The Card, a Story of Adventure in the Five Towns

  Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Carol David and PG Distributed Proofreaders

  WORKS BY ARNOLD BENNETT

  NOVELS

  A MAN FROM THE NORTHANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNSLEONORAA GREAT MANSACRED AND PROFANE LOVEWHOM GOD HATH JOINEDBURIED ALIVETHE OLD WIVES' TALETHE GLIMPSELILIANMR. PROHACKLORD RAINGOIMPERIAL PALACEHELEN WITH THE HIGH HANDTHE PRICE OF LOVECLAYHANGERHILDA LESSWAYSTHESE TWAINTHE ROLL CALLTHE CARDTHE REGENTTHE LION'S SHARETHE PRETTY LADYRICEYMAN STEPSTHE STRANGE VANGUARDACCIDENT

  FANTASIAS

  THE GRAND BABYLON HOTELTHE GATES OF WRATHTERESA OF WATLING STREETTHE LOOT OF CITIESHUGOTHE GHOSTTHE CITY OF PLEASURE

  SHORT STORIES

  THE NIGHT VISITORTALES OF THE FIVE TOWNSTHE MATADOR OF THE FIVE TOWNSTHE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNSELSIE AND THE CHILDTHE WOMAN WHO STOLE EVERYTHING

  BELLES-LETTRES

  JOURNALISM FOR WOMENFAME AND FICTIONHOW TO BECOME AN AUTHORTHE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHORMENTAL EFFICIENCYHOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAYTHE HUMAN MACHINELITERARY TASTETHE FEAST OF ST. FRIENDHOW TO MAKE THE BEST OF LIFETHE RELIGIOUS INTERREGNUMMARRIED LIFETHE AUTHOR'S CRAFTLIBERTYOVER THEREBOOKS AND PERSONSSELF AND SELF-MANAGEMENTTHINGS THAT HAVE INTERESTED METHINGS THAT HAVE INTERESTED ME (Second Series)THINGS THAT HAVE INTERESTED ME (Third Series)THE SAVIOUR OF LIFE

  DRAMA

  POLITE FARCESCUPID AND COMMON SENSEWHAT THE PUBLIC WANTSTHE HONEYMOONTHE LOVE MATCHDON JUANTHE GREAT ADVENTURETHE TITLEJUDITHSACRED AND PROFANE LOVEBODY AND SOULTHE BRIGHT ISLANDMR. PROHACK

  MISCELLANEOUS

  THEIR UNITED STATEPARIS NIGHTSOUR WOMENTHE LOG OF THE "VELSA"MEDITERRANEAN SCENES

  * * * * *

  (In Collaboration with EDEN PHILLPOTTS)

  THE SINEWS OF WAR: A ROMANCETHE STATUE: A ROMANCE

  (In Collaboration with EDWARD KNOBLOCK)

  MILESTONESLONDON LIFE

  THE CARD

  A STORY OF ADVENTUREIN THE FIVE TOWNS

  BY

  ARNOLD BENNETT

  _First Published (Crown 8vo), February 23rd, 1911_

  PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN

  CONTENTS

  I. THE DANCE 7

  II. THE WIDOW HULLINS'S HOUSE 27

  III. THE PANTECHNICON 48

  IV. WRECKING OF A LIFE 71

  V. THE MERCANTILE MARINE 89

  VI. HIS BURGLARY 112

  VII. THE RESCUER OF DAMES 132

  VIII. RAISING A WIGWAM 153

  IX. THE GREAT NEWSPAPER WAR 177

  X. HIS INFAMY 196

  XI. IN THE ALPS 218

  XII. THE SUPREME HONOUR 240

  THE CARD

  CHAPTER I

  THE DANCE

  I

  Edward Henry Machin first saw the smoke on the 27th May 1867, inBrougham Street, Bursley, the most ancient of the Five Towns. BroughamStreet runs down from St Luke's Square straight into the ShropshireUnion Canal, land consists partly of buildings known as "potbanks"(until they come to be sold by auction, when auctioneers describe themas "extensive earthenware manufactories") and partly of cottages whosehighest rent is four-and-six a week. In such surroundings was anextraordinary man born. He was the only anxiety of a widowed mother, whogained her livelihood and his by making up "ladies' own materials" inladies' own houses. Mrs Machin, however, had a speciality apart from hervocation: she could wash flannel with less shrinking than any otherwoman in the district, and she could wash fine lace without ruining it;thus often she came to sew and remained to wash. A somewhat gloomywoman; thin, with a tongue! But I liked her. She saved a certain amountof time every day by addressing her son as Denry, instead of EdwardHenry.

