They were nervous, both of them. Although they had been legally and publicly married and their situation was in every way regular, although the new flat in Ashley Gardens was spacious¹, spotless, and luxurious² to an extraordinary degree, although they had a sum of nearly seven thousand pounds at the bank, although their consciences were clear and their persons ornamental³, Henry and Geraldine were decidedly nervous as they sat in their drawing-room awaiting the arrival of Mrs. Knight⁵ and Aunt Annie, who had accepted an invitation to afternoon tea and dinner.  
It was the third day after the conclusion of their mysterious honeymoon⁶.
 
'Have one, dearest?' said Geraldine, determined⁷ to be gay, holding up a morsel⁸ which she[Pg 290] took from a coloured box by her side. And Henry took it with his teeth from between her charming fingers. 'Lovely, aren't they?' she mumbled⁹, munching¹⁰ another morsel herself, and he mumbled that they were.
 
She was certainly charming, if English. Thoughts of Cosette, which used to flit through his brain with a surprising effect that can only be likened to an effect of flamingoes sweeping¹¹ across an English meadow, had now almost entirely¹² ceased to disturb him. He had but to imagine what Geraldine's attitude towards Cosette would have been had the two met, in order to perceive the overpowering balance of advantages in Geraldine's favour.
 
Much had happened since Cosette.
 
As a consequence of natural reaction, he had at once settled down to be extremely serious, and to take himself seriously. He had been assisted in the endeavour by the publication of an article in a monthly review, entitled 'The Art of Henry Shakspere Knight.' The article explained to him how wonderful he was, and he was ingenuously¹³ and sincerely thankful for the revelation. It also, incidentally, showed him that 'Henry Shakspere[Pg 291] Knight' was a better signature for his books than 'Henry S. Knight,' and he decided⁴ to adopt it in his next work. Further, it had enormously quickened in him the sense of his mission in the world, of his duty to his colossal¹⁴ public, and his potentiality for good.
 
He put aside a book which he had already haltingly commenced, and began a new one, in which a victim to the passion for gambling¹⁵ was redeemed¹⁶ by the love of a pure young girl. It contained dramatic scenes in Paris, in the train de luxe, and in Monte Carlo. One of the most striking scenes was a harmony of moonlight and love on board a yacht in the Mediterranean¹⁷, in which sea Veronica prevailed upon Hubert to submerge an ill-gotten gain of six hundred and sixty-three thousand francs, although the renunciation would leave Hubert penniless. Geraldine watched the progress of this book with absolute satisfaction. She had no fault to find with it. She gazed at Henry with large admiring eyes as he read aloud to her chapter after chapter.
 
'What do you think I'm going to call it?' he had demanded of her once, gleefully.
 
'I don't know,' she said.
 
[Pg 292]
 
'Red and Black,' he told her. 'Isn't that a fine title?'
 
'Yes,' she said. 'But it's been used before;' and she gave him particulars of Stendhal's novel, of which he had never heard.
 
'Oh, well!' he exclaimed, somewhat dashed. 'As Stendhal was a Frenchman, and his book doesn't deal with gambling at all, I think I may stick to my title. I thought of it myself, you know.'
 
'Oh yes, dearest. I know you did,' Geraldine said eagerly.
 
'You think I'd better alter it?'
 
Geraldine glanced at the floor. 'You see,' she murmured, 'Stendhal was a really great writer.'
 
He started, shocked. She had spoken in such a way that he could not be sure whether she meant, 'Stendhal was a really great writer,' or, 'Stendhal was a really great writer.' If the former, he did not mind, much. But if the latter—well, he thought uncomfortably of what Tom had said to him in the train. And he perceived again, and more clearly than ever before, that there was something in Geraldine which baffled[Pg 293] him—something which he could not penetrate¹⁸, and never would penetrate.
 
'Suppose I call it Black and Red? Will that do?' he asked forlornly.
 
'It would do,' she answered; 'but it doesn't sound so well.'
 
'I've got it!' he cried exultantly¹⁹. 'I've got it! The Plague-Spot. Monte Carlo the plague-spot of Europe, you know.'
 
'Splendid!' she said with enthusiasm. 'You are always magnificent at titles.'
 
And it was universally admitted that he was.
 
