1.

　　It is safest for the historian, if he values accuracy, to wait till athing has happened before writing about it. Otherwise he may commithimself to statements which are not borne out by the actual facts.

　　Mrs Peagrim, recording in advance the success of her party at theGotham Theatre, had done this. It is true that she was a "radiant andvivacious hostess," and it is possible, her standard not being veryhigh, that she had "never looked more charming." But, when, she wenton to say that all present were in agreement that they had neverspent a more delightful evening, she deceived the public. UncleChris, for one; Otis Pilkington, for another, and Freddie Rooke, fora third, were so far from spending a delightful evening that theyfound it hard to mask their true emotions and keep a smiling face tothe world.

　　Otis Pilkington, indeed, found it impossible, and, ceasing to try,left early. Just twenty minutes after the proceedings had begun, heseized his coat and hat, shot out into the night, made off blindly upBroadway, and walked twice round Central Park before his feet gaveout and he allowed himself to be taken back to his apartment in ataxi. He tried to tell himself that this was only what he hadexpected, but was able to draw no consolation from the fact. He triedto tell himself that Jill might change her mind, but hope refused tostir. Jill had been very kind and very sweet and very regretful, butit was only too manifest that on the question of becoming Mrs OtisPilkington her mind was made up. She was willing to like him, to be asister to him, to watch his future progress with considerableinterest, but she would not marry him.

　　One feels sorry for Otis Pilkington in his hour of travail. This wasthe fifth or sixth time that this sort of thing had happened to him,and he was getting tired of it. If he could have looked into thefuture--five years almost to a day from that evening--and seenhimself walking blushfully down the aisle of St. Thomas' with RolandTrevis' sister Angela on his arm, his gloom might have beenlightened. More probably, however, it would have been increased. Atthe moment, Roland Trevis' sister Angela was fifteen, frivolous, andfreckled and, except that he rather disliked her and suspectedher--correctly--of laughing at him, amounted to just _nil_ in MrPilkington's life. The idea of linking his lot with hers would haveappalled him, enthusiastically though he was in favor of it fiveyears later.

　　However, Mr Pilkington was unable to look into the future, so hisreflections on this night of sorrow were not diverted from Jill. Hethought sadly of Jill till two-thirty, when he fell asleep in hischair and dreamed of her. At seven o'clock his Japanese valet, whohad been given the night off, returned home, found him, and gave himbreakfast. After which, Mr Pilkington went to bed, played three gamesof solitaire, and slept till dinner-time, when he awoke to take upthe burden of life again. He still brooded on the tragedy which hadshattered him. Indeed, it was only two weeks later, when at a dancehe was introduced to a red-haired girl from Detroit, that he reallygot over it.

　　* * *The news was conveyed to Freddie Rooke by Uncle Chris. Uncle Chris,with something of the emotions of a condemned man on the scaffoldwaiting for a reprieve, had watched Jill and Mr Pilkington go offtogether into the dim solitude at the back of the orchestra chairs,and, after an all too brief interval, had observed the latterwhizzing back, his every little movement having a meaning of itsown--and that meaning one which convinced Uncle Chris that Freddie,in estimating Mr Pilkington as a sixty to one chance, had not erredin his judgment of form.

　　Uncle Chris found Freddie in one of the upper boxes, talking to NellyBryant. Dancing was going on down on the stage, but Freddie, thoughnormally a young man who shook a skilful shoe, was in no mood fordancing tonight. The return to the scenes of his former triumphs andthe meeting with the companions of happier days, severed from him bya two-weeks' notice, had affected Freddie powerfully. Eyeing thehappy throng below, he experienced the emotions of that Peri who, inthe poem, "at the gate of Eden stood disconsolate."Excusing himself from Nelly and following Uncle Chris into thepassage-way outside the box, he heard the other's news listlessly. Itcame as no shock to Freddie. He had never thought Mr Pilkingtonanything to write home about, and had never supposed that Jill wouldaccept him. He said as much. Sorry for the chap in a way, and allthat, but had never imagined for an instant that he would click.

