away. Wouldn't it cost more than a piano to be married ? " " Oh ! not nearly so much. It only costs " She stopped short.