  Not intellectual, not industrious, Denry would have maintained theaverage dignity of labour on a potbank had he not at the age of twelvewon a scholarship from the Board School to the Endowed School. He owedhis triumph to audacity rather than learning, and to chance rather thandesign. On the second day of the examination he happened to arrive inthe examination-room ten minutes too soon for the afternoon sitting. Hewandered about the place exercising his curiosity, and reached themaster's desk. On the desk was a tabulated form with names of candidatesand the number of marks achieved by each in each subject of the previousday. He had done badly in geography, and saw seven marks against hisname, in the geographical column, out of a possible thirty. The figureshad been written in pencil. The pencil lay on the desk. He picked itup, glanced at the door and at the rows of empty desks, and a neat"_2_" in front of the _7_; then he strolled innocently forthand came back late. His trick ought to have been found out--the oddswere against him--but it was not found out. Of course it was dishonest.Yes, but I will not agree that Denry was uncommonly vicious. Everyschoolboy is dishonest, by the adult standard. If I knew an honestschoolboy I would begin to count my silver spoons as he grew up. All isfair between schoolboys and schoolmasters.

  This dazzling feat seemed to influence not only Denry's career but alsohis character. He gradually came to believe that he had won thescholarship by genuine merit, and that he was a remarkable boy anddestined to great ends. His new companions, whose mothers employedDenry's mother, also believed that he was a remarkable boy; but they didnot forget, in their gentlemanly way, to call him "washer-woman."Happily Denry did not mind.

  He had a thick skin, and fair hair and bright eyes and broad shoulders,and the jolly gaiety of his disposition developed daily. He did notshine at the school; he failed to fulfil the rosy promise of thescholarship; but he was not stupider than the majority; and his opinionof himself, having once risen, remained at "set fair." It wasinconceivable that he should work in clay with his hands.

  II

  When he was sixteen his mother, by operations [**words missing inoriginal] a yard and a half of Brussels point lace, put [**words missingin original] Emery under an obligation. Mrs Emery [**words missing inoriginal] the sister of Mr Duncalf. Mr Duncalf was town Clerk ofBursley, and a solicitor. It is well known that all bureaucracies arehoney-combed with intrigue. Denry Machin left school to be clerk to MrDuncalf, on the condition that within a year he should be able to writeshorthand at the rate of a hundred and fifty words a minute. In thosedays mediocre and incorrect shorthand was not a drug on the market. Hecomplied (more or less, and decidedly less than more) with thecondition. And for several years he really thought that he had nothingfurther to hope for. Then he met the Countess.

  The Countess of Chell was born of poor but picturesque parents, and shecould put her finger on her great-grandfather's grandfather. Her mothergained her livelihood and her daughter's by allowing herself to be seena great deal with humbler but richer people's daughters. The Countesswas brought up to matrimony. She was aimed and timed to hit a given markat a given moment. She succeeded. She married the Earl of Chell. Shealso married about twenty thousand acres in England, about a fifth ofScotland, a house in Piccadilly, seven country seats (including Sneyd),a steam yacht, and five hundred thousand pounds' worth of shares in theMidland Railway. She was young and pretty. She had travelled in Chinaand written a book about China. She sang at charity concerts and actedin private theatricals. She sketched from nature. She was one of thegreat hostesses of London. And she had not the slightest tendency tostoutness. All this did not satisfy her. She was ambitious! She wantedto be taken seriously. She wanted to enter into the life of the people.She saw in the quarter of a million souls that constitute the Five Townsa unique means to her end, an unrivalled toy. And she determined to beidentified with all that was most serious in the social progress of theFive Towns. Hence some fifteen thousand pounds were spent inrefurbishing Sneyd Hall, which lies on the edge of the Five Towns, andthe Earl and Countess passed four months of the year there. He
nce theEarl, a mild, retiring man, when invited by the Town Council to be theornamental Mayor of Bursley, accepted the invitation. Hence the Mayorand Mayoress gave an immense afternoon reception to practically theentire roll of burgesses. And hence, a little later, the Mayoress let itbe known that she meant to give a municipal ball. The news of the ballthrilled Bursley more than anything had thrilled Bursley since thesigning of Magna Charta. Nevertheless, balls had been offered byprevious mayoresses. One can only suppose that in Bursley there remainsa peculiar respect for land, railway stock, steam yachts, andgreat-grandfathers' grandfathers.

