The Crack of Doom Read online

  CHAPTER III.

  "IT IS GOOD TO BE ALIVE."

  Amongst the letters lying on my breakfast-table a few days after themeeting was one addressed in an unfamiliar hand. The writing was bold,and formed like a man's. There was a faint trace of a perfume about theenvelope which I remembered. I opened it first.

  It was, as I expected, from Miss Brande. Her brother had gone to theircountry place on the southern coast. She and her friend, Edith Metford,were going that day. Their luggage was already at the station. Would Isend on what I required for a short visit, and meet them at eleveno'clock on the bridge over the Serpentine? It was enough for me. Ipacked a large portmanteau hastily, sent it to Charing Cross, and spentthe time at my disposal in the park, which was close to my hotel.

  Although the invitation I had received gave me pleasure, I could notaltogether remove from my mind a vague sense of disquietude concerningHerbert Brande and his Society. The advanced opinions I had heard, ifextreme, were not altogether alarming. But the mysterious way in whichBrande himself had spoken about the Society, and the still moremysterious air which some of the members assumed when directlyquestioned as to its object, suggested much. Might it not be arevolutionary party engaged in a grave intrigue--a branch of someforeign body whose purpose was so dangerous that ordinary disguises werenot considered sufficiently secure? Might they not have adopted thejargon and pretended to the opinions of scientific faddists as a cloakfor designs more sinister and sincere? The experiment I witnessed mightbe almost a miracle or merely a trick. Thinking it over thus, I couldcome to no final opinion, and when I asked myself aloud, "What are youafraid of?" I could not answer my own question. But I thought I woulddefer joining the Society pending further information.

  A few minutes before eleven, I walked towards the bridge over theSerpentine. No ladies appeared to be on it. There were only a couple ofsmartly dressed youths there, one smoking a cigarette. I sauntered aboutuntil one of the lads, the one who was not smoking, looked up andbeckoned to me. I approached leisurely, for it struck me that the boywould have shown better breeding if he had come toward me, consideringmy seniority.

  "I am sorry I did not notice you sooner. Why did you not come on whenyou saw us?" the smallest and slimmest youth called to me.

  "In the name of--Miss--Miss--" I stammered.

  "Brande; you haven't forgotten my name, I hope," Natalie Brande saidcoolly. "This is my friend, Edith Metford. Metford, this is ArthurMarcel."

  "How do you do, Marcel? I am glad to meet you; I have heard 'favourablemention' of you from the Brandes," the second figure in knickerbockerssaid pleasantly.

  "How do you do, sir--madam--I mean--Miss--" I blundered, and then indespair I asked Miss Brande, "Is this a tableau vivant? What is themeaning of these disguises?" My embarrassment was so great that mydiscourteous question may be pardoned.

  "Our dress! Surely you have seen women rationally dressed before!" MissBrande answered complacently, while the other girl watched myastonishment with evident amusement.

  This second girl, Edith Metford, was a frank, handsome young woman, butunlike the spirituelle beauty of Natalie Brande. She was perceptiblytaller than her friend, and of fuller figure. In consequence, shelooked, in my opinion, to even less advantage in her eccentric costume,or rational dress, than did Miss Brande.

  "Rationally dressed! Oh, yes. I know the divided skirt, but--"

  Miss Metford interrupted me. "Do you call the divided skirt atrocityrational dress?" she asked pointedly.

  "Upon my honour I do not," I answered.

  These girls were too advanced in their ideas of dress for me. Nor did Ifeel at all at my ease during this conversation, which did not, however,appear to embarrass them. I proposed hastily to get a cab, but theydemurred. It was such a lovely day, they preferred to walk, part of theway at least. I pointed out that there might be drawbacks to thisamendment of my proposal.

  "What drawbacks?" Miss Metford asked.

  "For instance, isn't it probable we shall all be arrested by thepolice?" I replied.

  "Rubbish! We are not in Russia," both exclaimed.

  "Which is lucky for you," I reflected, as we commenced what was to me amost disagreeable walk. I got them into a cab sooner than they wished.At the railway station I did not offer to procure their tickets. To doso, I felt, would only give offence. Critical glances followed us as wewent to our carriage. Londoners are becoming accustomed to varieties, ifnot vagaries, in ladies' costumes, but the dress of my friends wasevidently a little out of the common even for them. Miss Metford wasjust turning the handle of a carriage door, when I interposed, saying,"This is a smoking compartment."

  "So I see. I am going to smoke--if you don't object?"

  "I don't suppose it would make any difference if I did," I said, withunconscious asperity, for indeed this excess of free manners was jarringupon me. The line dividing it from vulgarity was becoming so thin I waslosing sight of the divisor. Yet no one, even the most fastidious,could associate vulgarity with Natalie Brande. There remained an air ofunassumed sincerity about herself and all her actions, including evenher dress, which absolutely excluded her from hostile criticism. I couldnot, however, extend that lenient judgment to Miss Metford. The girlsspoke and acted--as they had dressed themselves--very much alike. Only,what seemed to me in the one a natural eccentricity, seemed in the otheran unnatural affectation.

