Part 33 (1/2)

As the days pa.s.sed away Gervase grew terribly impatient. He was hard up.

”Horribly, disgustingly hard up,” as he told his father, and here were Madeline's thousands or millions steadily acc.u.mulating, and n.o.body the better for it. If he could once get the knot tied he would be safe. She had so much that she could let him have all he wanted without feeling it, and there seemed no reason in the world why he should not begin to enjoy himself without delay.

Madeline listened in the main with much patience to his appeals and protestations, but for some reason she could not understand, they failed to move her. He never touched the heroic side of her nature. His appeal was always to her vanity and selfishness. His pictures of happiness were merely pictures of self-indulgence. The aim and end of life as he shadowed it forth was ”to take thy ease, eat, drink, and be merry.” A town house, a shooting-box in Scotland. Two or three motor-cars, a steam yacht, and an endless round between times of b.a.l.l.s and calls and grand operas.

She frankly owned to herself that her idol had been taken off its pedestal, and there was no longer any halo about his head. To live in the same house with Gervase day after day was distinctly disquieting.

His civilian attire made him look painfully common-place, his conversation was as common-place as his appearance.

She asked him one day why he did not wear his captain's uniform.

”Because I have resigned my commission,” he answered.

”Resigned your commission?” she questioned, slowly.

”Why not?” he replied. ”I have done my share of roughing it, surely.”

”But--but--oh! I don't know. I had an idea once an officer, always an officer.”

”Oh, nothing of the sort,” he laughed, ”I've given up soldiering to devote myself to you. Isn't that a much n.o.bler occupation?”

”I don't think so,” she answered, slowly. ”Besides, I did not want you to give up your commission to devote yourself to me.”

”At any rate, I've done it. I thought it would please you. It will show you, at any rate, how devoted I am. There is nothing I would not give up for your sake, and I never thought you would hesitate to speak the one word that would make me the happiest man in the world.”

”But you could not be happy unless I was happy also?” she interrogated.

”But you would be happy. I should just lay myself out to make you as happy as a bird. By my soul, you would have a ripping time!”

”I don't think that is just what I want,” she said, abstractedly. ”Don't you think there is something greater in life than either of us have yet seen?”

He looked at her with as much astonishment in his eyes as if she had proposed suicide. ”Greater,” he said, in a tone of incredulity. ”Well, I'm--I'm--. The truth is, Madeline, you're beyond me,” he added, twisting suddenly round, and back again. ”As if there could be anything greater. We might have a turn at Monte Carlo if you liked, or Homburg in the season, or--but the fact is, we might go anywhere. Think of it! You can't conceive of anything greater!”

”Oh, yes! I can,” she answered quietly, but firmly. ”There's nothing n.o.ble or heroic in living merely for self and pleasure.”

”n.o.ble! heroic!” he repeated, slowly, as if not quite comprehending.

”Well, now, I wonder what preaching fool has been putting these silly notions into your head. Have you turned Methodist?”

”I don't know why you call such notions silly,” she said, ignoring his last question. ”Did not Christ say that a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things he possesseth?”

”Oh! well, I'm not going to say anything against that as an abstract thing,” he said. ”But the Bible must not be taken too literally, you know.”

”What do you mean by that?”

”Why, I mean what I say, and what every man, if he's got any sense, means. Religion is a very respectable thing, and all that. And I think everybody ought to go to church now and then and take communion, and be confirmed when he's young, and all that. And if people are very poor there must be a lot of comfort in believing in Providence, don't you see, and in living in hope that they'll have a jolly good time later on, and all that, don't you see. But as for making oneself miserable for other people, and denying oneself that somebody else may have a better time, and turning the other cheek, and all that, don't you see--well, that's just rot, and can't be done.”

”Why not?”

”Why not? Well, it's just too silly for words. Fancy a man or a woman not having a good time if he has the chance.”

”But it may be more blessed to give than to receive.”