The House of a Thousand Lanterns

I

It was like being born into a new world of discovery. I began to realize how young I had been, how inexperienced. It was an intoxicating existence. “I had been so unworldly before. Life was not all that I had believed it to be. I suppose my parents had lived an ideal married life; they were serene in their happiness, simple one might say. Joliffe was never that.

He was the most exciting person I had ever known and if he had been as easy to understand as my parents, could he have fascinated me so? As I emerged from the ecstatic dream which our honeymoon was I began to see how little I knew of the world, what a simpleton I had been. Everything before had been so clear cut—the good, the bad, the right, the wrong. Now they were merging into each other. Something which I might have condemned before, I discovered was a little risky, but amusing. The greatest quality seemed to be an ability to amuse.

Joliffe was passionate and tender, delighted to initiate me into a way of life which I had never known existed before. My innocence he found delightful, “amusing” in fact. But at the same time I knew that it would not continue to amuse. It was something I had to grow out of.

We spent the first night of our honeymoon in a country hotel, with Tudor architecture—oak beams, and floors which sloped, of the Queen-Elizabeth-Slept-Here variety. There were old tennis courts—the Tudor kind where Henry VIII was said to have played; and in the evening after dinner we strolled into the old Tudor garden with its winter heath, jasmine and yellow chrysanthemums.

I was living in a dream then; there was Joliffe my new husband at whom I had already noticed women turned to look, and he had eyes for me only, which made me feel proud and humble all at once.

So that first night together was spent in the ancient bedroom with the tiny leaded paned windows through which shafts of moonlight touched the room with a dreamlike radiance, and it was Joliffe’s delight to lead me to understanding. When he slept for I could not, I watched his sleeping face while the moonlight threw shadows over it and it seemed then that it changed and put lines where there were none and it was as though I saw Joliffe as he would be twenty years hence and I told myself passionately I will love him then even as I do now.

He awoke and I told him this and we were solemn talking of our love. And strangely enough—as though some premonition of disaster had cast a sudden shadow—I assured myself that whatever happened in the future nothing could spoil the magic of this night.

That was only the beginning of our honeymoon. It must be spent in style, as I discovered everything must be with Joliffe. We were to go to Paris, a city he dearly loved. “All honeymoons,” he declared, “should be spent in Paris.”

We went by train to Dover and crossed the Channel in a mild swell and took the boat train from Calais to the French capital.

“The first thing we must do is get you some clothes,” said Joliffe. “I have friends in Paris. I can’t introduce my little country mouse to them.”

Little country mouse! I was indignant. He laughed at me. He took off my hat—one which I had thought greatly daring with its little emerald green feather on black satin and its green velvet ribbons tied under my chin. He grimaced at it. “All very well for walks in the forest but hardly suited to the Champs-Elysées, my darling.”

And my gown of dark green merino with the velvet collar which mother and I had thought the height of good taste was just a little too homely, he said.

I was hurt but my spirits rose as we went to the little shops and new clothes were bought for me. I had a gown with a little cape of black and white and a black hat which was scarcely a hat for it was just a twist of black net with a huge white bow in it.

“It won’t be of the least use,” I declared.

“My darling Jane will learn that the last thing that is expected of a hat is that it should be useful. Piquant, elegant, decorative, yes. Useful never.”

“How can you know so much about women’s clothes?” I demanded.

“Only one woman’s. And I know about hers because she is my wife and I adore her.”

I had a gown for evening which was daring, I thought. Joliffe said it was just right. It was white satin and he gave me a jade brooch set in diamonds to wear with it. When I put it on I was startled by my reflection. I was indeed a different person.

During those two weeks in Paris I was in turns deliriously happy and vaguely apprehensive. I was enchanted by this magic city. I loved it best in the morning when there was a smell of freshly baked bread in the streets and an excitement in the air which means that a big city is coming to life. Blissfully I wandered through the flower markets on either side of the Madeleine, Joliffe at my side; I bought armfuls of blossoms to decorate our bedroom and their haunting scent stayed with me forever. We strolled along the boulevards, climbed to Sacré Coeur and explored Montmartre; I shivered over the cruel leering faces of the gargoyles of historic Notre Dame; I laughed at the traders in Les Halles. I reveled in the treasures of the Louvre and I mingled with the artists and students seated outside the cafés of the Left Bank. It was the most wonderful experience I had ever known. It was all that a honeymoon should be. And whatever new and wonderful sights I saw, whatever thrilling experiences were mine it all came back to one thing: Joliffe was with me.

He was the best possible companion; he knew this city so well. But I began to notice that the Joliffe of our morning rambles and tours of exploration was different from the man he became in the evenings. I was learning that people were more complicated than I in my innocence had believed them to be—some people at least, and Joliffe for one. There were many facets to the natures of some. I could not at that time understand why my husband could revel in the simple pleasures by day and in the evening subtly change to the sophisticate. This alarmed me faintly. I felt at a disadvantage.

In the afternoon we used to draw the blinds and lie on our bed talking idly or making love. “It’s an old French custom,” said Joliffe; and these were the happiest times.

Then in the evening we must join his friends of whom there seemed to be many. We must go to Marguery’s to sample his special filet de sole in its sauce of Marguery’s creating which could not be found anywhere in the world; we must dine at the Moulin Rouge and see the dancing at the Bal Tabarin; we must join Joliffe’s friends at the Café de la Paix. I used to hope that we would dine alone but we rarely did. There were always friends to join us. They talked volubly in French which I did not always find easy to follow; they drank what seemed to me a great deal and shared jokes of which I sometimes did not grasp the point. At such times I seemed to lose touch with Joliffe and it was then so hard to believe that he was the same man with whom I shared those interesting mornings and ecstatic afternoons.

I saw the artists Monet and Toulouse-Lautrec; we mingled with the literati and people from the theatrical world; they were colorful, larger than life—women with exquisite complexions which I innocently thought were their own, their gowns of breathtaking elegance made me feel gauche and out of place and I longed for the peace of our hotel room.

But Joliffe loved this society. He could not have enough of it. I felt angry and in a way humiliated by the manner in which some of the women regarded Joliffe. It was even more disconcerting because he appeared to enjoy it.

One night as we jolted back to the hotel in our cab I said: “I’ve come to the conclusion that I shall have to grow accustomed to the way women look at you.”

He answered: “How do they look?” But of course he knew.

“I have heard it said that women like men who like them. Is that true?”

“Don’t we always like those who like us?”

“I mean women collectively. They don’t have time to find out whether you like them personally. It’s something they know by instinct. Women like you, Joliffe.”