The book had been triumphantly²⁰ finished, and the manuscript delivered to Macalistairs viâ Mark Snyder, and the huge cheque received under cover of a letter full of compliments on Henry's achievement. Macalistairs announced that their Magazine would shortly contain the opening chapters of Mr. Henry Shakspere Knight's great romance, The Plague-Spot, which would run for one year, and which combined a tremendous indictment²¹ of certain phases of modern life with an original love-story by turns idyllic²² and dramatic. Gordon's Monthly was serializing the novel in America. About this time, an interview with Henry, [Pg 294]suggested by Sir Hugh Macalistair himself, appeared in an important daily paper. 'It is quite true,' said Henry in the interview, 'that I went to Monte Carlo to obtain first-hand material for my book. The stories of my breaking the bank there, however, are wildly exaggerated. Of course, I played a little, in order to be able to put myself in the place of my hero. I should explain that I was in Monte Carlo with my cousin, Mr. Dolbiac, the well-known sculptor²³ and painter, who was painting portraits there. Mr. Dolbiac is very much at home in Parisian artistic²⁴ society, and he happened to introduce me to a famous French lady singer who was in Monte Carlo at the time. This lady and I found ourselves playing at the same table. From time to time I put down her stakes for her; that was all. She certainly had an extraordinary run of luck, but the bank was actually broken at last by the united bets of a number of people. That is the whole story, and I'm afraid it is much less exciting and picturesque²⁵ than the rumours²⁶ which have been flying about. I have never seen the lady since that day.'
 
Then his marriage had filled the air.
 
At an early stage in the preparations for that[Pg 295] event his mother and Aunt Annie became passive—ceased all activity. Perfect peace was maintained, but they withdrew. Fundamentally and absolutely, Geraldine's ideas were not theirs, and Geraldine did as she liked with Henry. Geraldine and Henry interrogated²⁷ Mark Snyder as to the future. 'Shall we be justified²⁸ in living at the rate of two thousand a year?' they asked him. 'Yes,' he said, 'and four times that!' He had just perused²⁹ The Plague-Spot in manuscript. 'Let's make it three thousand, then,' said Geraldine to Henry. And she had planned the establishment of their home on that scale. Henry did not tell the ladies at Dawes Road that the rent of the flat was three hundred a year, and that the furniture had cost over a thousand, and that he was going to give Geraldine two hundred a year for dress. He feared apoplexy in his mother, and a nervous crisis in Aunt Annie.
 
The marriage took place in a church. It was not this that secretly pained Mrs. Knight and Aunt Annie; all good Wesleyan Methodists marry themselves in church. What secretly pained them was the fact that Henry would not divulge³⁰, even to his own mother, the locality of[Pg 296] the honeymoon. He did say that Geraldine had been bent³¹ upon Paris, and that he had completely barred Paris ('Quite right,' Aunt Annie remarked), but he would say no more. And so after the ceremony the self-conscious pair had disappeared for a fortnight into the unknown and the unknowable.
 
And now they had reappeared out of the unknown and the unknowable, and, with the help of four servants, meant to sustain life in Mrs. Knight and Aunt Annie for a period of some five hours.
 
They heard a ring in the distance of the flat.
 
'Prepare to receive cavalry³²,' said Geraldine, sitting erect³³ in her blue dress on the green settee in the middle of the immense drawing-room.
 
Then, seeing Henry's face, she jumped up, crossed over to her husband, and gave him a smacking³⁴ kiss between the eyes. 'Dearest, I didn't mean it!' she whispered enchantingly. He smiled. She flew back to her seat just as the door opened.
 
'Mr. Doxey,' said a new parlourmaid, intensely white and black, and intensely aware of the eminence³⁵ of her young employers. And little[Pg 297] Doxey of the P.A. came in, rather shabby and insinuating³⁶ as usual, and obviously impressed by the magnificence of his surroundings.
 
'My good Doxey,' exclaimed the chatelaine. 'How delicious of you to have found us out so soon!'
 
'How d'you do, Doxey?' said Henry, rising.
 
'Awfully³⁷ good of you to see me!' began Doxey, depositing his well-preserved hat on a chair. 'Hope I don't interrupt.' He smiled. 'Can't stop a minute. Got a most infernal bazaar³⁸ on at the Cecil. Look here, old man,' he addressed Henry: 'I've been reading your Love in Babylon again, and I fancied I could make a little curtain-raiser out of it—out of the picture incident, you know. I mentioned the idea to Pilgrim, of the Prince's Theatre, and he's fearfully stuck on it.'
 
'You mean, you think he is,' Geraldine put in.
 
'Well, he is,' Doxey pursued, after a brief pause. 'I'm sure he is. I've sketched³⁹ out a bit of a scenario⁴⁰. Now, if you'd give permission and go shares, I'd do it, old chap.'
 
'A play, eh?' was all that............