  Now, everybody of account had been asked to the reception. But everybodycould not be asked to the ball, because not more than two hundred peoplecould dance in the Town Hall. There were nearly thirty-five thousandinhabitants in Bursley, of whom quite two thousand "counted," eventhough they did not dance.

  III

  Three weeks and three days before the ball Denry Machin was seated oneMonday alone in Mr Duncalf's private offices in Duck Square (where hecarried on his practice as a solicitor), when in stepped a tall andpretty young woman, dressed very smartly but soberly in dark green. Onthe desk in front of Denry were several wide sheets of "abstract" paper,concealed by a copy of that morning's _Athletic News_. Before Denrycould even think of reversing the positions of the abstract paper andthe _Athletic News_ the young woman said "Good-morning!" in a veryfriendly style. She had a shrill voice and an efficient smile.

  "Good-morning, madam," said Denry.

  "Mr Duncalf in?" asked the young woman brightly.

  (Why should Denry have slipped off his stool? It is utterly againstetiquette for solicitors' clerks to slip off their stools whileanswering inquiries.)

  "No, madam; he's across at the Town Hall," said Denry.

  The young lady shook her head playfully, with a faint smile.

  "I've just been there," she said. "They said he was here."

  "I daresay I could find him, madam--if you would----"

  She now smiled broadly. "Conservative Club, I suppose?" she said, withan air deliciously confidential.

  He, too, smiled.

  "Oh, no," she said, after a little pause; "just tell him I've called."

  "Certainly, madam. Nothing I can do?"

  She was already turning away, but she turned back and scrutinised hisface, as Denry thought, roguishly.

  "You might just give him this list," she said, taking a paper from hersatchel and spreading it. She had come to the desk; their elbowstouched. "He isn't to take any notice of the crossings-out in red ink--you understand? Of course, I'm relying on him for the other lists, and Iexpect all the invitations to be out on Wednesday. Good-morning."

  She was gone. He sprang to the grimy window. Outside, in the snow, werea brougham, twin horses, twin men in yellow, and a little crowd ofyoungsters and oldsters. She flashed across the footpath, and vanished;the door of the carriage banged, one of the twins in yellow leaped up tohis brother, and the whole affair dashed dangerously away. The face ofthe leaping twin was familiar to Denry. The man had, indeed, onceinhabited Brougham Street, being known to the street as Jock, and hismother had for long years been a friend of Mrs Machin's.

  It was the first time Denry had seen the Countess, save at a distance.Assuredly she was finer even than her photographs. Entirely differentfrom what one would have expected! So easy to talk to! (Yet what had hesaid to her? Nothing--and everything.)

  He nodded his head and murmured, "No mistake about that lot!" Meaning,presumably, that all that one had read about the brilliance of thearistocracy was true, and more than true.

  "She's the finest woman that ever came into this town," he murmured.

  The truth was that she surpassed his dreams of womanhood. At two o'clockshe had been a name to him. At five minutes past two he was in love withher. He felt profoundly thankful that, for a church tea-meeting thatevening, he happened to be wearing his best clothes.

