the dark flower-第32部分

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〃So　it's　YOUR　kitten？〃

〃Yes；　she　goes　to　everybody。　　Do　you　like　Persians？　　She's　all　fur
really。　　Feel！〃

Entering　with　his　fingers　the　recesses　of　the　kitten；　he　said：

〃Cats　without　fur　are　queer。〃

〃Have　you　seen　one　without　fur？〃

〃Oh；　yes！　　In　my　profession　we　have　to　go　below　furI'm　a
sculptor。〃

〃That　must　be　awfully　interesting。〃

What　a　woman　of　the　world！　　But　what　a　child；　too！　　And　now　he
could　see　that　the　face　in　the　sepia　drawing　was　older　altogether
lips　not　so　full；　look　not　so　innocent；　cheeks　not　so　round；　and
something　sad　and　desperate　about　ita　face　that　life　had　rudely
touched。　　But　the　same　eyes　it　hadand　what　charm；　for　all　its
disillusionment；　its　air　of　a　history！　　Then　he　noticed；　fastened
to　the　frame；　on　a　thin　rod；　a　dust…coloured　curtain；　drawn　to　one
side。　　The　self…possessed　young　voice　was　saying：

〃Would　you　mind　if　I　showed　you　my　drawings？　　It　would　be　awfully
good　of　you。　　You　could　tell　me　about　them。〃　　And　with　dismay　he
saw　her　open　a　portfolio。　　While　he　scrutinized　those　schoolgirl
drawings；　he　could　feel　her　looking　at　him；　as　animals　do　when　they
are　making　up　their　minds　whether　or　no　to　like　you；　then　she　came
and　stood　so　close　that　her　arm　pressed　his。　　He　redoubled　his
efforts　to　find　something　good　about　the　drawings。　　But　in　truth
there　was　nothing　good。　　And　if；　in　other　matters；　he　could　lie
well　enough　to　save　people's　feelings；　where　Art　was　concerned　he
never　could；　so　he　merely　said：

〃You　haven't　been　taught；　you　see。〃

〃Will　you　teach　me？〃

But　before　he　could　answer；　she　was　already　effacing　that　naive
question　in　her　most　grown…up　manner。

〃Of　course　I　oughtn't　to　ask。　　It　would　bore　you　awfully。〃

After　that　he　vaguely　remembered　Dromore's　asking　if　he　ever　rode
in　the　Row；　and　those　eyes　of　hers　following　him　about；　and　her
hand　giving　his　another　childish　squeeze。　　Then　he　was　on　his　way
again　down　the　dimly…lighted　stairs；　past　an　interminable　array　of
Vanity　Fair　cartoons；　out　into　the　east　wind。


III


Crossing　the　Green　Park　on　his　way　home；　was　he　more；　or　less；
restless？　　Difficult　to　say。　　A　little　flattered；　certainly；　a
little　warmed；　yet　irritated；　as　always　when　he　came　into　contact
with　people　to　whom　the　world　of　Art　was　such　an　amusing　unreality。
The　notion　of　trying　to　show　that　child　how　to　drawthat　feather…
pate；　with　her　riding　and　her　kitten；　and　her　'Perdita'　eyes！
Quaint；　how　she　had　at　once　made　friends　with　him！　　He　was　a　little
different；　perhaps；　from　what　she　was　accustomed　to。　　And　how
daintily　she　spoke！　　A　strange；　attractive；　almost　lovely　child！
Certainly　not　more　than　seventeenandJohnny　Dromore's　daughter！

The　wind　was　bitter；　the　lamps　bright　among　the　naked　trees。
Beautiful　alwaysLondon　at　night；　even　in　January；　even　in　an　east
wind；　with　a　beauty　he　never　tired　of。　　Its　great；　dark；　chiselled
shapes；　its　gleaming　lights；　like　droves　of　flying　stars　come　to
earth；　and　all　warmed　by　the　beat　and　stir　of　innumerable　lives
those　lives　that　he　ached　so　to　know　and　to　be　part　of。

He　told　Sylvia　of　his　encounter。　　Dromore！　　The　name　struck　her。
She　had　an　old　Irish　song；　'The　Castle　of　Dromore；'　with　a　queer；
haunting　refrain。