“Oh that’s because I’m so good-looking,” he said jocularly. He turned to me. “In any case I’m indifferent to what they think of me. There’s only one whose opinion is of importance.”

Joliffe could say things like that. He could sweep away hours of doubting fears in a second, and although I began to feel that there was much I did not know of him and of life, I loved him more every day.

Many of the people we met were his business associates.

“In a business like mine,” he said, “I travel a great deal. I have to. When I hear of treasures here in Paris, in London, in Rome… I come to see them. I’m always looking for treasure.”

“Does one look here for Chinese treasure?”

“It’s everywhere. There was a time when it was fashionable to collect chinoiserie. People did it all over Europe. Thus many of the art treasures of China found their way here.”

He took me along to a dealer on the Left Bank one day. That was one of my happiest days.

There in a dark little room were some beautiful objects. I cried out in delight, and I realized how I had missed the showroom at Roland’s Croft and working with Mr. Sylvester.

How delighted I was to surprise both Joliffe and the dealer with my knowledge when I recognized some exquisite scrolls of the T’ang Dynasty and placed them somewhere round the tenth century.

I was grateful for the tuition I had received.

I was drawn into a new intimacy. We drank wine in a little room at the back of the showroom—myself, Joliffe, and Monsieur Ferrand the dealer. I felt that I entered a magic circle. I was very happy. The color engendered by wine and happiness touched my cheeks. My eyes were shining. It will always be like this, I told myself.

Monsieur Ferrand wanted to show us some rings he had had brought to him. Someone had come back from Peking with them. The jade was beautiful—some in the delicious apple green, some a translucent emerald color. I liked the apple green better though I knew the darker ones to be more valuable.

There was one of this lightish green shade most exquisitely carved and in the front was an eye the pupil of which was a diamond. It was most unusual.

“Said to be the eye of Kuan Yin,” explained Monsieur Ferrand. “I had to give a good price for it because of the legend you know. The owner of this ring will always be able to look into the eye of the goddess. That should be very useful.”

“I haven’t seen a piece like this before.”

“I hope not. This one should be unique.”

I took it up and slipped it on my finger. Joliffe took my hand and across the table his eyes met mine. They were alight with love and I thought—strangely enough at that time—anything that happens is worth while for this moment.

“It looks well on your finger, Jane.”

“Just imagine, madame,” put in Monsieur Ferrand, “the goddess of good fortune would always be on hand as it were.”

Joliffe laughed.

“You must have it, Jane. Married to me, you may need it.”

“Married to you I am the last person to need it.”

A shadow passed momentarily over his face. I had never seen him look like that before—sad, almost apprehensive. But he was almost immediately gay again.

“Nevertheless you must have it. Although I shouldn’t say so in front of Monsieur Ferrand because I must strike a bargain with him.”

They talked over the ring and I tried it on again. At last they decided on a price and I put it back on my finger. Joliffe took my hand and kissed the ring.

“May good fortune always be yours, my darling,” he said.

I sat in the cab leaning against Joliffe, turning the ring round and round on my finger.

“I have reached the very peak of happiness now,” I said. “There can’t be anything more.”

Joliffe assured me that there was.

How the days flew—happy days except for the evenings when we entertained or were entertained by his friends and business associates. Then my eyes would ache with the smoke and the lights and my ears would be weary with the music and I would strain to translate what I was sure were the risqué jokes of some people who came and sat at our table and drank champagne with us.

Many of the women seemed to know Joliffe. Like all others these had their special look for him.

There was one happy day when we dined quietly in the hotel—tête-à-tête at a table secluded by palms. I remember I was wearing a dress of green and white striped taffeta which Joliffe had chosen for me. I had grown accustomed now to the clothes I was wearing. I wondered whether my personality was changing. I knew when I saw my mother again she would recognize a change at once.

As we sat over dinner I said: “Joliffe, I don’t know you very well.”

He raised his eyebrows pretending to be shocked.

“So you have been living with a man whom you don’t know?”

“I know that I love you.”

“Well that’s good enough for me.”

“Joliffe, I want to talk seriously.”

“I am always serious with you, Jane.”

“I want to talk about practical things. Are you rich?”

He laughed. “I have to confess, Jane, that you are not married to a millionaire. Would you like the marriage annulled on the spot?”

He had said he was always serious but he was not. I could see that evasive look creeping into his face now.

“We have been living rather extravagantly here.”

“Every man is entitled to live extravagantly on his honeymoon.”

“So we shall economize when we go home?”

“Economize! What a dreary word. It won’t be so costly living in our own house in London as it is here in this hotel in Paris, if that’s what you mean.”

“What will it be like in London? We haven’t made any plans.”

“There have been so many more exciting things to do.”

“Yes, but it’s time we settled down.”

“First you want to economize then settle down. What a practical woman I’ve married.”

“Perhaps you should be glad of that. We have to consider the future.”

His eyes glowed as they looked into mine. “I find the present so entrancing. I’m letting the future take care of itself.”

“Joliffe, I think you’re a little feckless.”

“Guilty perhaps, but it has to be proved.”

“I think you’re evading the future.”

“What, when you’re in it!”

“Do you love me very much, Joliffe?”

“Infinitely.”

“Then everything will be all right. Have you a house in London?”

“I have a house in Kensington. Opposite the Park—the gardens you know, Kensington Gardens. It is very pleasant. A tall, somewhat narrow house and it is looked after by an excellent man and his wife.”

“And we shall live there?”

“When we are in London. I travel around a great deal in the course of my business.”

“Where?”

“All over the world. Europe and the East and to a place called Roland’s Croft. It was there that I made my truly great find. There I found my fortune.”

There was no way of making him talk very seriously. He wanted to avoid it. This was a night for love and how could I put any obstacle in its path?

Later he explained to me that he had inherited the London house from his parents and he had used it ever since as a pied-à-terre. Albert and Annie had been servants of his family for years. Annie had in fact been his nurse. They kept the house in order when he was away and looked after him when he was in London.

He had prepared them for the coming of his wife.

As for his business, I knew already what that was. He had been brought up in the tradition. If anything else had been chosen for him he would not have been able to do it.

“This hunting for articles which have such significance in beauty, history, legend whatever it is… it’s irresistible, Jane. Some men want to hunt the fox or the deer or the wild boar because the hunting instinct is inborn. I never wanted to hunt animals to the death. That seems to me a worthless object, but to unearth treasures which lay hidden from the world, that fascinated me, ever since I lived with my uncle and heard him and my cousin Adam talk of these things. Then when my uncle Sylvester was with them—they all worked together in those days—I would listen. I learned a good deal, and I promised myself that I would be the greatest collector of them all one day.”

