Part 44 (1/2)

As she said the last words she felt deeply conscious of her feminine intelligence, of that delicate ingenuity peculiar to women, unattainable by man.

”No, Charmian, of course not. So you think I've been pouring into a very short channel?”

”Don't you?”

”I'm afraid I've never thought about it.”

”I know. It wants another to do that, I think.”

”Very likely.”

”You care for strange things. One can see that by your choice of words.

But there are strange and wonderful words not in the Bible. The other day I was looking into Rossetti's poems. I read _Staff and Scrip_ again and _Sister Helen_. There are marvellous pa.s.sages in both of those. I wish sometimes you'd let me come in here, when you're done working, and make tea for you, and just read aloud to you anything interesting I come across.”

That was the beginning of a new connection between husband and wife, the beginning also of a new epoch in Claude's life as a composer.

When they left the studio that night he had agreed to Charmian's proposal that she should spend some of her spare time in looking out words that might be suitable for a musical setting, ”in your peculiar vein,” as she said. By doing this he had abandoned his complete liberty as a creator. So at least he felt. Yet he also felt unable to refuse his wife's request. To do so, after all her beneficent energies employed on his behalf, would be churlish. He might have tried to explain that the something within him which was really valuable could not brook bridle or spur, that unless it were left to range where it would in untrammelled liberty, it was worth very little to the world. He knew this. But a man may deny his knowledge even to himself, deny it persistently through long periods of time. And there was the weakness in Claude which instinctively wished to give to others what they expected of him, or strongly desired from him. On that evening in the studio Charmian's definiteness gained a point for her. She was encouraged by this fact to become more definite.

They were in Kensington by ten o'clock that night. Charmian was in high spirits. A strong hope was dawning in her. Already she felt almost like a collaborator with Claude.

”Don't let us go to bed!” she exclaimed. ”Let us dress and go to Adelaide s.h.i.+ffney's.”

”Very well,” replied Claude. ”By the way, what were you going to tell me about her?”

”Oh, nothing!” she said.

And they went up to dress.

There was a crowd in Grosvenor Square. A good many people were still abroad, but there were enough in London to fill Mrs. s.h.i.+ffney's drawing-rooms. And notorieties, beauties, and those mysterious n.o.bodies who ”go everywhere” until they almost succeed in becoming somebodies, were to be seen on every side. Charmian perceived at once that this was one of Adelaide's non-exclusive parties. Mrs. s.h.i.+ffney seldom entertained on a very large scale.

”One bore, or one frump, can ruin a party,” was a favorite saying of hers. But even she, now and then, condescended to ”clear people off.”

Charmian realized that Adelaide was making a clearance to-night.

Since her marriage with Claude she had not been invited to No. 14 B--Mrs. s.h.i.+ffney's number in the Square--before.

As she came in to the first drawing-room and looked quickly round she thought:

”She is clearing off me and Claude.”

And for a moment she wished they had not come. Her old horror of being numbered with the great crowd of the undistinguished came upon her once more. Then she thought of the conversation in the studio, and she hardened herself in resolve.

”He shall be famous. I will make him famous, whether he wishes it, cares for it, or not.”

Mrs. s.h.i.+ffney was not standing close to the first door to ”receive”

solemnly. She could not ”be bothered” to do that. The Heaths presently came upon her, looking very large and Roman, in the middle of the second drawing-room.

In the room just beyond a small orchestra was playing. This was a sure sign of a ”clearance” party. Mrs. s.h.i.+ffney never had an orchestra playing alone, and steadily, through an evening unless bores and frumps were present. ”Hungarians in distress” she called these uniformed musicians, ”trying to help bores in distress and failing inevitably.”

She held out her hand to Charmian with a faintly ironic smile.