　　"Where is Underhill?" asked Uncle Chris, agitated.

　　"Derek? Oh, he isn't here yet.""But why isn't he here? I understood that you were bringing him withyou.""That was the scheme, but it seems he had promised some people he meton the boat to go to a theatre and have a bit of supper with themafterwards. I only heard about it when I got back this morning.""Good God, boy! Didn't you tell him that Jill would be here tonight?""Oh, rather. And he's coming on directly he can get away from thesepeople. Forget their name, but they're influential coves who can dohim a bit of good and all that sort of thing. The man--the head ofthe gang, you know--is something connected with the Cabinet or thePrime Minister or something. You'd know his name in a minute if Itold you--always seeing it in the papers--they have pictures of himin _Punch_ a lot--but I'm rotten at names. Derek did tell me, butit's slipped the old bean. Well, he had to leg it with these people,but he's coming on later. Ought to be here any moment now."Uncle Chris plucked at his mustache gloomily. Freddie's detachmentdepressed him. He had looked for more animation and a greater senseof the importance of the issue.

　　"Well, pip-pip for the present," said Freddie, moving toward the box.

　　"Have to be getting back. See you later."He disappeared, and Uncle Chris turned slowly to descend the stairs.

　　As he reached the floor below, the door of the stage-box opened, andMrs Peagrim came out.

　　"Oh, Major Selby!" cried the radiant and vivacious hostess. "Icouldn't think where you had got to. I have been looking for youeverywhere."Uncle Chris quivered slightly, but braced himself to do his duty.

　　"May I have the pleasure . . . ?" he began, then broke off as he sawthe man who had come out of the box behind his hostess. "Underhill!"He grasped his hand and shook it warmly. "My dear fellow! I had nonotion that you had arrived!""Sir Derek came just a moment ago," said Mrs Peagrim.

　　"How are you, Major Selby?" said Derek. He was a little surprised atthe warmth of his reception. He had not anticipated this geniality.

　　"My dear fellow, I'm delighted to see you," cried Uncle Chris. "But,as I was saying, Mrs Peagrim, may I have the pleasure of this dance?""I don't think I will dance this one," said Mrs Peagrim surprisingly.

　　"I'm sure you two must have ever so much to talk about. Why don't youtake Sir Derek and give him a cup of coffee?""Capital idea!" said Uncle Chris. "Come this way, my dear fellow. AsMrs Peagrim says, I have ever so much to talk about. Along thispassage, my boy. Be careful. There's a step. Weil, well, well! It'sdelightful to see you again!" He massaged Derek's arm affectionately.

　　Every time he had met Mrs Peagrim that evening he had quailedinwardly at what lay before him, should some hitch occur to preventthe re-union of Derek and Jill: and, now that the other was actuallyhere, handsomer than ever and more than ever the sort of man no girlcould resist, he declined to admit the possibility of a hitch. Hisspirits soared. "You haven't seen Jill yet, of course?""No." Derek hesitated. "Is Jill . . . Does she . . . I mean . . ."Uncle Chris resumed his osteopathy. He kneaded his companion'scoat-sleeve with a jovial hand.

　　"My dear fellow, of course! I am sure that a word or two from youwill put everything right. We all make mistakes. I have made themmyself. I am convinced that everything will be perfectly all right. . . Ah, there she is. Jill, my dear, here is an old friend to seeyou!"2.