“I understand perfectly,” I said. “I feel that too. Joliffe, I am going to help you. How glad I am that I have started to learn something. Not much I know for it’s a lifetime’s study. But you were pleased with me, weren’t you, when I recognized that scroll?”

“I was proud of you.”

“I owe all that to your uncle and when I think of that I am a little ashamed. He did so much for my mother and me—and then I left him.”

“Didn’t you know that a woman should forsake all others and cleave to her husband?”

“Yes, yes, but I think your uncle Sylvester was hurt.”

“Good God, Jane. Did he think you were some sort of slave?”

“He has never shown me or my mother anything but the greatest kindness, but he did teach me, train me… and before I could be of any real use to him I went away.”

“Don’t worry about old Uncle Sylvester. He’ll get over it. Did he ever talk to you about The House of a Thousand Lanterns?”

“Yes, he did mention it.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That it was his and that it was in Hong Kong. What a strange name for a house. A thousand lanterns is a great many. Have you seen it?”

“Yes.”

“Is it as romantic as it sounds?”

He hesitated. “It’s a strange house. Rather repelling in a way, yet fascinating. I saw it first when I was about fourteen. Uncle Redmond, who was alive then, had taken me out with him and Adam. At that time he thought I would work with them. Places make an impression on you which you often never forget. A house with a name like that…”

“I’d like to see it. I can imagine it. Are there really a thousand lanterns?”

“There are a great many. Lanterns on the porch, and wind bells which made a strange tinkling noise. I was impressed because it was my first visit to Hong Kong. Everything seemed so strange then. It seemed dark in the house and the servants with their pigtails and silent way of moving about impressed me deeply. I thought it the most foreign place I’d ever seen. When my uncle lives there he conforms somewhat to the Chinese fashion. I remember he told me that one must always respect other people’s customs. When in Rome do as the Romans do and the same applies to China.”

“Is it true that the house was presented to some ancestor of yours?”

“To my great-grandfather. He was a doctor. He went out to China and worked there among the people. One rich and influential mandarin was very grateful to him because he saved his wife in childbirth and not only the wife but child too. It was a boy and boys are important to the Chinese. Girls they often put out into the streets to starve to death—not so boys. They are very unkind to members of your sex whom they consider of little importance.”

“And so the mandarin gave your great-grandfather this House of a Thousand Lanterns.”

“Yes. When he died some years after the birth of his son. There is a letter which he wrote and which is in the family’s possession. Translated it says that the house is a miserable gift for the birth of a son, but among the thousand lanterns lies his greatest treasure, and he was putting this into the care of the man to whom he would be grateful forever.”

“How mysterious.”

“There may have been some discrepancy in the translation but it seems that the house is a gift and it is a sort of container for something of greater value. It’s a puzzle. You know the Chinese love puzzles.”

“And what was this treasure?”

“It was never discovered.”

“Do you mean that people looked for it?”

“People have looked for it since the house was given to my greatgrandfather. Nothing has been found. It seems that the old mandarin was anxious to prove his gratitude and the house was indeed far more than my great-grandfather would have thought possible for something he did often in the course of his profession. But the legend persisted and The House of a Thousand Lanterns is regarded with some sort of awe.”

“You mean by the people who live near it?”

“By the servants too. It is always kept in readiness, for my uncle is the sort of man who doesn’t give warning of his coming. He wishes to come and go without fuss.”

“I wonder if I shall ever see The House of a Thousand Lanterns?”

“I shall take you. We’ll go together.”

“One thousand lanterns. How many rooms are there to accommodate so many?”

“There may not be a thousand. It’s a poet’s phrase, isn’t it? The Chinese would like that. It sounds better than eight hundred and ninety-five. I’ve never counted them. But the lanterns are a feature of the place. They are in every room and on the porch, in the garden… everywhere. Inside them are oil lamps. They look effective when lighted. If ever it comes to me I shall have a thorough search made to find out whether the old mandarin was romancing when he talked of the treasure.”

“Will it go to you?”

“My uncle has no family. As you know, he never married. It would naturally have gone to Uncle Redmond had he lived. There is Adam of course—Adam is two years older than I. But as Uncle Redmond didn’t get on with Uncle Sylvester and Adam is his son… well, you see my reasoning. It’s not an impossibility.”

“Do you want this house, Joliffe?”

“I want it very much. Something tells me that mandarins don’t he when they are about to join their ancestors. Yes, I want that house… very much. There’s only one thing I want more, and that’s my Jane.”

It was hard to get that conversation out of my mind. The House of a Thousand Lanterns had caught my imagination. I could picture all those lanterns hanging from ceilings, fixed to walls, all with their little lamps inside them. And one day I should see them. I longed to do so. It was exciting and yet there was a deep feeling of regret to remember that to come to my present bliss I had been obliged to desert Mr. Sylvester Milner.

As we strolled along the Left Bank we talked a great deal and I was building up a picture of Joliffe’s life and planning how mine should fit into it.

That he was enthusiastic about his business was obvious and again and again I was thankful that I could share in this enthusiasm. Once more thanks to Mr. Sylvester. He talked easily to me and my happiness deepened. It was going to be a wonderful life.

Then I made a discovery which put a curb on my happiness. It was like the first real sign of cloud on the blue horizon.

We had dined with friends of Joliffe’s and had returned to our hotel. We made love and lay drowsily side by side. I was wearing the jade ring with carved eye of Kuan Yin and I said: “I think I believe in it. Ever since you gave it to me life has been especially wonderful.”

“What’s that?” said Joliffe half asleep.

“The Kuan Yin,” I answered.

“If I could find the original…”

“We’ll look for it, Joliffe. What would you do if you found it?”

“There’s a problem. Keep it and have the goddess listen to my cries of despair and come to my aid, or sell it and make a fortune. Which shall it be, Jane?”

“It would depend on how much you believed in the legend.”

“Fortunes are more tangible than legends.”

“I wonder whether the one your uncle found is after all the true one and if it is what he would do.”

“That one… that’s one of hundreds.”

“How do you know?”

“I had it tested.”

“What!” I was wide awake.

Joliffe opened one eye and pulled me closer to him.

“Who saw a light in the room? Who came up in her dressing gown and found instead of a burglar… love?”

“What are you saying, Joliffe?”

“You’re in the family now, my Jane. It was my light you saw in the room. What sharp eyes you have and what were you doing awake at that hour when the whole household was supposed to be fast asleep?”

“Joliffe, I don’t understand.”

“Then you are not applying your usual perspicacity. Why do you think I chose that time to pay a visit? Because I knew Uncle Sylvester had the Kuan Yin.”

“How did you get into the room? I was the only one in the house with a key.”