  It was while looking at her list of invitations to the ball that hefirst conceived the fantastic scheme of attending the ball himself. MrDuncalf was, fussily and deferentially, managing the machinery of theball for the Countess. He had prepared a little list of his own ofpeople who ought to be invited. Several aldermen had been requested todo the same. There were thus about half-a-dozen lists to be combinedinto one. Denry did the combining. Nothing was easier than to insert thename of E.H. Machin inconspicuously towards the centre of the list!Nothing was easier than to lose the original lists, inadvertently, sothat if a question arose as to any particular name, the responsibilityfor it could not be ascertained without inquiries too delicate to bemade. On Wednesday Denry received a lovely Bristol board, stating incopper-plate that the Countess desired the pleasure of his company atthe ball; and on Thursday his name was ticked off as one who hadaccepted.

  IV

  He had never been to a dance. He had no dress-suit, and no notion ofdancing.

  He was a strange, inconsequent mixture of courage and timidity. You andI are consistent in character; we are either one thing or the other butDenry Machin had no consistency.

  For three days he hesitated, and then, secretly trembling, he slippedinto Shillitoe's, the young tailor who had recently set up, and who wasgathering together the _jeunesse doree_ of the town.

  "I want a dress-suit," he said.

  Shillitoe, who knew that Denry only earned eighteen shillings a week,replied with only superficial politeness that a dress-suit was out ofthe question; he had already taken more orders than he could executewithout killing himself. The whole town had uprisen as one man anddemanded a dress-suit.

  "So you're going to the ball, are you?" said Shillitoe, trying tocondescend, but, in fact, slightly impressed.

  "Yes," said Denry; "are you?"

  Shillitoe started and then shook his head. "No time for balls," said he.

  "I can get you an invitation, if you like," said Denry, glancing at thedoor precisely as he had glanced at the door before adding 2 to 7.

  "Oh!" Shillitoe cocked his ears. He was not a native of the town, andhad no alderman to protect his legitimate interests.

  To cut a shameful story short, in a week Denry was being tried on.Shillitoe allowed him two years' credit.

  The prospect of the ball gave an immense impetus to the study of the artof dancing in Bursley, and so put quite a nice sum of money info thepocket of Miss Earp, a young mistress in that art. She was the daughterof a furniture dealer with a passion for the Bankruptcy Court. MissEarp's evening classes were attended by Denry, but none of his moneywent into her pocket. She was compensated by an expression of theCountess's desire for the pleasure of her company at the ball.

  The Countess had aroused Denry's interest in women as a sex; Ruth Earpquickened the interest. She was plain, but she was only twenty-four, andvery graceful on her feet. Denry had one or two strictly private lessonsfrom her in reversing. She said to him one evening, when he waspractising reversing and they were entwined in the attitude prescribedby the latest fashion: "Never mind me! Think about yourself. It's thesame in dancing as it is in life--the woman's duty is to adapt herselfto the man." He did think about himself. He was thinking about himselfin the middle of the night, and about her too. There had been somethingin her tone... her eye... At the final lesson he inquired if she wouldgive him the first waltz at the ball. She paused, then said yes.

  V

  On the evening of the ball, Denry spent at least two hours in theoperation which was necessary before he could give the Countess thepleasure of his company. This operation took place in his minute bedroomat the back of the cottage in Brougham Street, and it was of a complexnature. Three weeks ago he had innocently thought that you had only toorder a dress-suit and there you were! He now knew that a dress-suit ismerely the beginning of anxiety. Shirt! Collar! Tie! Studs! Cuff-links!Gloves! Handkerchief! (He was very glad to learn authoritatively fromShillitoe that handkerchiefs were no longer worn in the waistcoatopening, and that men who so wore them were barbarians and the truth wasnot in th
em. Thus, an everyday handkerchief would do.) Boots!... Bootswere the rock on which he had struck. Shillitoe, in addition to being atailor was a hosier, but by some flaw in the scheme of the universehosiers do not sell boots. Except boots, Denry could get all he neededon credit; boots he could not get on credit, and he could not pay cashfor them. Eventually he decided that his church boots must be dazzled upto the level of this great secular occasion. The pity was that heforgot--not that he was of a forgetful disposition in great matters; hewas simply over-excited--he forgot to dazzle them up until after he hadfairly put his collar on and his necktie in a bow. It is imprudent totouch blacking in a dress-shirt, so Denry had to undo the past and beginagain. This hurried him. He was not afraid of being late for the firstwaltz with Miss Ruth Earp, but he was afraid of not being out of thehouse before his mother returned. Mrs Machin had been making up a lady'sown materials all day, naturally--the day being what it was! If she hadhad twelve hands instead of two, she might have made up the ownmaterials of half-a-dozen ladies instead of one, and earned twenty-fourshillings instead of four. Denry did not want his mother to see him erehe departed. He had lavished an enormous amount of brains and energy tothe end of displaying himself in this refined and novel attire to thegaze of two hundred persons, and yet his secret wish was to deprive hismother of the beautiful spectacle.

  However, she slipped in, with her bag and her seamy fingers and herrather sardonic expression, at the very moment when Denry was putting onhis overcoat in the kitchen (there being insufficient room in thepassage). He did what he could to hide his shirt-front (though she knewall about it), and failed.

  "Bless us!" she exclaimed briefly, going to the fire to warm her hands.

  A harmless remark. But her tone seemed to strip bare the vanity of humangreatness.

  "I'm in a hurry," said Denry, importantly, as if he was going forth tosign a treaty involving the welfare of the nations.

  "Well," said she, "happen ye are, Denry. But th' kitchen table's noplace for boot-brushes."

  He had one piece of luck. It froze. Therefore no anxiety about thecondition of boots.

  VI

  The Countess was late; some trouble with a horse. Happily the Earl hadbeen in Bursley all day, and had dressed at the Conservative Club; andhis lordship had ordered that the programme of dances should be begun.Denry learned this as soon as he emerged, effulgent, from thegentlemen's cloak-room into the broad red-carpeted corridor which runsfrom end to end of the ground-floor of the Town Hall. Many importanttownspeople were chatting in the corridor--the innumerable Swetnamfamily, the Stanways, the great Etches, the Fearnses, Mrs ClaytonVernon, the Suttons, including Beatrice Sutton. Of course everybody knewhim for Duncalf's shorthand clerk and the son of the flannel-washer; butuniversal white kid gloves constitute a democracy, and Shillitoe couldput more style into a suit than any other tailor in the Five Towns.

  "How do?" the eldest of the Swetnam boys nodded carelessly.

  "How do, Swetnam?" said Denry, with equal carelessness.

  The thing was accomplished! That greeting was like a Masonic initiation,and henceforward he was the peer of no matter whom. At first he hadthought that four hundred eyes would be fastened on him, their glancesaying, "This youth is wearing a dress-suit for the first time, and itis not paid for, either!" But it was not so. And the reason was that theentire population of the Town Hall was heartily engaged in pretendingthat never in its life had it been seen after seven o'clock of a nightapart from a dress-suit. Denry observed with joy that, while numerousmiddle-aged and awkward men wore red or white silk handkerchiefs intheir waistcoats, such people as Charles Fearns, the Swetnams, andHarold Etches did not. He was, then, in the shyness of his handkerchief,on the side of the angels.

  He passed up the double staircase (decorated with white or pale frocksof unparalleled richness), and so into the grand hall. A scarletorchestra was on the platform, and many people strolled about the floorin attitudes of expectation. The walls were festooned with flowers. Thethrill of being magnificent seized him, and he was drenched in a vastdesire to be truly magnificent himself. He dreamt of magnificence andboot-brushes kept sticking out of this dream like black mud out of snow.In his reverie he looked about for Ruth Earp, but she was invisible.Then he went downstairs again, idly; gorgeously feigning that he spentsix evenings a week in ascending and descending monumental staircases,appropriately clad. He was determined to be as sublime as any one.

  There was a stir in the corridor, and the sublimest consented to beexcited.