　　Since the hurried departure of Mr Pilkington, Jill had been sittingin the auditorium, lazily listening to the music and watching thecouples dancing on the stage. She did not feel like dancing herself,but it was pleasant to be there and too much exertion to get up andgo home. She found herself drifting into a mood of gentlecontentment, and was at a loss to account for this. She washappy,--quietly and peacefully happy, when she was aware that sheought to have been both agitated and apprehensive. When she hadanticipated the recent interview with Otis Pilkington, which she hadknown was bound to come sooner or later, it had been shrinkingly andwith foreboding. She hated hurting people's feelings, and, though sheread Mr Pilkington's character accurately enough to know that timewould heal any anguish which she might cause him, she had had nodoubt that the temperamental surface of that long young man, when hesucceeded in getting her alone, was going to be badly bruised. And ithad fallen out just as she had expected. Mr Pilkington had said hissay and departed, a pitiful figure, a spectacle which should havewrung her heart. It had not wrung her heart. Except for one fleetinginstant when she was actually saying the fatal words, it had notinterfered with her happiness at all; and already she was beginningto forget that the incident had ever happened.

　　And, if the past should have depressed her, the future might havebeen expected to depress her even more. There was nothing in it,either immediate or distant, which could account for her feelinggently contented. The future was a fog, into which she had to gropeher way blindly. She could not see a step ahead. And yet, as sheleaned back in her seat, her heart was dancing in time to thedance-music of Mrs Peagrim's hired orchestra. It puzzled Jill.

　　And then, quite suddenly yet with no abruptness or sense ofdiscovery, just as if it were something which she had known allalong, the truth came upon her. It was Wally, the thought of Wally,the knowledge that Wally existed, that made her happy. He was asolid, comforting, reassuring fact in a world of doubts andperplexities. She did not need to be with him to be fortified, it wasenough just to think of him. Present or absent, his personalityheartened her like fine weather or music or a sea-breeze,--or likethat friendly, soothing night-light which they used to leave in hernursery when she was little, to scare away the goblins and see hersafely over the road that led to the gates of the city of dreams.

　　Suppose there were no Wally . . .

　　Jill gave a sudden gasp, and sat up, tingling. She felt as she hadsometimes felt as a child, when, on the edge of sleep, she haddreamed that she was stepping of a precipice and had woken, tense andalert, to find that there was no danger after all. But there was adifference between that feeling and this. She had woken, but to findthat there was danger. It was as though some inner voice was callingto her to be careful, to take thought. Suppose there were no Wally?

　　. . . And why should there always be Wally? He had said confidentlyenough that there would never be another girl . . . But there werethousands of other girls, millions of other girls, and could shesuppose that one of them would not have the sense to snap up atreasure like Wally? A sense of blank desolation swept over Jill. Herquick imagination, leaping ahead, had made the vague possibility of adistant future an accomplished fact. She felt, absurdly, a sense ofoverwhelming loss.

　　Into her mind, never far distant from it, came the thought of Derek.

　　And, suddenly, Jill made another discovery. She was thinking ofDerek, and it was not hurting. She was thinking of him quite coollyand clearly and her heart was not aching.

　　She sat back and screwed her eyes tight, as she had always done whenpuzzled. Something had happened to her, but how it had happened andwhen it had happened and why it had happened she could notunderstand. She only knew that now for the first time she had beengranted a moment of clear vision and was seeing things truly.

　　She wanted Wally. She wanted him in the sense that she could not dowithout him. She felt nothing of the fiery tumult which had come uponher when she first met Derek. She and Wally would come together witha smile and build their life on an enduring foundation of laughterand happiness and good-fellowship. Wally had never shaken and neverwould shake her senses as Derek had done. If that was love, then shedid not love Wally. But her clear vision told her that it was notlove. It might be the blazing and crackling of thorns, but it was notthe fire. She wanted Wally. She needed him as she needed the air andthe sunlight.

　　She opened her eyes, and saw Uncle Chris coming down the aisletowards her. There was a man with him, and, as they moved closer inthe dim light, Jill saw that it was Derek.

　　"Jill, my dear," said Uncle Chris, "here is an old friend to seeyou!"And, having achieved their bringing together, he proceeded towithdraw delicately whence he had come. It is pleasant to be able torecord that he was immediately seized upon by Mrs Peagrim, who hadchanged her mind about not dancing, and led off to be her partner ina fox-trot, in the course of which she trod on his feet three times.