He laughed. “That wasn’t quite true, Jane dear. I had a key.”

“But how? There are three. Uncle Sylvester’s, Ling Fu’s, and mine.”

“There are four as far as I know. Maybe more. I have one too, you see.”

“But… how?”

“My dear Jane I have known Roland’s Croft for years. I have stayed with my uncle. At one time he was training me to work with him.”

“He gave you a key?”

“Let us say I acquired one.”

“How?”

“By seizing my opportunity, taking it from its secret place and getting another cut. Now I have access to his room whenever I wish as long as I choose the opportunity.”

“Oh Joliffe!”

“Now you’re shocked. You have to grow up, Jane, if you are going to be in this business. We are rivals… we must know what goes on in the enemy’s camp; all’s fair in love and war. This is a kind of war.”

“Oh no.”

He drew me to him and kissed me but I did not respond.

“I’m tired of Kuan Yin, Jane.”

“I want to know what happened.”

“Oh darling, haven’t you got it? I came down when my uncle was away. I went by stealth in the dead of night to that room, removed the Kuan Yin, took her to be tested and then brought her back. In the act of replacing her my very inquisitive wife-to-be discovered me and we met by moonlight—no there wasn’t a moon. Pity, it would have been so fitting. Never mind, the starlight had to do and there took place that enchanting, tender interlude which must have made all the gods jealous of me. Jane, I love you.”

“But it was wrong,” I said.

“What do you mean… wrong?”

“To go to that room, like that. It was like stealing.”

“Nonsense. Nothing was removed which was not returned.”

“Why didn’t you come when your uncle was there? Why didn’t you ask him…?”

“There are trade secrets. You have to understand this. For all we know some rival may have the original Kuan Yin. He may be holding it, biding the moment to sell. This is business, Jane.”

“To come there, and go into his private room, and take it away…”

“I knew it was safe. He was away and I knew where he’d gone. I knew there was time to get it out and back again. Oh, enough of this. I’m tired of the subject.”

But I could not get it out of my mind. I felt cheated in some way although it was Mr. Sylvester Milner who had been cheated.

I did not like these methods of business.

It made me see Joliffe differently. I loved him as deeply as ever but it was not the same. Apprehension had crept into my beautiful existence. It was the fear of what I might discover next.

II

A few days later we crossed the Channel.

I was delighted with Joliffe’s house in Kensington. It was tall, rather slender in a terrace of such houses which all displayed the graceful elegance of the period. There were four stories, on each of which were two large rooms, and Annie and Albert, who were waiting to greet us, lived over the stables in the mews which was situated at the back of the terrace. Annie was the topical ex-nanny who doted on Joliffe and now and then forgot that he was a grown man. She called him Master Jo and scolded him in a manner which he loved, for quite clearly she adored him, and Joliffe, I was discovering, looked upon feminine adulation as his due. Albert, pale and wiry, was a handy man who looked after the carriage and horses and had very little to say.

I took to the establishment immediately. Our room was on the third floor. Its windows opened onto a balcony with a view of the tiny garden and the stables. The garden could hardly be called such by Roland’s Croft standards. It was a square of crazy paving with a border of earth in which grew a few evergreen shrubs. There was a solitary pear tree though which gave fruit rather reluctantly—little green hard pears which Annie said were only good for stewing.

From the drawing room on the first floor I could watch the horse cabs clopping by and look across the road to the trees of Kensington Gardens. I was soon delighting in those gardens and often took a morning walk there.

Now that we were in London and our honeymoon was over I saw less of Joliffe. He had an office in the city and he was often there. This left me to my own devices. I would stroll down the flower walk where the nannies sat with their charges and sometimes I sat with them and listened to their discussions about their children’s characteristics and those of their employers. I wandered along by the Serpentine and explored the Orangerie of the Palace with its William and Mary façade; I walked past the windows behind which our Queen had once played with her dolls though it was hard to imagine as a little girl the blackclad widow she had become. I saw the summer flowers replaced by the hardier blooms of autumn in the pond garden and the thick leaves of summer gradually turn russet and drop. I liked to sit by the Round Pond and watch the children with their boats and I would take bread with which to feed the swans and the birds.

It was at the Round Pond that I first noticed the woman. She was in a way not the sort of person one would miss. She was tall—buxom almost and she had abundant red hair which escaped from her hat in ringlets. With her hourglass figure she was beautiful in an over-ripe rather coarse way.

I made a habit of going straight to the pond to feed the swans and I saw her again. It was the third time I saw her that I noticed she was aware of me. I had bent forward to throw a piece of bread to a swan and when I turned my head I saw that she was standing quite close to me. Her eyes were large, very light blue; and there could be no doubt whatever that they were fixed upon me.

I walked quickly towards the palace and went to the pond garden. This was a replica of the one made by Henry VIII at Hampton Court; it was shut in by railings and the path round it was the pleached alley where the trees had been trained to meet overhead—thick and heavy in summer, bare branches in winter. There were gaps in the trees on each side of the garden to enable people to look over the low railings at the flowers and pond.

I went into the alley and after walking a little way, I paused to look at the garden through one of the gaps. At the opening opposite was the red-haired woman.

I stepped backwards and made as though to turn to my left; and when she could no longer see me because of the trees in the alley I made a sharp right turn and walked swiftly out round the alley and out to the avenue of elms. Then I went home.

I told myself I had imagined she had followed me. Why I should have felt so uncomfortable I could not imagine; except that it gives one an uneasy feeling to think oneself followed.

When I arrived home there was a letter from my mother. She was coming up to London to see me. She was longing for a glimpse of me in my home.

I was delighted and when Joliffe came in he shared my pleasure.

“I’ll have to show her what a good husband you have,” he said.

I filled the house with flowers—chrysanthemums, asters, dahlias, and starry Michaelmas daisies. I had consulted with Annie. I wanted a very special luncheon on this day and Annie was determined that this should be a meal my mother would never forget.

Joliffe would make sure that he was home that day.

Soon after twelve the cab came jingling up and I was at the door to greet her.

We flew into each other’s arms and then she withdrew that she might have a look at me. I could see she was pleased with what she saw.

“Come in, Mother,” I said. “Come and see the house. It’s rather nice.”

She said, “It’s you I’ve come to see, Janey love. So you’re happy, eh?”

“Blissfully,” I answered.

“Thank God.”

I took her into our bedroom and myself removed her bonnet and cloak. “You’re getting thinner,” I said.

“Oh, I’m all right, dear. There’s no harm in that. There was a bit too much of me before.”

Her cheeks were reddish, her eyes brilliant. I put this down to her pleasure in seeing me.

