I Wonderful things happen. If anybody had foretold¹ to Mrs. Tams that in her fifty-eighth year she would accede² to the honourable³ order of the starched⁴ white cap, Mrs. Tams could not have credited the prophecy. But there she stood, in the lobby of the house at Bycars, frocked in black, with the strings⁵ of a plain but fine white apron⁶ stretched round her stoutness⁷, and the cap crowning her grey hair. It was Louis who had insisted on the cap, which Rachel had thought unnecessary and even snobbish⁸, and which Mrs. Tams had nervously⁹ deprecated. Not without pleasure, however, had both women yielded to his indeed unanswerable argument: "You can't possibly have a servant opening the door without a cap. It's unthinkable."
 
Thus in her latter years of grandmotherhood had Mrs. Tams cast off the sackcloth of the charwoman and become a glorious domestic servant, with a room of her own in the house, and no responsibilities beyond the house, and no right to leave the house save once a week, when she visited younger generations, who still took from her and gave nothing back. She owed the advancement¹⁰ to Rachel, who, quite unused to engaging servants, and alarmed by harrowing stories of the futility¹¹ of registry offices and advertisements, had seen in Mrs. Tams the comfortable solution of a fearful problem. Louis would have preferred a younger, slimmer, nattier¹², fluffier¹³ creature than Mrs. Tams, but was ready to be convinced that such as he wanted lived only in his fancy. Moreover, he liked Mrs. Tams, and would occasionally flatter her by a smack¹⁴ on the shoulder.
 
So in the April dusk Mrs. Tams stood in the windy lobby, and was full of vanity and the pride of life. She gazed forth¹⁵ in disdain¹⁶ at the little crowd of inquisitive¹⁷ idlers and infants that remained obstinately¹⁸ on the pavement hoping against hope that the afternoon's marvellous series of social phenomena¹⁹ was not over. She scorned the slatternly, stupid little crowd for its lack of manners. Yet she ought to have known, and she did know as well as any one, that though in Bursley itself people will pretend out of politeness that nothing unusual is afoot when something unusual most obviously is afoot, in the small suburbs of Bursley, such as Bycars, no human or divine power can prevent the populace from loosing its starved curiosity openly upon no matter what spectacle that may differ from the ordinary. Alas²⁰! Mrs. Tams in the past had often behaved even as the simple members of that crowd. Nevertheless, all ceremonies being over, she shut the front door with haughtiness²¹, feeling glad that she was not as others are. And further, she was swollen²² and consequential²³ because, without counting persons named Batchgrew, two visitors had come in a motor, and because at one supreme²⁵ moment no less than two motors (including a Batchgrew motor) had been waiting together at the curb²⁶ in front of her cleaned steps. Who could have foreseen this arrant²⁷ snobbishness²⁸ in the excellent child of nature, Mrs. Tams?
 
A far worse example of spiritual iniquity²⁹ sat lolling on the Chesterfield in the parlour. Ignorance and simplicity³⁰ and a menial imitativeness might be an excuse for Mrs. Tams; but not for Rachel, the mistress, the omniscient³¹, the all-powerful, the giver of good, who could make and unmake with a nod. Rachel sitting gorgeous on the Chesterfield amid an enormous twilit welter and litter of disarranged chairs and tables; empty teapots, cups, jugs³², and glasses; dishes of fragmentary remains³³ of cake and chocolate; plates smeared³⁴ with roseate ham, sticky teaspoons³⁵, loaded ash-trays, and a large general crumby mess—Rachel, the downright, the contemner³⁶ of silly social prejudices and all nonsense, was actually puffed³⁷ up because she had a servant in a cap and because automobiles³⁸ had deposited elegant girls at her door and whirled them off again. And she would have denied it and yet was not ashamed.
 
The sole extenuation⁴⁰ of Rachel's base worldliness was that during the previous six months she had almost continuously had the sensations of a person crossing Niagara on a tight-rope, and that now, on this very day, she had leaped to firm ground and was accordingly exultant⁴¹. After Mrs. Maldon's death she had felt somehow guilty of disloyalty; she passionately⁴³ regretted having had no opportunity to assure the old lady that her suspicions about Louis were wrong and cruel, and to prove to her in some mysterious way the deep rightness of the betrothal⁴⁴. She blushed only for the moment of her betrothal. She had solemnly bound Louis to keep the betrothal secret until Christmas. She had laid upon both of them a self-denying ordinance⁴⁵ as to meeting. The funeral over, she was without a home. She wished to find another situation; Louis would not hear of it. She contemplated⁴⁶ a visit to her father and brother in America. In response to a letter, her brother sent her the exact amount of the steerage fare, and, ready to accept it, she was astounded⁴⁸ at Louis' fury against her brother and at the accent with which he had spit out the word "steerage." Her brother and father had gone steerage. However, she gave way to Louis, chiefly because she could not bear to leave him even for a couple of months. She was lodging⁴⁹ at Knype, at a total normal expense of ten shillings a week. She possessed⁵⁰ over fifty pounds—enough to keep her for six months and to purchase a trousseau, and not one penny would she deign⁵¹ to receive from her affianced.
 
