CHAPTER XIV

.Monthspassed,andthecard,nowasajoke,nowasagrievance,washandedabout,gettingdirtieranddirtier.ItfollowedthemwhentheymovedfromCameliaRoadtoTulseHill.Itwassubmittedtothirdparties.Afewinchesofpasteboard,itbecamethebattlefieldonwhichthesoulsofLeonardandhiswifecontended.Whydidhenotsay,“Aladytookmyumbrella,anothergavemethisthatImightcallformyumbrella”?BecauseJackywouldhavedisbelievedhim?Partly,butchieflybecausehewassentimental.Noaffectiongatheredroundthecard,butitsymbolisedthelifeofculture,thatJackyshouldneverspoil.Atnighthewouldsaytohimself,“Well,atallevents,shedoesn’tknowaboutthatcard.Yah!doneherthere!” PoorJacky!shewasnotabadsort,andhadagreatdealtobear.Shedrewherownconclusion—shewasonlycapableofdrawingoneconclusion—andinthefulnessoftimesheacteduponit.AlltheFridayLeonardhadrefusedtospeaktoher,andhadspenttheeveningobservingthestars.OntheSaturdayhewentup,asusual,totown,buthecamenotbackSaturdaynight,norSundaymorning,norSundayafternoon.Theinconveniencegrewintolerable,andthoughshewasnowofaretiringhabit,andshyofwomen,shewentuptoWickhamPlace.Leonardreturnedinherabsence.Thecard,thefatalcard,wasgonefromthepagesofRuskin,andheguessedwhathadhappened. “Well?”hehadexclaimed,greetingherwithpealsoflaughter.“Iknowwhereyou’vebeen,butyoudon’tknowwhereI’vebeen.” Jackysighed,said,“Len,Idothinkyoumightexplain,”andresumeddomesticity. Explanationsweredifficultatthisstage,andLeonardwastoosilly—oritistemptingtowrite,toosoundachaptoattemptthem.Hisreticencewasnotentirelytheshoddyarticlethatabusinesslifepromotes,thereticencethatpretendsthatnothingissomething,andhidesbehindtheDailyTelegraph.Theadventurer,also,isreticent,anditisanadventureforaclerktowalkforafewhoursindarkness.Youmaylaughathim,youwhohavesleptnightsoutontheveldt,withyourriflebesideyouandalltheatmosphereofadventurepat.Andyoualsomaylaughwhothinkadventuressilly.ButdonotbesurprisedifLeonardisshywheneverhemeetsyou,andiftheSchlegelsratherthanJackyhearaboutthedawn. ThattheSchlegelshadnotthoughthimfoolishbecameapermanentjoy.Hewasathisbestwhenhethoughtofthem.Itbuoyedhimashejourneyedhomebeneathfadingheavens.Somehowthebarriersofwealthhadfallen,andtherehadbeen—hecouldnotphraseit—ageneralassertionofthewonderoftheworld.“Myconviction,”saysthemystic,“gainsinfinitelythemomentanothersoulwillbelieveinit,”andtheyhadagreedthattherewassomethingbeyondlife’sdailygrey.Hetookoffhistop-hatandsmootheditthoughtfully.Hehadhithertosupposedtheunknowntobebooks,literature,cleverconversation,culture.Oneraisedoneselfbystudy,andgotupsideswiththeworld.Butinthatquickinterchangeanewlightdawned.Wasthat“something”walkinginthedarkamongthesuburbanhills? HediscoveredthathewasgoingbareheadeddownRegentStreet.Londoncamebackwitharush.Fewwereaboutatthishour,butallwhomhepassedlookedathimwithahostilitythatwasthemoreimpressivebecauseitwasunconscious.Heputhishaton.Itwastoobighisheaddisappearedlikeapuddingintoabasin,theearsbendingoutwardsatthetouchofthecurlybrim.Heworeitalittlebackwards,anditseffectwasgreatlytoelongatethefaceandtobringoutthedistancebetweentheeyesandthemoustache.Thusequipped,heescapedcriticism.Noonefeltuneasyashetituppedalongthepavements,theheartofamantickingfastinhischest.