She brought out a bottle of sloe gin. Mrs. Couch had sent it, believing that it was Joliffe’s favorite beverage.

“She’ll want to hear all about you both when I get back,” said my mother. “I am so happy to see you settled.”

Joliffe came in and warmly greeted her, and soon Annie was announcing that luncheon was served.

It was a happy meal, though my mother ate very little. I was amazed because in the old days my father had laughed at the size of her appetite.

I told her about our honeymoon in Paris and asked how everyone was at Roland’s Croft. Mr. Sylvester was away at the moment. All the servants were well. Amy and the under gardener were making plans for their wedding and would be married at Christmas. She was worried about Jess because she was still far too friendly with Jeffers and Mrs. Jeffers was getting really militant.

“Of course,” said my mother, “Jeffers is like that and if it wasn’t Jess it would be someone else.”

“Poor Mrs. Jeffers!” I sighed. “I’d hate it if Joliffe paid attention to someone else.”

“You’re safe,” said Joliffe, “for two reasons. First, who could possibly compare with you? Secondly I’m far too virtuous to indulge in such folly.”

My mother’s eyes filled with tears. I knew she was thinking of my father.

We talked long over the meal and then we went back to the drawing room and there was more talk.

At four o’clock she had to leave to catch her train, for she must return to Roland’s Croft that day. Albert brought the carriage round and we went to the station to put my mother on her train; we embraced fondly and she wept a little.

“I’m so happy that you are settled,” she whispered. “It is what I’ve always wanted. Bless you, Janey. Be happy always as you are now.”

We waved goodbye to her and then came home.

It was a happy enough evening. Joliffe said we must have a quiet one just ourselves and we sat by the fire and saw pictures in it and his arm was about me as the twilight settled in the room.

“How peaceful it is,” I said. “Joliffe, life’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

He stroked my hair and said: “Yes, Jane, while we have each other.”

A few days after my mother’s visit I went to the Round Pond and there was the red-haired woman. She was sitting on a seat as though waiting for someone.

When I saw her I felt an odd tingling in my spine and the thought entered my head: She is waiting for me.

I felt a ridiculous impulse then to turn and run. It was absurd. Why should I? What had I to fear from a stranger on a seat in a park?

It is only that she seems to be following me, I thought.

I went straight past her and took a turn into the pleached alley. I paused and sure enough on the other side of the garden looking straight at me through the gap on that side was the red-haired woman. She must have risen from her seat when she saw me and followed me.

I wondered whether to wait there for her and if she came round ask her if she wanted something of me. My heart began to beat fast. How could I accuse her of such a thing when I was not sure. But I was sure that she was following me.

She had moved from the gap now. I knew that she was coming round towards me. If I turned she would follow me.

What could she want of me?

I started to walk. Then I saw her turn the bend. She was coming straight towards me.

I steeled myself to speak to her. We were almost level now and as she looked straight at me, I felt hideously repelled and my great desire was to get away from her as soon as possible.

No words came. I was walking past her, subconsciously quickening my pace. I came out of the alley. Unless she had turned and followed me it would be some minutes before she made the journey round.

I started to hurry out into the open, towards the pond. When I was there I paused and saw her. She was walking slowly in the direction I had taken.

I crossed the road and let myself into the house with my latchkey.

As I turned to shut the door I saw the red-haired woman crossing the road.

I was in the drawing room when Annie came in. She said there was a “person” below asking to see me.

“What sort of a person, Annie?”

Annie repeated, “A person,” with a little sniff, which meant that she did not entirely approve of our visitor.

“What does she want?”

“She said she wanted to speak to you.”

“A lady then.”

“A person” insisted Annie emphatically.

“What name did she say?”

“She said you’d know her when you saw her.”

“That’s odd,” I said. “Perhaps you’d better show her up.”

I heard them coming up the stairs. Then Annie tapped at the door and threw it open.

I stood up in astonishment for the red-haired woman was coming into the room.

“We’ve met before,” I said. Annie who had looked very suspiciously at the visitor seemed then to think all was well. She shut the door on us.

“In the Gardens,” she answered with a slow smile.

“I… I saw you several times.”

“Yes, I was never far behind, was I?”

“Did you want something?”

“I think we’d better sit down,” she said, as though I were the visitor.

“Who are you?” I asked.

She smiled wryly as she said: “I might be saying the same to you.”

“This is rather mysterious,” I said coldly. “I am Mrs. Joliffe Milner. If you have come here to see me…”

She interrupted: “You are not Mrs. Joliffe Milner,” she said slowly. “There is only one of those. It’ll surprise you to learn that one is not you. I am Mrs. Joliffe Milner.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“You will fast enough. You can call yourself Mrs. Joliffe Milner if you like, but the fact remains you’re not. How can you be when Joliffe was married to me six years ago?”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I thought you wouldn’t. I’d have spoken to you before, but I thought you’d want proof. And what better proof than the marriage lines, eh?”

I felt faint.

“You are lying. It isn’t possible,” I said.

“I knew you’d say that. But there’s no denying what’s down in black and white, is there? Just look at this. We were married six years ago in Oxford.”

I looked at the paper she thrust into my hand and read what was written there.

If this document was a true one she had indeed been married to a Joliffe Milner six years ago.

It was like a nightmare. She crossed her legs, lifting up skirts beneath which were flounces of pink petticoat; her black stockings had openwork decorations up the sides.

“You look as if you’d had a shock,” she said and she gave a little giggle. “Well, you have, haven’t you? It’s not every day you hear the man you thought was your husband is someone else’s.”

I began rather shakily: “I don’t know who you are or what your motive is…”

“My motive,” she interrupted, “is to tell you what you ought to know. You’re a lady, I can see that. You’re well educated and I’ve no doubt you were very pleased with yourself… till now. I’ve watched you in the Gardens. I wondered whether to speak to you then. I had to do a bit of detective work to find him. Then I thought this is better. I’d call and tell you. I’ll wait here and see him if you like. That’s going to be a nice surprise for him! What about some refreshments? I could do with a glass of wine.”

I said to her: “I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”

“Not when you’ve seen the lines?”

“It’s not possible. If he were married to you how could he marry me?”

“He couldn’t. That’s the point. He’s not married to you, he’s married to me.”

“He would never do such a thing.”