  I saw the guard passing, and, calling him over, gave him half-a-crown tohave the compartment labelled, "Engaged."

  Miss Brande, who had been looking out of the window, absently asked myreason for this precaution. I replied that I wanted the compartmentreserved for ourselves. I certainly did not want any staring andotherwise offensive fellow-passengers.

  "We don't want all the seats," she persisted.

  "No," I admitted. "We don't want the extra seats. But I thought youmight like the privacy."

  "The desire for privacy is an archaic emotion," Miss Metford remarkedsententiously, as she struck a match.

  "Besides, it is so selfish. We may be crowding others," Miss Brande saidquietly.

  I was glad she did not smoke.

  "I don't want that now," I said to a porter who was hurrying up with alabel. To the girls I remarked a little snappishly, "Of course you arequite right. You must excuse my ignorance."

  "No, it is not ignorance," Miss Brande demurred. "You have been away somuch. You have hardly been in England, you told me, for years, and--"

  "And progress has been marching in my absence," I interrupted.

  "So it seems," Miss Metford remarked so significantly that I reallycould not help retorting with as much emphasis, compatible withpoliteness, as I could command:

  "You see I am therefore unable to appreciate the New Woman, of whom Ihave heard so much since I came home."

  "The conventional New Woman is a grandmotherly old fossil," Miss Metfordsaid quietly.

  This disposed of me. I leant back in my seat, and was rigidly silent.

  Miles of green fields stippled with daisies and bordered with longlines of white and red hawthorn hedges flew past. The smell of new-mownhay filled the carriage with its sweet perfume, redolent of oldassociations. My long absence dwindled to a short holiday. The world'swide highways were far off. I was back in the English fields. My slightannoyance passed away. I fell into a pleasant day-dream, which wasbroken by a soft voice, every undulation of which I already knew byheart.

  "I am afraid you think us very advanced," it murmured.

  "Very," I agreed, "but I look to you to bring even me up to date."

  "Oh, yes, we mean to do that, but we must proceed very gradually."

  "You have made an excellent start," I put in.

  "Otherwise you would only be shocked."

  "It is quite possible." I said this with so much conviction that the twoburst out laughing at me. I could not think of anything more to add, andI felt relieved when, with a warning shriek, the train dashed into atunnel. By the time we had emerged again into the sunlight and thesolitude o
f the open landscape I had ready an impromptu which I hadbeen working at in the darkness. I looked straight at Miss Metford andsaid:

  "After all, it is very pleasant to travel with girls like you."

  "Thank you!"

  "You did not show any hysterical fear of my kissing you in the tunnel."

  "Why the deuce would you do that?" Miss Metford replied with greatcomposure, as she blew a smoke ring.

  When we reached our destination I braced myself for another disagreeableminute or two. For if the great Londoners thought us quaint, surely thelittle country station idlers would swear we were demented. We crossedthe platform so quickly that the wonderment we created soon passed. Ourluggage was looked after by a servant, to whose care I confided it witha very brief description. The loss of an item of it did not seem to meof as much importance as our own immediate departure.

  Brande met us at his hall door. His house was a pleasant one, coveredwith flowering creeping plants, and surrounded by miniature forests. Infront there was a lake four hundred yards in width. Close-shaven lawnsbordered it. They were artificial products, no doubt, but they wereartificial successes--undulating, earth-scented, fresh rolled everymorning. Here there was an isolated shrub, there a thick bank ofrhododendrons. And the buds, bursting into floral carnival, promisedfine contrasts when their full splendour was come. The lake waveletstinkled musically on a pebbly beach.

  Our host could not entertain us in person. He was busy. The plea wasevidently sincere, notwithstanding that the business of a countrygentleman--which he now seemed to be--is something less exacting thanbusy people's leisure. After a short rest, and an admirably-servedlunch, we were dismissed to the woods for our better amusement.

  Thereafter followed for me a strangely peaceful, idyllic day--all saveits ending. Looking back on it, I know that the sun which set thatevening went down on the last of my happiness. But it all seems trivialnow.

  My companions were accomplished botanists, and here, for the first time,I found myself on common ground with both. We discussed every familiarwild flower as eagerly as if we had been professed field naturalists. Inwalking or climbing my assistance was neither requisitioned norrequired. I did not offer, therefore, what must have been unwelcome whenit was superfluous.

  We rested at last under the shade of a big beech, for the afternoon sunwas rather oppressive. It was a pleasant spot to while away an hour. Apurling brook went babbling by, singing to itself as it journeyed to thesea. Insects droned about in busy flight. There was a perfume ofhoneysuckle wafted to us on the summer wind, which stirred thebeech-tree and rustled its young leaves lazily, so that the sunlightpeeped through the green lattice-work and shone on the faces of thesetwo handsome girls, stretched in graceful postures on the cool swardbelow--their white teeth sparkling in its brilliance, while their softlaughter made music for me. In the fulness of my heart, I said aloud:

  "It is a good thing to be alive."