The disclosure of Mrs. Maldon's will increased the delicacy⁵² of her situation. Mrs. Maldon had left the whole of her property in equal shares to Louis and Julian absolutely. There were others who by blood had an equal claim upon her with these two, but the rest had been mere⁵³ names to her, and she had characteristically risen above the conventionalism of heredity. Mr. Batchgrew, the executor, was able to announce that in spite of losses the heirs would get over three thousand five hundred pounds apiece. Hence it followed that Rachel would be marrying for money as well as for position! She trembled when the engagement was at length announced. And when Louis, after consultation⁵⁴ with Mr. Batchgrew, pointed⁵⁵ out that it would be advantageous⁵⁶ not merely to the estate as a whole, but to himself and to her, if he took over the house at Bycars and its contents at a valuation and made it their married home, she at first declined utterly⁵⁷. The scheme seemed sacrilegious to her. How could she dare to be happy in that house where Mrs. Maldon had died, in that house which was so intimately Mrs. Maldon's? But the manifold excellences⁵⁸ of the scheme, appealing strongly to her common sense, overcame her scruples⁵⁹. The dead are dead; the living must live, and the living must not be morbid⁶⁰; it would be absurd to turn into a pious⁶¹ monument every house which death has emptied; Mrs. Maldon, had she known all the circumstances, would have been only too pleased, etc., etc. The affair was settled, and grew into public knowledge.
 
Rachel had to emerge upon the world as an engaged girl. Left to herself she would have shunned⁶² all formalities; but Louis, bred up in Barnes, knew what was due to society. Naught⁶³ was omitted. Louis' persuasiveness⁶⁵ could not be withstood. Withal, he was so right. And though Rachel in one part of her mind had a contempt for "fuss," in another she liked it and was half ashamed of liking⁶⁶ it. Further, her common sense, of which she was still proud, told her that the delicacy of her situation demanded "fuss," and would be much assuaged⁶⁷ thereby⁶⁸. And finally, the whole thing, being miraculous⁶⁹, romantic, and incredible, had the quality of a dream through which she lived in a dazed nonchalance⁷⁰. Could it be true that she had resided with Mrs. Maldon only for a month? Could it be true that her courtship had lasted only two days—or at most, three? Never, she thought, had a sensible, quiet girl ridden such a whirlwind before in the entire history of the world. Could Louis be as foolishly fond of her as he seemed? Was she truly to be married? "I shan't have a single wedding-present," she had said. Then wedding-presents began to come. "Are we married?" she had said, when they were married and in the conventional clothes in the conventional vehicle. After that she soon did realize that the wondrous⁷¹ and the unutterable had happened to her too. And she swung over to the other extreme: instead of doubting the reality of her own experiences, she was convinced that her experiences were more real than those of any other created girl, and hence she felt a slight condescension⁷² towards all the rest. "I am a married woman," she reflected at intervals⁷³, with intense momentary⁷⁴ pride. And her fits of confusion in public would end in recurrences⁷⁵ of this strange, proud feeling.
 
Then she had to face the return to Bursley, and, later, the At Home which Louis propounded⁷⁶ as a matter of course, and which she knew to be inevitable⁷⁷. The house was her toy, and Mrs. Tams was her toy. But the glee of playing with toys had been overshadowed for days by the delicious dread⁷⁸ of the At Home. "It will be the first caller that will kill me," she had said. "But will anybody really come?" And the first caller had called. And, finding herself still alive, she had become radiant, and often during the afternoon had forgotten to be clumsy. The success of the At Home was prodigious⁷⁹, startling. Now and then when the room was full, and people without chairs perched on the end of the Chesterfield, she had whispered to her secret heart in a tiny, tiny voice: "These are my guests. They all treat me with special deference⁸⁰. I am the hostess. I am Mrs. Fores." The Batchgrew clan⁸¹ was well represented, no doubt by order from authority, Mrs. Yardley came, in surprising stylishness⁸². Visitors arrived from Knype. Miss Malkin came and atoned⁸³ for her historic glance in the shop. But the dazzlers were sundry⁸⁴ male friends of Louis, with Kensingtonian accents, strange phrases, and assurance in the handling of teacups and the choosing of cake.... One by one and two by two they had departed, and at last Rachel, with a mind as it were breathless from rapid flittings to and fro, was seated alone on the sofa.
 