“He thought I was dead. I was traveling down from Oxford to London by train. That was a year ago. There was a disaster on the line outside Reading. You must have heard of it. It was one of the biggest crashes ever. Many people were killed. I almost was. Unlucky for him not quite. I was in hospital for three months and nobody knew who I was for some time. I had no papers on me and I couldn’t remember much myself. As for my devoted husband, he made no effort to claim me. Jolly good riddance, he said. He’d realized long before that what a mistake he had made. It goes to show that young gentlemen up at Oxford for their education shouldn’t get caught up with barmaids, leastways they shouldn’t go so far as to marry them. Joliffe was a hothead. No sooner do I say ‘Unhand me, sir. Nothing of that till I get my marriage lines’ and there are my marriage lines as you see them now! But marriage is for good. That’s what he forgot. So there you have the story of my life in a few sentences. It’s not uncommon. He’s not the first young gentleman who’s acted rash and lived to regret it.”

“If this had been so he would have told me…”

“Joliffe tell you! You don’t know half what goes on behind that handsome mug of his. I used to say to him, ‘All that charm of yours will be your downfall.’ There were lots of fellows after me, I can tell you, but it had to be him and there he was caught. He couldn’t let me meet his family, could he? He saw that. What ructions there’d be! So he got me rooms in Oxford and we were there for close on a year. Married bliss! It didn’t last very long. He saw his mistake. He was always making excuses and going away. Then I was coming to meet him in London and there was this train. He always used to say he was lucky. I reckon he thought the day that train went off its rails was the luckiest in his life. But he didn’t look far enough, did he?”

“This is such a fantastic story,” I said.

“Life with Joliffe Milner would always be like that. Fantastic, that’s the word for it.”

“You had better come back when my… Mr. Milner is here.”

She shook her head.

“No, I’m staying. I want to come face to face with him. I want you to be there when I do. Because if you’re not he’ll cook up some story for you. He’s a great cooker-up, our Joliffe. No, I want to catch him, just like that before he’s had the time to work something out.”

“This is going to be proved a great mistake. There must be some other Joliffe Milner who is your husband.”

She shook her head.

“Oh no, I’ve made sure of that.”

I did not know what to do. From the moment I had first set eyes on her I had felt a sense of terrible foreboding. There had been something about the manner in which she had shadowed me which had filled me with apprehension.

I could not bear to sit in this room with her. I said: “You will excuse me…”

She inclined her head with a smirk as though she were the mistress of the house, giving me leave to go.

I ran up to our bedroom. It was like a nightmare. It simply wasn’t possible. It was some horrible joke in the bad taste to be expected of such a person. I was thinking of her in Annie’s terms. A person!

What a wretched half hour I spent. I wondered what she was doing in the drawing room. I imagined those big calculating eyes assessing everything. If Joliffe had married surely he would have told me. But would he? There was so much I did not know about him and the more I discovered the more I realized there was to learn.

It seemed an age before I heard his key in the lock. I sped to the top of the stairs. He was in the hall and smiled when he saw me.

“Hello, my darling.”

“Joliffe,” I cried. “There’s a woman… She’s here.”

He came up the stairs two at a time. I did not wait for him to reach me. I started to walk towards the drawing room and threw the door open.

She was seated on the sofa, her legs crossed, showing the flounces of petticoats, a sly smile on her face.

The next seconds I knew would be the most important through which I had ever lived.

In that short time I promised myself that he would look at her, prove her to have made false accusations, show me and her that he was not the Joliffe Milner whose name appeared with hers on those marriage lines.

I advanced into the room. He followed me. He stopped short. She smiled at him insolently. And in that moment I felt my world collapsing about me.

“Good God,” he said. “Bella!”

She answered, “Your own loving little wife, no less.”

“Bella… no!”

“A ghost returned from the grave. Not quite. Because I was never in the grave. A little shock for such a devoted husband.”

“Bella,” he repeated. “What… does this mean?”

“It means I’m here. Mrs. Joliffe Milner herself come to claim her conjugal rights and all that goes with it.”

He said nothing. I could see that he was completely stunned.

“It was quite a job to find you,” she said.

“But I understood…”

“You understood what you wanted to understand.”

“You were killed. There was proof. Your coat had your name on it.”

She laughed with exaggerated heartiness. “That was Fanny. Remember Fanny? She had a sealskin hat and I lent her my sealskin coat. Oh that was a lovely coat, one of your presents to me. Remember? I was so fond of it I had my name worked on the lining. We went up to London together—she in my sealskin I in her beaver. She was killed, poor Fanny, and they thought she was me of course. I was nearly done for. I didn’t know who I was for three months… then it came back slowly. It took me a long time to find you, Joey, but here I am.”

I said: “It’s true… what this woman says…”

He looked at me blankly.

I turned and went from the room.

I stumbled up to our bedroom and I asked myself what I could do next. I was bewildered; my happiness had disintegrated so rapidly that I could not think clearly. The only thought which kept hammering in my head was: Joliffe is that woman’s husband. Not yours. You have no place in this house. It belongs to her.

What could I do? I should have to go away, leave them together.

I must do something. I took a case and started to put a few things into it. Then I sat down and covered my face with my hands. I wanted to shut out the sight of this room where I had been so happy for I knew that that happiness was built on no firm foundation. It had collapsed as quickly as the houses of cards my mother used to build with me when I was a child.

Joliffe came into the room. He looked stricken—all the assurance drained from him. I would never have believed he could have looked like that.

He took a step towards me and held me in his arms.

I lay against him for a few moments trying to shut out that hideous scene in the room below. But I had to face the truth, I knew it.

I withdrew myself and said: “Joliffe, it’s not true. It can’t be.”

He nodded miserably.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought she was dead. It was all past and done with, I thought. It was something I wanted to forget had ever happened.”

“But you married her! That woman is your wife! Oh Joliffe, I can’t bear it.”

“I thought she was dead. Her name was given as one of those who died in the disaster. I was out of the country at the time and when I came back I heard the news and accepted it as true. How should I know that someone else was wearing her coat?”

“So she is your wife.”

“I’ll have to take steps, Jane. We’ll find a way.”

“She’s here, Joliffe. She’s in this house. She’s down there now. She said she had come to stay.”

“She’ll have to go.”

“But she’s your wife!

“That doesn’t force me to live with her.”

“There’s only one thing I can do,” I said.

He looked at me wretchedly.

“I must go away,” I went on. “I’ll go to Roland’s Croft. I’ll be with my mother. We’ll have to see what I should do.”

“You’re my wife,” he said.

“I’m not. She is your wife.”

“Don’t go, Jane. We’ll leave here. We’ll go away, we’ll go abroad.”

“But she is your wife, Joliffe. She will never let you forget that. I can’t stay here. Let me go to my mother. I’ll stay with her for a while until… we work something out.”

“I can’t let you go, Jane.”

“You have no alternative. I must go now, quickly. It will be easier this way.”

He pleaded with me. I had never seen him like this before. His marriage to Bella had been an act of youthful folly. He would find a way out, he promised me. J was his wife, not that woman down there.