It　froze　hard　all　the　week；　and　he　began　a　life…size　group　of　their
two　sheep…dogs。　　Then　a　thaw　set　in　with　that　first　south…west
wind；　which　brings　each　February　a　feeling　of　Spring　such　as　is
never　again　recaptured；　and　men's　senses；　like　sleepy　bees　in　the
sun；　go　roving。　　It　awakened　in　him　more　violently　than　ever　the
thirst　to　be　living；　knowing；　lovingthe　craving　for　something
new。　　Not　this；　of　course；　took　him　back　to　Dromore's　rooms；　oh；
no！　just　friendliness；　since　he　had　not　even　told　his　old　room…mate
where　he　lived；　or　said　that　his　wife　would　be　glad　to　make　his
acquaintance；　if　he　cared　to　come　round。　　For　Johnny　Dromore　had
assuredly　not　seemed　too　happy；　under　all　his　hard…bitten　air。
Yes！　it　was　but　friendly　to　go　again。

Dromore　was　seated　in　his　long　arm…chair；　a　cigar　between　his　lips；
a　pencil　in　his　hand；　a　Ruff's　Guide　on　his　knee；　beside　him　was　a
large　green　book。　　There　was　a　festive　air　about　him；　very
different　from　his　spasmodic　gloom　of　the　other　day；　and　he
murmured　without　rising：

〃Halo；　old　man！glad　to　see　you。　　Take　a　pew。　　Look　here！
Agapemonewhich　d'you　think　I　ought　to　put　her　toSan　Diavolo　or
Ponte　Canet？not　more　than　four　crosses　of　St。　Paul。　　Goin'　to　get
a　real　good　one　from　her　this　time！〃

He；　who　had　never　heard　these　sainted　names；　answered：

〃Oh！　Ponte　Canet；　without　doubt。　　But　if　you're　working　I'll　come
in　another　time。〃

〃Lord！　no！　　Have　a　smoke。　　I'll　just　finish　lookin'　out　their
bloodand　take　a　pull。〃

And　so　Lennan　sat　down　to　watch　those　researches；　wreathed　in　cigar
smoke　and　punctuated　by　muttered　expletives。　　They　were　as　sacred
and　absorbing；　no　doubt；　as　his　own　efforts　to　create　in　clay；　for
before　Dromore's　inner　vision　was　the　perfect　racehorsehe；　too；
was　creating。　　Here　was　no　mere　dodge　for　making　money；　but　a
process　hallowed　by　the　peculiar　sensation　felt　when　one　rubbed　the
palms　of　the　hands　together；　the　sensation　that　accompanied　all
creative　achievement。　　Once　only　Dromore　paused　to　turn　his　head
and　say：

〃Bally　hard；　gettin'　a　taproot　right！〃

Real　Art！　　How　well　an　artist　knew　that　desperate　search　after　the
point　of　balance；　the　central　rivet　that　must　be　found　before　a
form　would　come　to　life。　。　。　。　　And　he　noted　that　to…day　there　was
no　kitten；　no　flowers；　no　sense　at　all　of　an　extraneous　presence
even　the　picture　was　curtained。　　Had　the　girl　been　just　a　dreama
fancy　conjured　up　by　his　craving　after　youth？

Then　he　saw　that　Dromore　had　dropped　the　large　green　book；　and　was
standing　before　the　fire。

〃Nell　took　to　you　the　other　day。　　But　you　always　were　a　lady's　man。
Remember　the　girl　at　Coaster's？〃

Coaster's　tea…shop；　where　he　would　go　every　afternoon　that　he　had
money；　just　for　the　pleasure　of　looking　shyly　at　a　face。　　Something
beautiful　to　look　atnothing　more！　　Johnny　Dromore　would　no　better
understand　that　now　than　when　they　were　at　'Bambury's。'　　Not　the
smallest　good　even　trying　to　explain！　　He　looked　up　at　the　goggling
eyes；　he　heard　the　bantering　voice：

〃I　sayyou　ARE　goin'　grey。　　We're　bally　old；　Lenny！　　A　fellow　gets
old　when　he　marries。〃

And　he　answered：

〃By　the　way；　I　never　knew　that　YOU　had　been。〃

From　Dromore's　face　the　chaffing　look　went；　like　a　candle…flame
blown　out；　and　a　coppery　flush　spread　over　it。　　For　some　seconds　he
did　not　speak；　then；　jerking　his　head　towards　the　picture；　he
muttered　gruffly：