She was richly dressed in a dark blue taffeta dress that gave brilliance⁸⁵ to her tawny⁸⁶ hair. Perhaps she was over-richly dressed, for, like many girls who as a rule are not very interested in clothes, she was too interested in them at times, and inexperienced taste was apt to mislead her into an unfitness. Also her figure was too stiff and sturdy to favour elegance⁸⁷. But on this occasion the general effect of her was notably⁸⁸ picturesque⁸⁹, and her face and hair, and the expression of her pose, atoned in their charm for the shortcomings and the luxuriance of the frock. She was no more the Rachel that Mrs. Maldon had known and that Louis had first kissed. Her glance had altered, and her gestures. She would ask herself, could it be true that she was a married woman? But her glance and gestures announced it true at every instant. A new languor⁹⁰ and a new confidence had transformed the girl. Her body had been modified and her soul at once chastened and fired. Fresh in her memory was endless matter for meditation⁹². And on the sofa, in a negligent⁹³ attitude of repose⁹⁴, with shameless eyes gazing far into the caverns⁹⁵ of the fire, and an unreadable faint smile on her face, she meditated⁹⁶. And she was the most seductive, tantalizing⁹⁷, self-contradictory object for study in the whole of Bursley. She had never been so interesting as in this brief period, and she might never be so interesting again.
 
Mrs. Tams entered. With her voice Mrs. Tams said, "Shall I begin to clear all these things away, mam?" But with her self-conscious eyes Mrs. Tams said to the self-conscious eyes of Rachel, "What a staggering world we live in, don't we?"
 
 
II
Rachel sprang from the Chesterfield, smoothed down her frock, shook her hair, and then ran upstairs to the large front bedroom, where Louis, to whom the house was just as much a toy as to Rachel, was about to knock a nail into a wall. Out of breath, she stood close to him very happily. The At Home was over. She was now definitely received as a married woman in a town full of married women and girls waiting to be married women. She had passed successfully through a trying and exhausting experience; the nervous tension was slackened. And therefore it might be expected that she would have a sense of reaction, the vague melancholy⁹⁸ which is produced when that which has long been seen before is suddenly seen behind. But it was not so in the smallest degree. Every moment of her existence equally was thrilling and happy. One piquant⁹⁹ joy was succeeded immediately by another as piquant. To Rachel it was not in essence more exciting to officiate at an At Home than to watch Louis drive a nail into a wall.
 
The man winked¹⁰⁰ at her in the dusk; she winked back, and put her hand intimately on his shoulder. She thought, "I am safe with him now in the house." The feeling of solitude¹⁰¹ with him, of being barricaded¹⁰² against the world and at the mercy of Louis alone, was exquisite¹⁰³ to her. Then Louis raised himself on his toes, and raised his left arm with the nail as high as he could, and stuck the point of the nail against a pencil-mark on the wall. Then he raised the right hand with the hammer; but the mark was just too high to be efficiently¹⁰⁴ reached by both hands simultaneously¹⁰⁵. Louis might have stood on a chair. This simple device, however, was too simple for them.
 
Rachel said—
 
"Shall I stand on a chair and hold the nail for you?" Louis murmured—
 
"Brainy little thing! Never at a loss!"
 
She skipped on to a chair and held the nail. Towering thus above him, she looked down on her husband and thought: "This man is mine alone, and he is all mine." And in Rachel's fancy the thought itself seemed to caress¹⁰⁶ Louis from head to foot.
 
"Supposing I catch you one?" said Louis, as he prepared to strike.
 
"I don't care," said Rachel.
 
And the fact was that really she would have liked him to hit her finger instead of the nail—not too hard, but still smartly. She would have taken pleasure in the pain: such was the perversity¹⁰⁷ of the young wife. But Louis hit the nail infallibly every time.
 
He took up a picture which had been lying against the wall in a dark corner, and thrust the twisting wire of it over the nail.
 
Rachel, when in the deepening darkness she had peered into the frame, exclaimed, pouting—
 
"Oh, darling, you aren't going to hang that here, are you? It's so old-fashioned. You said it was old-fashioned yourself. I did want that thing that came this morning to be put somewhere here. Why can't you stick this in the spare room?... Unless, of course, you prefer...." She was being deferential¹⁰⁸ to the art-expert in him, as well as to the husband.
 
"Not in the least!" said Louis, acquiescent¹⁰⁹, and unhooked the picture.
 
Taste changes. The rejected of Rachel was a water-colour by the late Athelstan Maldon, adored by Mrs. Maldon. Already it had been degraded from the parlour to the bedroom, and now it was to be pushed away like a shame into obscurity. It was a view of the celebrated¹¹⁰ Vale of Llangollen, finicking, tight, and hard in manner, but with a certain sentiment and modest skill. The way in which the initials "A.M." had been hidden amid the foreground foliage¹¹¹ in the left-hand corner disclosed enough of the painter's quiet and proud temperament¹¹² to show that he "took after" his mother. Yet a few more years, and the careless observer would miss those initials altogether and would be contemptuously inquiring, "Who did this old daub, I wonder?" And nobody would know who did the old daub, or that the old daub for thirty years had been an altar for undying affection, and also a distinguished¹¹³ specimen—admired by a whole generation of townsfolk—of the art of water-colour.
 
And the fate of Athelstan's sketch¹¹⁴ was symptomatic. Mrs. Maiden's house had been considered perfect, up to the time of her death. Rachel had at first been even intimidated¹¹⁵ by it; Louis had sincerely praised it. And indeed its perfection was an axiom of drawing-room conversation. But as soon as Louis and Rachel began to look on the house with the eye of inhabitants, the axiom fell to a dog............