But I knew that this was not so. I knew that I had to get away.

Reality seemed to have receded. It was hard to believe that I was not in the midst of a nightmare. I packed two bags and this helped to calm me. It occurred to me then that this was how life with Joliffe would have been. I would never have known what or who would arise from the past. Joliffe was the most exciting person in the world and this was partly because he was unpredictable. I had lived a quiet and sheltered life. I had been unprepared for what could happen to the adventurous like Joliffe. The knowledge came to me then that I had never really known Joliffe. I loved him, yes—his appearance, his personality, his gaiety, the spirit of adventure that was innate in him—but I did not know the true man. He had gradually begun to emerge. It was as though a mask was slowly shifting and showing me what I had not known existed.

I had been innocent, unworldly, but on that day I began to grow up.

Albert drove me to the station. He said nothing, but his expression was mournful. A porter carried my bags and put me in a first-class compartment and so I traveled down to Roland’s Croft.

It was dusk when I arrived at the little station. There was no one to meet me this time, but the stationmaster, who knew me, said that the station fly would be back in fifteen minutes if I’d wait for that.

“An unexpected visit, Mrs. Milner,” he said. “They don’t seem to know up at the house that you’re coming.”

I said: “No, they don’t.”

“Well, ’twill be a matter of fifteen minutes most likely.”

I guessed fifteen minutes meant thirty and I was right but in due course I was driving along to the house.

Jeffers came hurrying out at the sound of wheels. He looked blankly at me.

“Why,” he said, “if it isn’t young Mrs. Milner! Was you expected? I had no orders to meet you.”

“I was not expected,” I assured him. “Will you have my bags brought in please?”

He looked a little disconcerted.

Amy was at the door. Her astonishment was apparent.

I said: “Hello, Amy. Would you please tell my mother I’m here.”

“Why, Miss Jane, she’s not here.”

“Not here! But where is she?”

“You’d better come in,” she said.

There was something mysterious happening. This was not the greeting I had expected. Amy had turned and run to the servants’ hall calling Mrs. Couch.

When the cook appeared I ran to her. She took me into her arms and kissed me.

“Why Jane,” she said. “You could have knocked me down with a feather.”

I said: “Where’s my mother, Mrs. Couch? Amy said she was not here.”

“It’s true. She was took away three days since.”

“Where to?”

“To the hospital.”

“Has she had an accident?”

“Well not exactly, dear. It’s her complaint.”

“Her complaint?”

“It was that cough and all that. It’s been coming on some time.”

“I wasn’t told.”

“No, she didn’t want you worried.”

“What is the matter with her?”

Mrs. Couch looked uneasy. “The master’s home,” she said. “I think it would be a good thing if you was to see him. I’ll go along myself and tell him you’re here, shall I? Where’s Mr. Joliffe? Hasn’t he come with you?”

“No. He’s in London.”

“I’ll tell the master. You go up to your old room and I’ll tell him.”

In a haze of apprehension I went up to my old room. It seemed that something terrible was happening to everyone I loved. What was this mystery about my mother? There was no mystery about Joliffe. The truth was horribly clear. He was married and I was not his wife. But my mother… in the hospital! Why had I not been told?

There was the familiar room. I went to the window and looked across to the barred windows of the showroom, and poignant memories of the night when I had been there with Joliffe came back to me. Joliffe who had cheated then, and who was married all the time so that I was not his wife!

What is happening? I asked myself. Everything is collapsing about me.

Mrs. Couch was at the door.

“The master will see you now,” she said.

I followed her to the room where we had often sat together and drunk tea from the dragon teapot.

He rose as I entered and took my hand.

“Sit down,” he said.

I did so.

“I’m afraid I have bad news for you,” he went on, “and it is useless to keep it from you any longer. Your mother has been very ill for some time. She was suffering from consumption. She did not wish you to know. That is why you were not told. She was anxious that you should not be upset during your first months of marriage. At length she became so ill that it was necessary for her to go into a hospital that she might have the best of attention. That is where she is now.”

“But…” I began.

He silenced me. “It is a great shock for you, I know. Perhaps it would have been better if you had been warned. She had been suffering from this complaint for a few years now. In the last months it has intensified. I think you have to prepare yourself for the fact that she cannot live much longer.”

I could not speak. My grief welled up within me. He regarded me with a compassion which was very real and comforting.

“I can’t believe this,” I said.

“It is hard, I know. We thought that one sharp blow would be better for you than a long-drawn-out anxiety. Her only thought was for you.”

“I know it. Can I see her?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Now?”

“You must wait till tomorrow. Then Jeffers can drive you to the hospital.”

“But I want to see her at once.”

“You could not see her at this time of day. She is very ill. She may not know you. Give yourself time to grow accustomed to this grief.”

He looked so wise sitting there in his mulberry smoking jacket and little velvet cap, that I felt a certain comfort in looking at him.

“It is too much,” I said suddenly. “This… and Joliffe…”

“Joliffe?” he said quickly.

I knew I would have to tell him, so I did so.

He was silent.

“Did you know that he already had a wife?” I asked.

“If I had I should have spoken up. But it does not surprise me. What shall you do?”

“I don’t know. I was going to talk it over with my mother.”

“She must not know. It gave her great gratification to believe you had someone to look after you.”

“No, she must not know.”

“You will have to decide what you are going to do.”

“I know.”

“You could, of course, stay here. You could resume your post with me. It would be a solution.”

For the first time since Joliffe’s wife had told me the truth I felt a faint gleam of comfort.

Mr. Sylvester Milner drove with me to the hospital. He waited in the carriage while I went in.

When they took me to the room in which my mother lay I scarcely recognized her, so thin had she become. She had not the strength to sit up, nor to move very much, but she knew me and a great joy came into her eyes. I knelt by the bed and I could not bear to look at her so I took her hand and held it against my cheek.

Her lips moved faintly: “Janey…”

“I am here, dearest,” I said.

Her lips moved but her voice was so faint that I had to bend my head to hear it. “Be happy, Janey. I am… because it’s turned out so well for you. You have Joliffe…”

She could not say more. I sat by the bed, her hand in mine.

I must have sat for almost an hour until the sister came and told me I must go.

Mr. Sylvester Milner and I drove back to Roland’s Croft in silence.

Before the week was out she was dead. In less than twelve days I had been struck two terrible blows. I think one took my mind off the other. Such a short while ago I would not have believed either possible. I had come to my mother to tell her of my troubles and she was no longer there. That seemed even more difficult to grasp than that I was no longer Joliffe’s wife. Deep in my heart ever since I learned of his taking the Kuan Yin from the showcase I had been ready for anything Joliffe might have done. Somewhere at the back of my mind had been the uneasy thought that there was something not quite real about our romantic meeting and our hasty marriage. But that my mother who had always been with me should be dead was hard to accept. And the thought that she had been dying while I was being so carelessly gay in Paris wounded me deeply.