　　"Why, Derek!" said Jill cheerfully. She got up and moved down theline of seats. Except for a mild wonder how he came to be there, shefound herself wholly unaffected by the sight of him. "Whatever areyou doing here?"Derek sat down beside her. The cordiality of her tone had relievedyet at the same time disconcerted him. Man seldom attains to perfectcontentment in this world, and Derek, while pleased that Jillapparently bore him no ill-will, seemed to miss something in hermanner which he would have been glad to find there.

　　"Jill!" he said huskily.

　　It deemed to Derek only decent to speak huskily. To his orderly mindthis situation could be handled only in one way. It was a plain,straight issue of the strong man humbling himself--not too much, ofcourse, but sufficiently: and it called, in his opinion, for the lowvoice, the clenched hand, and the broken whisper. Speaking as he hadspoken, he had given the scene the right key from the start,--orwould have done if she had not got in ahead of him and opened it on anote of absurd cheeriness. Derek found himself resenting hercheeriness. Often as he had attempted during the voyage from Englandto visualize to himself this first meeting, he had never picturedJill smiling brightly at him. It was a jolly smile, and made her lookextremely pretty, but it jarred upon him. A moment before he had beenhalf relieved, half disconcerted: now he was definitely disconcerted.

　　He searched in his mind for a criticism of her attitude, and came tothe conclusion that what was wrong with it was that it was toofriendly. Friendliness is well enough in its way, but in what shouldhave been a tense clashing of strong emotions it did not seem toDerek fitting.

　　"Did you have a pleasant trip?" asked Jill. "Have you come over onbusiness?"A feeling of bewilderment came upon Derek. It was wrong, it was allwrong. Of course, she might be speaking like this to cloak intensefeeling, but, if so, she had certainly succeeded. From her manner, heand she might be casual acquaintances. A pleasant trip! In anotherminute she would be asking him how he had come out on the sweepstakeon the ship's run. With a sense of putting his shoulder to some heavyweight and heaving at it, he sought to lift the conversation to ahigher plane.

　　"I came to find _you!_" he said; still huskily but not so huskily asbefore. There are degrees of huskiness, and Derek's was sharpened alittle by a touch of irritation.

　　"Yes?" said Jill.

　　Derek was now fermenting. What she ought to have said, he did notknow, but he knew that it was not "Yes?" "Yes?" in the circumstanceswas almost as bad as "Really?"There was a pause. Jill was looking at him with a frank andunembarrassed gaze which somehow deepened his sense of annoyance. Hadshe looked at him coldly, he could have understood and evenappreciated it. He had been expecting coldness, and had bracedhimself to combat it. He was still not quite sure in his mind whetherhe was playing the role of a penitent or a King Cophetua, but ineither character he might have anticipated a little temporarycoldness, which it would have been his easy task to melt. But he hadnever expected to be looked at as if he were a specimen in a museum,and that was how he was feeling now. Jill was not looking at him--shewas inspecting him, examining him, and he chafed under the process.

　　Jill, unconscious of the discomfort she was causing, continued togaze. She was trying to discover in just what respect he had changedfrom the god he had been. Certainly not in looks. He was as handsomeas ever,--handsomer, indeed, for the sunshine and clean breezes ofthe Atlantic had given him an exceedingly becoming coat of tan. Andyet he must have changed, for now she could look upon him quitedispassionately and criticize him without a tremor. It was likeseeing a copy of a great painting. Everything was there, except theone thing that mattered, the magic and the glamour. It was like . . .

　　She suddenly remembered a scene in the dressing-room when the companyhad been in Baltimore. Lois Denham, duly the recipient of thesunburst which her friend Izzy had promised her, had unfortunately,in a spirit of girlish curiosity, taken it to a jeweller to bepriced, and the jeweller had blasted her young life by declaring it apaste imitation. Jill recalled how the stricken girl--previous tocalling Izzy on the long distance and telling him a number of thingswhich, while probably not news to him, must have been painfulhearing--had passed the vile object round the dressing-room forinspection. The imitation was perfect. It had been impossible for thegirls to tell that the stones were not real diamonds. Yet thejeweller, with his sixth sense, had seen through them in a trifleunder ten seconds. Jill come to the conclusion that hernewly-discovered love for Wally Mason had equipped her with a sixthsense, and that by its aid she was really for the first time seeingDerek as he was.