  The Countess was announced to be imminent. Everybody was grouped roundthe main portal, careless of temperatures. Six times was the Countessannounced to be imminent before she actually appeared, expanding fromthe narrow gloom of her black carriage like a magic vision. Aldermenreceived her--and they did not do it with any excess of gracefulness.They seemed afraid of her, as though she was recovering from influenzaand they feared to catch it. She had precisely the same high voice, andprecisely the same efficient smile, as she had employed to Denry, andthese instruments worked marvels on aldermen; they were as melting assalt on snow. The Countess disappeared upstairs in a cloud of shrillapologies and trailing aldermen. She seemed to have greeted everybodyexcept Denry. Somehow he was relieved that she had not drawn attentionto him. He lingered, hesitating, and then he saw a being in a longyellow overcoat, with a bit of peacock's feather at the summit of ashiny high hat. This being held a lady's fur mantle. Their eyes met.Denry had to decide instantly. He decided.

  "Hello, Jock!" he said.

  "Hello, Denry!" said the other, pleased.

  "What's been happening?" Denry inquired, friendly.

  Then Jock told him about the antics of one of the Countess's horses.

  He went upstairs again, and met Ruth Earp coming down. She was gloriousin white. Except that nothing glittered in her hair, she looked the veryequal of the Countess, at a little distance, plain though her featureswere.

  "What about that waltz?" Denry began informally.

  "That waltz is nearly over," said Ruth Earp, with chilliness. "I supposeyou've been staring at her ladyship with all the other men."

  "I'm awfully sorry," he said. "I didn't know the waltz was----"

  "Well, why didn't you look at your programme?"

  "Haven't got one," he said naively.

  He had omitted to take a programme. Ninny! Barbarian!

  "Better get one," she said cuttingly, somewhat in her _role_ ofdancing mistress.

  "Can't we finish the waltz?" he suggested, crestfallen.

  "No!" she said, and continued her solitary way downwards.

  She was hurt. He tried to think of something to say that was equal tothe situation, and equal to the style of his suit. But he could not. Ina moment he heard her, below him, greeting some male acquaintance in themost effusive way.

  Yet, if Denry had not committed a wicked crime for her, she could neverhave come to the dance at all!

  He got a programme, and with terror gripping his heart he asked sundryyoung and middle-aged women whom he knew by sight and by name for adance. (Ruth had taught him how to ask.) Not one of them had a danceleft. Several looked at him as much as to say: "You must be a goose tosuppose that my programme is not filled up in the twinkling of my eye!"

  Then he joined a group of despisers of dancing near the main door.Harold Etches was there, the wealthiest manufacturer of his years(barely twenty-four) in the Five Towns. Also Shillitoe, cause of anotherof Denry's wicked crimes. The group was taciturn, critical, and verydoggish.

  The group observed that the Countess was not dancing. The Earl wasdancing (need it be said with Mrs Jos Curtenty, second wife of theDeputy Mayor?), but the Countess stood resolutely smiling, surrounded byaldermen. Possibly she was getting her breath; possibly nobody had hadthe pluck to ask her. Anyhow, she seemed to be stranded there, on abeach of aldermen. Very wisely she had brought with her no members of ahouse-party from Sneyd Hall. Members of a house-party, at a municipalball, invariably operate as a bar between greatness and dem
ocracy; andthe Countess desired to participate in the life of the people.

  "Why don't some of those johnnies ask her?" Denry burst out. He hadhitherto said nothing in the group, and he felt that he must be a manwith the rest of them.

  "Well, _you_ go and do it. It's a free country," said Shillitoe.

  "So I would, for two pins!" said Denry.

  Harold Etches glanced at him, apparently resentful of his presencethere. Harold Etches was determined to put the extinguisher on_him_.

  "I'll bet you a fiver you don't," said Etches scornfully.

  "I'll take you," said Denry, very quickly, and very quickly walked off.

  VII

  "She can't eat me. She can't eat me!"

  This was what he said to himself as he crossed the floor. People seemedto make a lane for him, divining his incredible intention. If he had notstarted at once, if his legs had not started of themselves, he wouldnever have started; and, not being in command of a fiver, he wouldafterwards have cut a preposterous figure in the group. But started hewas, like a piece of clockwork that could not be stopped! In the grandcrises of his life something not himself, something more powerful thanhimself, jumped up in him and forced him to do things. Now for the firsttime he seemed to understand what had occurred within him in previouscrises.