〃Never　had　the　chance　of　marrying；　there；　Nell's　'outside。'〃

A　sort　of　anger　leaped　in　Lennan；　why　should　Dromore　speak　that
word　as　if　he　were　ashamed　of　his　own　daughter？　　Just　like　his
sortnone　so　hidebound　as　men…about…town！　　Flotsam　on　the　tide　of
other　men's　opinions；　poor　devils　adrift；　without　the　one　true
anchorage　of　their　own　real　feelings！　　And　doubtful　whether　Dromore
would　be　pleased；　or　think　him　gushing；　or　even　distrustful　of　his
morality；　he　said：

〃As　for　that；　it　would　only　make　any　decent　man　or　woman　nicer　to
her。　　When　is　she　going　to　let　me　teach　her　drawing？〃

Dromore　crossed　the　room；　drew　back　the　curtain　of　the　picture；　and
in　a　muffled　voice；　said：

〃My　God；　Lenny！　　Life's　unfair。　　Nell's　coming　killed　her　mother。
I'd　rather　it　had　been　mebar　chaff！　　Women　have　no　luck。〃

Lennan　got　up　from　his　comfortable　chair。　　For；　startled　out　of　the
past；　the　memory　of　that　summer　night；　when　yet　another　woman　had
no　luck；　was　flooding　his　heart　with　its　black；　inextinguishable
grief。　　He　said　quietly：

〃The　past　IS　past；　old　man。〃

Dromore　drew　the　curtain　again　across　the　picture；　and　came　back　to
the　fire。　　And　for　a　full　minute　he　stared　into　it。

〃What　am　I　to　do　with　Nell？　　She's　growing　up。〃

〃What　have　you　done　with　her　so　far？〃

〃She's　been　at　school。　　In　the　summer　she　goes　to　IrelandI've　got
a　bit　of　an　old　place　there。　　She'll　be　eighteen　in　July。　　I　shall
have　to　introduce　her　to　women；　and　all　that。　　It's　the　devil！
How？　　Who？〃

Lennan　could　only　murmur：　〃My　wife；　for　one。〃

He　took　his　leave　soon　after。　　Johnny　Dromore！　　Bizarre　guardian
for　that　child！　　Queer　life　she　must　have　of　it；　in　that　bachelor's
den；　surrounded　by　Ruff's　Guides！　　What　would　become　of　her？
Caught　up　by　some　young　spark　about　town；　married　to　him；　no　doubt
her　father　would　see　to　the　thoroughness　of　that；　his　standard　of
respectability　was　evidently　high！　　And　aftergo　the　way；　maybe；
of　her　motherthat　poor　thing　in　the　picture　with　the　alluring；
desperate　face。　　Well！　　It　was　no　business　of　his！


IV


No　business　of　his！　　The　merest　sense　of　comradeship；　then；　took
him　once　more　to　Dromore's　after　that　disclosure；　to　prove　that　the
word　'outside'　had　no　significance　save　in　his　friend's　own　fancy；
to　assure　him　again　that　Sylvia　would　be　very　glad　to　welcome　the
child　at　any　time　she　liked　to　come。

When　he　had　told　her　of　that　little　matter　of　Nell's　birth；　she　had
been　silent　a　long　minute；　looking　in　his　face；　and　then　had　said：
〃Poor　child！　　I　wonder　if　SHE　knows！　　People　are　so　unkind；　even
nowadays！〃　　He　could　not　himself　think　of　anyone　who　would　pay
attention　to　such　a　thing；　except　to　be　kinder　to　the　girl；　but　in
such　matters　Sylvia　was　the　better　judge；　in　closer　touch　with
general　thought。　　She　met　people　that　he　did　notand　of　a　more
normal　species。

It　was　rather　late　when　he　got　to　Dromore's　diggings　on　that　third
visit。

〃Mr。　Dromore；　sir；〃　the　man　saidhe　had　one　of　those　strictly
confidential　faces　bestowed　by　an　all…wise　Providence　on　servants
in　the　neighbourhood　of　Piccadilly〃Mr。　Dromore；　sir；　is　not　in。
But　he　will　be　almost　sure　to　be　in　to　dress。　　Miss　Nell　is　in；
sir。〃

And　there　she　was；　sitting　at　the　table；　pasting　photographs　into
an　albumlonely　young　creature　in　that　abode　of　male　middle…age！
Lennan　stood；　unheard；　gazing　at　the　back　of　her　head；　with　its
thick　crinkly…brown　hair　tied　back　on　her　dark…red　frock。　　And；　to
the　confidential　man's　soft：

〃Mr。　Lennan；　miss；〃　he　added　a　softer：　〃May　I　come　in？〃

She　put　her　hand　into　his　with　intense　compos