　　Derek had not the privilege of being able to read Jill's thoughts.

　　All he could see was the outer Jill, and the outer Jill, as she hadalways done, was stirring his emotions. Her daintiness afflicted him.

　　Not for the first, the second, or the third time since they had comeinto each other's lives, he was astounded at the strength of theappeal which Jill had for him when they were together, as contrastedwith its weakness when they were apart. He made another attempt toestablish the scene on a loftier plane.

　　"What a fool I was!" he sighed. "Jill! Can you ever forgive me?"He tried to take her hand. Jill skilfully eluded him.

　　"Why, of course I've forgiven you, Derek, if there was anything toforgive.""Anything to forgive!" Derek began to get into his stride. These werethe lines on which he had desired the interview to develop. "I was abrute! A cad!""Oh, no!""I was. Oh, I have been through hell!"Jill turned her head away. She did not want to hurt him, but nothingcould have kept her from smiling. She had been so sure that he wouldsay that sooner or later.

　　"Jill!" Derek had misinterpreted the cause of her movement, and hadattributed it to emotion. "Tell me that everything is as it wasbefore."Jill turned.

　　"I'm afraid I can't say that, Derek.""Of course not!" agreed Derek in a comfortable glow of manly remorse.

　　He liked himself in the character of the strong man abased. "It wouldbe too much, to expect, I know. But, when we are married . . .""Do you really want to marry me?""Jill!""I wonder!""How can you doubt it?"Jill looked at him.

　　"Have you thought what it would mean?""What it would mean?""Well, your mother . . .""Oh!" Derek dismissed Lady Underhill with a grand gesture.

　　"Yes," persisted Jill, "but, if she disapproved of your marrying mebefore, wouldn't she disapprove a good deal more now, when I haven'ta penny in the world and am just in the chorus . . ."A sort of strangled sound proceeded from Derek's throat.

　　"In the chorus!""Didn't you know? I thought Freddie must have told you.""In the chorus!" Derek stammered. "I thought you were here as a guestof Mrs Peagrim's.""So I am,--like all the rest of the company.""But . . . But . . .""You see, it would be bound to make everything a little difficult,"said Jill. Her face was grave, but her lips were twitching. "I mean,you are rather a prominent man, aren't you, and if you married achorus-girl . . .""Nobody would know," said Derek limply.

　　Jill opened her eyes.

　　"Nobody would _know!_" She laughed. "But, of course, you've never metour press-agent. If you think that nobody would know that a girl inthe company had married a baronet who was a member of parliament andexpected to be in the Cabinet in a few years, you're wronging him!

　　The news would be on the front page of all the papers the very nextday--columns of it, with photographs. There would be articles about itin the Sunday papers. Illustrated! And then it would be cabled toEngland and would appear in the papers there . . . You see, you're avery important person, Derek."Derek sat clutching the arms of his chair. His face was chalky.

　　Though he had never been inclined to underestimate his importance asa figure in the public eye, he had overlooked the disadvantagesconnected with such an eminence. He gurgled wordlessly. He had beenprepared to brave Lady Underhill's wrath and assert his right to marrywhom he pleased, but this was different.

　　Jill watched him curiously and with a certain pity. It was so easy toread what was passing in his mind. She wondered what he would say,how he would flounder out of his unfortunate position. She had noillusions about him now. She did not even contemplate the possibilityof chivalry winning the battle which was going on within him.

　　"It would be very awkward, wouldn't it?" she said.

　　And then pity had its way with Jill. He had treated her badly; for atime she had thought that he had crushed all the heart out of her: