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frey's work; when he was n't carrying a torch she expected him to be a great artist. In the back of her mind (but Emily did not often visit the back of her mind) she felt that great artistic success and torches always came from very comfortable homes. She was a little hurt with Geoffrey for coming to her on the second evening of their engagement and saying that he wanted to be married at once. She felt that marriage had nothing to do with the first principles of their future life, and that he ought to have wanted to lay a triumph at her feet. The Salon prize was a triumph, but she felt, like Sir Thomas, that she would have preferred something more noticeable in London. Geoffrey told her that he had n't any principles and that he wanted to start living.

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not to. They're dear, wonderful people,
but they're not intelligent; they're sim-
ply figures in the landscape. One can't
imagine Amberley without them, but still
less can one imagine Sir Thomas without
Amberley. I suppose Amberley goes to

"Mercifully," said Geoffrey. "I should hate to have a place. When will you marry me?"

Emily sighed.

"I think," she said, "we must wait a little. After all, I 'm an only child; you will be in London, and we shall have such beautiful times together. I shall help you work this first critical year in London. I sha'n't be in your way; I shall stand by you and watch you succeed."

"I can't, you see," he explained, "live without you. I want you always, all the time, and now."

"I see, I see," Emily murmured, gazing with her benevolent eyes into the vista of a redeeming future. Geoffrey, speechless with satisfaction, watched her. It was wonderful to be going to marry a woman who "saw."

She was n't only all beauty; she was all wisdom, a kind of divine, omnipotent olivebranch spread out over angry floods of ordinary people to encourage them with the hope that one day the floods would subside and they would all cease to be ordinary. Geoffrey explained to her how she would help him with his family.

"You'll put me right," he said with enthusiasm. "They 'll believe in me then, and if they believe in me, I think I can get on with them better. I tried foot-ball because I had a feeling that if I did well at footer I should understand more what they wanted me to be like at home. However, it did n't do any good. I might as well have read Shelley."

Geoffrey looked uneasy. He was n't quite sure that success followed in the wake of being watched, and he was quite sure it did n't follow in a year.

"And you'll help me," Emily went on, "about my work, won't you? I have n't told you much about it yet,-we 've had so little time really to talk,-but I have a work. I try-I try to help people a little."

Geoffrey nodded. Of course she helped people. Her existence without effort must have simplified the lives of every one she knew. He told her this; Emily laughed at him. She had a distinct sense of humor when she remembered about it; but the intensity with which she brought it to mind sometimes took the edge off her fun.

"Oh, it's not me!" she exclaimed. "It's the things I have. I try to shareand now this new, this greatest thing, love! That 's my idea of life-to use all that comes for others. If we all did it,don't you see?-half the poverty and misery of the world would be healed. I want you to help me heal it."

"Darling!" said Emily, with a warmth. that involved a close embrace; but when this had finished, Emily did not go on with the discussion about marriage.

"I shall love making them believe in you," she said. "It 's too stupid of them

Geoffrey looked vaguely puzzled. "That sounds such a tall order, Emily," he said "the whole world! And shall we ever get any time together?"

"We shall be always together," said Emily, firmly. "It seems to me the only way of being always together."

"Oh, then you can count me in," said Geoffrey, decisively. "But you'll have

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to give me tips. I've never healed anything yet. You ought to talk to Marcel Dupin, he 's my sculptor friend, the one I lived with in Paris,-but he would n't have agreed with you. He had quite the opposite idea; he thought you had to keep fit, and tow your line. He used always to say to me I did n't tow it enough. He wanted me to have experiences-all kinds of funny ones-and use 'em in my work. I believe he 'd have been hanged, to learn how you feel about it, if he could have come back and had a go at it afterward. I've never had theories. You'll have to

teach me a lot."

"What I should like most," said Emily, "is to find those who have been betrayed and lost and ruined by human love,love gone wrong, and lift them up again."

"Oh, don't!" said Geoffrey. "I mean, must you? People like that are such a confounded nuisance; and then, you know, when they 've got as far as that, it seems to me you may as well let 'em rip. I don't see how you can work them in afterward."

"It is that attitude," said Emily, gravely, "which makes it impossible. You must have faith, Geoff. Human nature has wonderful recuperative powers; the very force with which it goes wrong can be turned to set it right. I have seen it happen not once, but many times, with drunkards and the poor girls on the streets. They can be brought back and retrieved. and made whole again; but only by two forces, faith and love."