Mr. Sylvester was a great comfort. He arranged for my mother’s funeral and she was buried quietly in the little village churchyard. Everyone from the house attended and Mr. Sylvester walked beside me to the grave.

Mrs. Couch had pulled all the blinds down when my mother died. She said it indicated death in the house. When we returned after the funeral she served ham sandwiches which was the right thing, she told me, and showed a proper respect for the dead. Then she drew up the blinds which was the right time to do it. She could be relied on to know of these things, she whispered comfortingly to me, because her own mother had had fourteen children and buried eight.

I sat with them in the servants’ hall and Mrs. Couch and Mr. Jeffers vied with each other in telling stories of past funerals they had attended. I could have seen the humor at any other time, but I couldn’t see anything but my bright gay little mother and to think of her silent in her grave was more than I could endure.

I went to my room and I had not been there very long when there was a knock on my door. It was Sylvester Milner.

In his hand he held an envelope.

“Your mother left this for you. She asked me to give it to you on the day she was buried.” His kind eyes smiled gently. “You have reached the lowest depths,” he went on. “Now you will begin to rise. Such tragedies are all part of the business of living but remember this: ‘Adversity strengthens the character.’ There is nothing on Earth that is all evil, nothing that is all good.”

Then he pressed the envelope into my hands.

When he had gone I opened it, and the sight of my mother’s rather untidy sprawling handwriting brought tears to my eyes.

My dearest Janey, (she had written)

I am very ill. I have been for a long time. It’s this cursed illness, the bane of my family. It took my father when he was about my age. I didn’t want you to know, Janey love, because I knew how sad it would make you. The two of us had always been close, hadn’t we, especially since your father died? I hid it from you. Sometimes I’d cough so badly there’d be blood on my pillow and I was afraid you’d see it when you came suddenly to my room. I didn’t want you to guess and I did well, didn’t I? You never knew. I used to worry about you. You were my one concern. But what luck we had. That was your father looking after us. Good kind Mr. Sylvester Milner was like the fairy godfather. First he gave me the post (mind you I was very good at it) and then he let me have you there (not that I’d have taken it if he hadn’t) and there were Mrs. Couch and the rest of them who were like a family to us. So it all came out well. And then he said you were to work for him. I was pleased then but it wasn’t quite what I wanted. I wanted you to be settled. I wanted you to be happy as I’d been with your father and when Joliffe came along and fell in love with you at first sight—and you with him—I was overjoyed. You now have a husband who will care for you as your father cared for me. I came up to see the specialist the day I visited you. He told me I hadn’t got long and that I’d have to go into a hospital. I said to myself then “Lord now lettest Thou thy servant depart in peace.” Because I knew I could go happily. You and Joliffe are so much in love. He’ll be with you now. He’ll take care of you and there was something your father used to say. It was almost as though he knew he’d go first and leave me. It was something in Shakespeare, something like this.

“No longer mourn for me when I am dead”…and it goes on:

“I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot

If thinking of me then should make you woe.”

It would grieve me, Janey love, if I was to look down and see you sad. That’s something I couldn’t bear. So I want you to say this: “She had a good life. She had a husband and a child and they were all the world to her. She’s now going to join one and she’s left the other in the hands of one who loves her.”

Goodbye my precious child. One thing I ask of you: Be happy.

Your Mother.

I folded the letter, put it into the sandalwood box where I kept those things which were precious to me, and then I could no longer contain my grief.

The day after the funeral I received a letter from Joliffe.

My dearest Jane, (he wrote)

My uncle has written to tell me of your mother’s death. I long to be with you to comfort you. My uncle has more or less threatened me if I come to see you. He means I think that he will cut me out of his will. As if that would keep me away! He says that you need time to recover from these two tragic blows and that the best way is in your work with him.

Jane, I must see you. We have to talk. I was a mad young fool to marry Bella and I honestly thought she had been killed. She swears she won’t let me go. She has installed herself in the house. I’m consulting lawyers. It’s an unusual case. I don’t know what they can make of it.

Send me word and I’ll be wherever you will come to me.

I love you, Joliffe.

I read and reread that letter. Then I folded it and put it with my mother’s in the sandalwood box.

Over tea in Mr. Sylvester Milner’s sitting room he showed me some pottery he had acquired.

“Look at this delicate tracery,” he said. “The forests and hills shrouded in mist. Is it not delicate and beautiful? Would you say it is the Sung period?”

I said that as far as I could say it would seem to be.

He nodded. “There’s no doubt. What a fascinating ghostly quality there is about this work.” He looked at me closely. “Your interest in it is returning a little, I think.”

“I never lost my interest.”

“That is how it works. The attraction is always there. You are growing away from your sorrow. That is the way. Has Joliffe communicated with you?”

“He has written.”

“And asked you to join him?”

I did not answer and he shook his head. “It is not the way,” he said. “He is like his father. He could be irresistible and charming. Different from his brothers. Redmond and I were the businessmen, and Joliffe’s father was the charmer. He lived in a world of his own making. He believed what he wanted to believe. It worked up to a point and then there comes the reckoning. You will not go to him.”

“How could I? He has a wife.”

“Yes, he has a wife, but he has asked you to return to him. That is like his father. Everything must come right for him—that is what he believes. Why? Because he is Joliffe who fascinates everyone—or almost everyone. He cannot believe that he cannot fascinate Fate. But Fate will not be lured by charm.

“‘The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ

Moves on; nor all thy piety nor wit,

Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,

Nor all thy charm (if I may paraphrase)

wash out a word of it.’

“There are the plain facts. You thought yourself to be a wife and you are not. It was a tragic experience for you. Put it behind you. Start from here. In time the wound will cease to ache.”

“I shall try to do that.”

“If you truly try you will succeed. Now I am going to work you very hard, for work is the best healer. I have no housekeeper. I want you to take over in some measure the work your mother did. Mrs. Couch will help. She has intimated that she wants no strangers here. You will decide on meals when I have guests; you will join us often as there will be talk of business and you are learning that. You will continue to read the books I give you and perhaps accompany me to sales. Your life will be so busy that you will have little time for grief. This would be what your mother would want. Do not see Joliffe. I have written to him telling him I will not receive him here. He must get his affairs in order. Will you try to take my advice?”

“I am sure,” I told him, “that your advice is good, and I will do my best.”

“Then we have made a bargain.”