ld was greatly surprised, for he had seen and heard nothing that
failed to appeal to the artistic and elevated side of life, and Pauline
threw additional vigour and life into her representation of the
autocratic Duchess, half-acted, half-sung, as she observed her latest
captive; new chains were being forged by the unexpected grandeur and
beauty of her thrilling voice and all went breathlessly and well until
the door at the end of the room opened and a startling figure appeared.
This was Edmund Crabbe--but no longer Crabbe the guide, the dilatory
postmaster, the drunken loafer; in his stead appeared Crabbe Hawtree,
Esquire, the gentleman and "Oxford man," in his right mind and
clothed--_mirabile dictu_--in full and correct evening dress.
Piccadilly and Pall Mall need not have been ashamed of him; the
regulation coat, waistcoat and trousers were there, a little worn, but
still in fashion; the white tie was there, the stiff collar and cuffs,
the patent leather pumps, even a white silk handkerchief tucked inside
the waistcoat, and some kind of sprig in the buttonhole. He paused,
carefully shutting the door behind him, and stood while Pauline
finished her song; at its conclusion he walked up through the rows of
village people--shanty and mill hands, habitants and farmers--and
presented the artist with a handsome bunch of florist's roses, quite in
the accepted style of large cities, and her surprise was evident. She
started, stared at him, faltered, and might have spoken but for the
impassive and nonchalant air with which he faced her. As for
Ringfield, a great anger and distress filled his mind. What spasm of
reform had animated this fallen, worthless creature to create an
impression which could not, in the nature of things, lead to systematic
rehabilitation? To ape the garb of worthy men, to stand thus, tricked
out in the dress of a remote civilization from which he had thrust
himself forever, before the woman he perhaps had wronged, and with so
easy and disdainful a bearing, seemed to Ringfield the summit of
senseless folly and contemptible weakness. Subjected during the rest
of the evening to the cynical, amused and imperturbable gaze of this
man, whom, in spite of his Christianity, he hated, Ringfield made but a
sorry chairman. His French stuck in his throat; he cast dark and angry
looks at the noisy flirtation going on between Poussette and Miss
Cordova, and it was with relief that he heard the patriotic strains of