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Geoffrey bowed his head. He was very much touched and concerned. He was touched because he thought it was beautiful for Emily to feel in such a way toward the unfortunate, and he was concerned because he knew that getting mixed up with the unfortunate is very rarely safe. It is not even safe for the unfortunate. He would have seemed a brute if he said. this, but he was n't sure that Emily understood that unfortunate circumstances do not always make unfortunate people, and that a certain type of person will make any circumstance, however redemp



tive, strikingly unfortunate. Mrs. Dering came into the room and relieved him from the necessity of stating this belief.

Geoffrey knew the Derings well, but he had never given much thought to either of them before. They were a pleasant, well-bred, middle-aged pair who seemed equally happy together or apart.


"Mark my words,' he said to his wife"

Mrs. Dering was n't in the least like Emily; she had no charm, and she kept remarkably still. She did not attempt to congratulate or embrace her future sonin-law; she simply gave him her hand, and remarked with a faintly amused, but kindly, smile:

"Fancy, you and Emily!"


If there was a side of Emily's nature which Geoffrey admired more than he appreciated, it was her wonderful instinct for assistance. Philanthropy with Geoffrey had never taken up much time; it had been an affair of furtive half-crowns. But Emily went into the question of lame dogs with the eye and hand of the reformer. She was at direct variance with the psalmist, who suggests with cynical emphasis that it costs too much to redeem a soul, and that one should leave this particular adventure alone forever.

Emily had an undoubted faculty for making people stand on their own feet,

and it was Geoffrey's fault if he did n't care to meet them in this ameliorated attitude. He thought that Emily's protégées had had too many disasters. He could have stood one or two, though his hours with Emily had been curtailed on several occasions by the time it took to relate them; but Geoffrey felt as if people who insisted on so many troubles had made a habit of misfortune. He was therefore more annoyed than interested when Emily rang him up one afternoon to tell him of a fresh discovery.

"I've found her," she said through the telephone. "O Geoff, I 've found her! It 's too pitiful; I never dreamed there could be such lonely misery. It 's very strange, too, for I was hoping that just now I might find some one we were specially meant to help together, and I am sure it is Fanny. She has simply been sent to us."

"I think not, dear," she said patiently. "The modern mind can deal at such a different angle with stories like poor Fanny's. Besides, mother would n't like it at all. She's been a little difficult as it is. She won't let me have her to stay in the house because of the servants. Fanny is here now, but only in the dining-room till tea. You will come, won't you?"

Geoffrey agreed instantly to come, but he secretly approved of the dining-room.

Emily was very particular about Geoffrey's work in the mornings. She never

"What for?" asked Geoffrey, nervously. interrupted him, but she thought his work "I mean-who is Fanny?"

would naturally be over by two o'clock in the afternoon. She always rang him up then to find out, and if Geoff could see Emily, his work always was over at two o'clock.

"She 's just a girl," Emily said softly, "who has been cut to pieces by life. I found her in a hospital-the one I always visit. She's had a terrible operation, but when I came across her she was just going to be sent out, with no home or friends to be sent to, and no money. Is n't civilization awful? She's almost a lady. I feel as if that made it so much worse, don't you?"

Geoffrey gave a sigh of relief. Fanny's reticence seemed the one palliating fact in the situation.

"Could n't your mother take up Fanny, if she 's got to be taken up?" he feebly suggested.

Emily's voice sounded as if something cold and wet had been suddenly dropped upon it.

Geoffrey said he did. Generally, when they were n't ladies, Emily saw them in the housekeeper's room, and he had only to hear about them afterward.

"Poor thing," Emily went on, "she 's been literally at death's door. She wants to give up her old way of life now and start quite afresh. It's been so wonderful watching the new light dawn!"

"What was her way of life?" Geoffrey asked a little suspiciously. Emily's voice became vague.

"Oh, did n't I tell you?" she explained. "She's not been-respectable, you know. It's all been very dreadful, but I do wish you'd come and see her; we might think of something together. I can't quite make her out. She's strangely reticent."

He hastened to the Derings', and was immediately shown up into the diningroom. Mrs. Dering was cutting out children's underclothes upon the dining-room table. It was an old oak table, charmingly narrow and gate-legged, which, though a little uncomfortable at meals, was obviously four hundred years old. It reminded Geoff of early Renaissance pictures of the last supper, and did very well for cutting out.

Emily was sitting near the open window smoking a cigarette, a thing she did only to put other people at their ease, for she rather disliked smoking. She gave Geoffrey a radiant, confident look-the look of a woman who has received nothing but happiness and security from the hand of the man she loves.