  In a second--so it appeared--he had reached the Countess. Just behindher was his employer, Mr Duncalf, whom Denry had not previously noticedthere. Denry regretted this, for he had never mentioned to Mr Duncalfthat he was coming to the ball, and he feared Mr Duncalf.

  "Could I have this dance with you?" he demanded bluntly, but smiling andshowing his teeth.

  No ceremonial title! No mention of "pleasure" or "honour." Not a traceof the formula in which Ruth Earp had instructed him! He forgot all suchtrivialities.

  "I've won that fiver, Mr Harold Etches," he said to himself.

  The mouths of aldermen inadvertently opened. Mr Duncalf blenched.

  "It's nearly over, isn't it?" said the Countess, still efficientlysmiling. She did not recognise Denry. In that suit he might have been aForeign Office attache.

  "Oh! that doesn't matter, I'm sure," said Denry.

  She yielded, and he took the paradisaical creature in his arms. It washer business that evening to be universally and inclusively polite. Shecould not have begun with a refusal. A refusal might have dried up allother invitations whatsoever. Besides, she saw that the aldermen wanteda lead. Besides, she was young, though a countess, and adored dancing.

  Thus they waltzed together, while the flower of Bursley's chivalry gazedin enchantment. The Countess's fan, depending from her arm, dangledagainst Denry's suit in a rather confusing fashion, which withdrew hisattention from his feet. He laid hold of it gingerly between twounemployed fingers. After that he managed fairly well. Once they cameperilously near the Earl and his partner; nothing else. And then thedance ended, exactly when Denry had begun to savour the astoundingspectacle of himself enclasping the Countess.

  The Countess had soon perceived that he was the merest boy.

  "You waltz quite nicely!" she said, like an aunt, but with more than anaunt's smile.

  "Do I?" he beamed. Then something compelled him to say: "Do you know,it's the first time I've ever waltzed in my life, except in a lesson,you know?"

  "Really!" she murmured. "You pick things up easily, I suppose?"

  "Yes," he said. "Do you?"

  Either the question or the tone sent the Countess off into carillons ofamusement. Everybody could see that Denry had made the Countess laughtremendously. It was on this note that the waltz finished. She was stilllaughing when he bowed to her (as taught by Ruth Earp). He could notcomprehend why she had so laughed, save on the supposition that he wasmore humorous than he had suspected. Anyhow, he laughed too, and theyparted laughing. He remembered that he had made a marked effect (thoughnot one of laughter) on the tailor by quickly returning the question,"Are you?" And his unpremeditated stroke with the Countess was similar.When he had got ten yards on his way towards Harold Etches and a fiverhe felt something in his hand. The Countess's fan was sticking betweenhis fingers. It had unhooked itself from her chain. He furtivelypocketed it.

  VIII

  "Just the same as dancing with any other woman!" He told this untruth inreply to a question from Shillitoe. It was the least he could do. Andany other young man in his place would have said as much or as little.

  "What was she laughing at?" somebody asked.

  "Ah!" said Denry, judiciously, "wouldn't you like to know?"

  "Here you are!" said Etches, with an inattentive, plutocratic gesturehanding over a five-pound note. He was one of those men who neverventure out of sight of a bank without a banknote in their pockets--"Because you never know what may turn up."

  Denry accepted the note with a silent nod. In some directions he wasgifted with astounding insight, and he could read in the faces of thehaughty males surrounding him that in the space of a few minutes he hadrisen from nonentity into renown. He had become a great man. He did notat once realise how great, how renowned. But he saw enough in those eyesto cause his heart to glow, and to rouse in his brain those ambitiousdreams which stirred him upon occasion. He left the group; he had needof motion, and also of that mental privacy which one may enjoy whilestrolling about on a crowded floor in the midst of a considerable noise.He noticed that the Countess was now dancing with an alderman, and thatthe alderman, by an oversight inexcusable in an alderman, was notwearing gloves. It was he, Denry, who had broken the ice, so that thealderman might plunge into the water. He first had danced with theCountess, and had rendered her up to the alderman with delicious gaietyupon her countenance. By instinct he knew Bursley, and he knew that hewould be talked of. He knew that, for a time at any rate, he woulddisplace even Jos Curtenty, that almost professional "card" and amuserof burgesses, in the popular imagination. It would not be: "Have yeheard Jos's latest?" It would be: "Have ye heard about young Machin,Duncalf's clerk?"