Fanny was not smoking, but when Geoffrey's condemnatory eyes rested upon her, he could not have supposed that she was otherwise than easy. Her attitude seemed to imply that it was a great thing

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EOFFREY AMBERLEY family. Families are tolerant of their

was at an age when fools; they may be proud of, but they alit did not strike ways resent, an intellectual superior in

him as surpris- their bosom. Not that the Amberleys ing that every- were in the least proud of Geoffrey; they thing should merely resented him. They might have happen exactly been proud of him if he had done well the as he wanted things that they cared to do, but the things it to happen. Geoffrey did well were the things no AmProbably other berley cared to do at all. He painted pic

things, too, he tures; and no real Amberley would have thought to himself, would go on happen- so taken to heart the absence of approval ing in the same satisfactory way, though of other Amberleys. They simply went he doubted if he should ever feel again their way; and if anybody got into it, quite the same high pitch of satisfaction they knocked him down. and ecstasy.

But Geoffrey cared intensely what his It was n't only that he was happy. family thought of him, and the things Other young men had been fairly well that got into Geoffrey's way could n't be off and engaged to be married to girls knocked down. They were awkward, inwith whom they were in love; but what tangible things that stuck into his heart distinguished Geoffrey's happiness was of hearts forever. that what pleased Geoffrey should, for What he did n't like was to see anythe first time in his life, please the rest thing ugly; what he did like with an emof his family.

barrassing delight was to see things that It is an isolating thing in a world of were beautiful. The rest of his family average intelligence to be stupid; but it is did n't know what was beautiful and a far more isolated position, it is even a what was not. They had a simpler standhostile one-to be cleverer than your own ard. If one liked pork, one killed pigs, Copyright, 1917, by THE CENTURY CO. All rights reserved.

and there was an end of it. This indeli- Sir Thomas understood both his other bility of fact seemed to Geoffrey sublime, sons, Tom, who helped him with the but he never reached it. He continued to estate and kept hounds, and Billy, who like pork and to try to prevent pigs being was the fast one of the family. There killed. It was an attitude that made the had always been a fast Amberley. Billy whole of his family suspicious of him. spent too much money, drank too much Lady Amberley had a private theory that whisky, and liked driving unchaperoned Geoffrey was not so strong as the others, young ladies with big hats and uncertain and always urged him to take second help- hair upon the front seat of a four-in-hand. ings at meals; but Sir Thomas, with Sir Thomas knew there was no harm in sterner insight, felt that Geoffrey was Billy, but a son who neither kept hounds morally unsound.

nor caused scandals might be up to any “Mark my words,” he said to his wife, trick. with an unaccountable Aight of imagery, Sir Thomas did not understand his "one of these days Geoffrey will put his daughters, because it is not necessary to foot into it."

understand girls,--they get on all right It was at Oxford that his foot first pre- without it, – but he was very generous to sented itself as off the proper course. He them, and allowed each of them to keep a took a very good second, but he could no dog. longer keep it a secret that he knew suc- Now Geoffrey looked forward to his cessfully how to draw. A magazine actu- interview with his father for the first time ally took some of his illustrations.

in his life. Sir Thomas might not apThe Amberleys bore it extremely well prove of French prizes or Post-impressionfrom the moment they saw it was going ist art, but he would be quite certain to to pay, but they never liked it. There is

approve of Emily Dering. The whole all the difference in the world between a family approved of Emily. His mother peculiarity that takes things off your considered her a distinguished young woshoulders and a peculiarity that is likely man, and Lady Amberley did not easily to put them on; still, even the less nox- distinguish young women. She lumped ious kind of peculiarity is a peculiarity. them generally into two classes, the kind

Geoffrey's earnings took him to Paris, that are all right and nobody ever looks and kept him there for two years with at, and the kind that everybody looks at very little assistance from a belated al- and who are not very good for one's boys. lowance. Sir Thomas was n't stingy, but Emily, on the contrary, was both pleashe declined to see any necessity for Geof- ant to the eye and yet could be desired to frey's going to Paris when there were make one's boys wiser. Geoffrey's sisters plenty of subjects to draw in England. idolized her. She chose their Mudie

When he found that Geoffrey was books for them and lived in London, and really getting on, he gave him an extra yet when she came to stay with them she hundred a year. Geoffrey did n't need it walked miles and played an excellent then, and there had been earlier times game of tennis. She had had four hunwhen he had needed it; but he wrote a dred a year left her by her grandmother, suitable letter of thanks, and returned to and would be an heiress when her parents England a few months later with a pic- died. They were rather young and very ture that had won the much-coveted Sa- pleasant parents, and great personal friends lon prize.

of Sir Thomas and Lady Amberley's; Sir Thomas inspected his son's work in still, there was no harm in remembering London; he disliked it very much, but he that their death would set loose an indefiat once bought two of the least objection- nite supply of remarkably good investable and quietest pictures, and gave them ments. as wedding presents to his nieces. They The point that filled Geoffrey with surhad to have something.

prise as well as with delight was that he

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