  Then he met Ruth Earp, strolling in the opposite direction with a younggirl, one of her pupils, of whom all he knew was that her name wasNellie, and that this was her first ball: a childish little thing with awistful face. He could not decide whether to look at Ruth or to avoidher glance. She settled the point by smiling at him in a manner thatcould not be ignored.

  "Are you going to make it up to me for that waltz you missed?" said RuthEarp. She pretended to be vexed and stern, but he knew that she was not."Or is your programme full?" she added.

  "I should like to," he said simply.

  "But perhaps you don't care to dance with us poor, ordinary people, nowyou've danced with the _Countess_!" she said, with a certain loftyand bitter pride.

  He perceived that his tone had lacked eagerness.

  "Don't talk like that," he said, as if hurt.

  "Well," she said, "you can have the supper dance."

  He took her programme to write on it.

  "Why," he said, "there's a name down here for the supper dance.'Herbert,' it looks like."

  "Oh!" she replied carelessly, "that's nothing. Cross it out."

  So he crossed Herbert out.

  "Why don't you ask Nellie here for a dance?" said Ruth Earp.

  And Nellie blushed. He gathered that the possible honour of dancing withthe supremely great man had surpassed Nellie's modest expectations.

  "Can I have the next one?" he said.

  "Oh, yes!" Nellie timidly whispered.

  "It's a polka, and you aren't very good at polking, you know," Ruthwarned him. "Still, Nellie will pull you through."

  Nellie laughed, in silver. The naive child thought that Ruth was tryingto joke at Denry's expense. Her very manifest joy and pride in beingseen with the unique Mr Machin, in being the next after the Countess todance with him, made another mirror in which Denry could discern thereflection of his vast importance.

  At the supper, which was worthy of the hospitable traditions of theChell family (though served standing-up in the police-court), he learntall t
he gossip of the dance from Ruth Earp; amongst other things thatmore than one young man had asked the Countess for a dance, and had beenrefused, though Ruth Earp for her part declined to believe that aldermenand councillors had utterly absorbed the Countess's programme. Ruthhinted that the Countess was keeping a second dance open for him, Denry.When she asked him squarely if he meant to request another from theCountess, he said no, positively. He knew when to let well alone, aknowledge which is more precious than a knowledge of geography. Thesupper was the summit of Denry's triumph. The best people spoke to himwithout being introduced. And lovely creatures mysteriously andintoxicatingly discovered that programmes which had been crammed twohours before were not, after all, quite full.

  "Do tell us what the Countess was laughing at?" This question was shotat him at least thirty times. He always said he would not tell. And onegirl who had danced with Mr Stanway, who had danced with the Countess,said that Mr Stanway had said that the Countess would not tell either.Proof, here, that he was being extensively talked about!

  Towards the end of the festivity the rumour floated abroad that theCountess had lost her fan. The rumour reached Denry, who maintained aculpable silence. But when all was over, and the Countess was departing,he rushed down after her, and, in a dramatic fashion which demonstratedhis genius for the effective, he caught her exactly as she was gettinginto her carriage.

  "I've just picked it up," he said, pushing through the crowd ofworshippers.

  "On! thank you so much!" she said. And the Earl also thanked Denry. Andthen the Countess, leaning from the carriage, said, with archness in herefficient smile: "You do pick things up easily, don't you?"

  And both Denry and the Countess laughed without restraint, and thepillars of Bursley society were mystified.

  Denry winked at Jock as the horses pawed away. And Jock winked back.

  The envied of all, Denry walked home, thinking violently. At a stroke hehad become possessed of more than he could earn from Duncalf in a month.The faces of the Countess, of Ruth Earp, and of the timid Nellie mingledin exquisite hallucinations before his tired eyes. He was inexpressiblyhappy. Trouble, however, awaited him.