the dark flower-第39章

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at　schoolto　have　been　at　College　together；　were　links
mysteriously　indestructible。

〃Mark　Lennan！　　By　gum！　haven't　seen　you　for　ages。　　Not　since　you
turned　out　a　full…blownwhat　d'you　call　it？　　Awfully　glad　to　meet
you；　old　chap！〃　　Here　was　the　past　indeed；　long　vanished　in　feeling
and　thought　and　all；　and　Lennan's　head　buzzed；　trying　to　find　some
common　interest　with　this　hunting；　racing　man…about…town。

Johnny　Dromore　come　to　life　againhe　whom　the　Machine　had　stamped
with　astute　simplicity　by　the　time　he　was　twenty…two；　and　for　ever
after　left　untouched　in　thought　and　feelingJohnny　Dromore；　who
would　never　pass　beyond　the　philosophy　that　all　was　queer　and
freakish　which　had　not　to　do　with　horses；　women；　wine；　cigars；
jokes；　good…heartedness；　and　that　perpetual　bet；　Johnny　Dromore；
who；　somewhere　in　him；　had　a　pocket　of　depth；　a　streak　of　hunger；
that　was　not　just　Johnny　Dromore。

How　queer　was　the　sound　of　that　jerky　talk！

〃You　ever　see　old　Fookes　now？　　Been　racin'　at　all？　　You　live　in
Town？　　Remember　good　old　Blenker？〃　　And　then　silence；　and　then
another　spurt：　〃Ever　go　down　to　'Bambury's？'　　Ever　go　racin'？　。　。　。
Come　on　up　to　my　'digs。'　　You've　got　nothin'　to　do。〃　　No　persuading
Johnny　Dromore　that　a　'what　d'you　call　it'　could　have　anything　to
do。　　〃Come　on；　old　chap。　　I've　got　the　hump。　　It's　this　damned　east
wind。〃

Well　he　remembered　it；　when　they　shared　a　room　at　'Bambury's'that
hump　of　Johnny　Dromore's；　after　some　reckless　spree　or　bout　of
teasing。

And　down　that　narrow　bye…street　of　Piccadilly　he　had　gone；　and　up
into　those　'digs'　on　the　first　floor；　with　their　little　dark　hall；
their　Van　Beers'　drawing　and　Vanity　Fair　cartoons；　and　prints　of
racehorses；　and　of　the　old　Nightgown　Steeplechase；　with　the　big
chairs；　and　all　the　paraphernalia　of　Race　Guides　and　race…glasses；
fox…masks　and　stags'…horns；　and　hunting…whips。　　And　yet；　something
that　from　the　first　moment　struck　him　as　not　quite　in　keeping；
foreign　to　the　picturea　little　jumble　of　books；　a　vase　of
flowers；　a　grey　kitten。

〃Sit　down；　old　chap。　　What'll　you　drink？〃

Sunk　into　the　recesses　of　a　marvellous　chair；　with　huge　arms　of
tawny　leather；　he　listened　and　spoke　drowsily。　　'Bambury's；'
Oxford；　Gordy's　clubsdear　old　Gordy；　gone　now！things　long
passed　by；　they　seemed　all　round　him　once　again。　　And　yet；　always
that　vague　sense；　threading　this　resurrection；　threading　the　smoke
of　their　cigars；　and　Johnny　Dromore's　clipped　talkof　something
that　did　not　quite　belong。　　Might　it　be；　perhaps；　that　sepia
drawingabove　the　'Tantalus'　on　the　oak　sideboard　at　the　far　end
of　a　woman's　face　gazing　out　into　the　room？　　Mysteriously　unlike
everything　else；　except　the　flowers；　and　this　kitten　that　was
pushing　its　furry　little　head　against　his　hand。　　Odd　how　a　single
thing　sometimes　took　possession　of　a　room；　however　remote　in
spirit！　　It　seemed　to　reach　like　a　shadow　over　Dromore's
outstretched　limbs；　and　weathered；　long…nosed　face；　behind　his　huge
cigar；　over　the　queer；　solemn；　chaffing　eyes；　with　something
brooding　in　the　depths　of　them。

〃Ever　get　the　hump？　　Bally　awful；　isn't　it？　　It's　getting　old。
We're　bally　old；　you　know；　Lenny！〃　　Ah！　　No　one　had　called　him
'Lenny'　for　twenty　years。　　And　it　was　true；　they　were　unmentionably
old。

〃When　a　fellow　begins　to　feel　old；　you　know；　it's　time　he　went
brokeor　something；　doesn't　bear　sittin'　down　and　lookin'　at。
Come　out　to　'Monte'　with　me！〃

'Monte！'　　That　old　wound；　never　quite　healed；　started　throbbing　at
the　word；　so　that　he　could　hardly　speak　his：　〃No；　I　don't　care　for
'Monte。'〃

And；　at　once；　he　saw　Dromore's　eyes　probing；　questioning：

〃You　married？〃

〃Yes。〃

〃Never　thought　of　you　as　married！〃

So　Dromore　did　think　of　him。　　Queer！　　He　never　thought　of　Johnny
Dromore。

〃Winter's　bally　awful；　when　you're　not　huntin'。　　You've　changed　a
lot；　should　hardly　have　known　you。　　Last　time　I　saw　you；　you'd　just
come　back　from　Rome　or　somewhere。　　What's　it　like　bein'　aa
sculptor？　　Saw　something　of　yours　once。　　Ever　do　things　of　horses？〃

Yes；　he　had　done　a　'relief'　of　ponies　only　last　year。

〃You　do　women；　too；　I　s'pose？〃

〃Not　often。〃

The　eyes　goggled　slightly。　　Quaint；　that　unholy　interest！　　Just
like　boys；　the　Johnny　Dromoreswould　never　grow　up；　no　matter　how
life　treated　them。　　If　Dromore　spoke　out　his　soul；　as　he　used　to
speak　it　out　at　'Bambury's；'　he　would　say：　'You　get　a　pull　there；
you　have　a　bally　good　time；　I　expect。'　　That　was　the　way　it　took
them；　just　a　converse　manifestation　of　the　very　same　feeling
towards　Art　that　the　pious　Philistines　had；　with　their　deploring
eyebrows　and　their　'peril　to　the　soul。'　　Babes　all！　　Not　a
glimmering　of　what　Art　meantof　its　effort；　and　its　yearnings！

〃You　make　money　at　it？〃

〃Oh；　yes。〃

Again　that　appreciative　goggle；　as　who　should　say：　'Ho！　there's
more　in　this　than　I　thought！'

A　long　silence；　then；　in　the　dusk　with　the　violet　glimmer　from
outside　the　windows；　the　fire　flickering　in　front　of　them；　the　grey
kitten　purring　against　his　neck；　the　smoke　of　their　cigars　going
up；　and　such　a　strange；　dozing　sense　of　rest；　as　he　had　not　known
for　many　days。　　And　thensomething；　someone　at　the　door；　over　by
the　sideboard！　　And　Dromore　speaking　in　a　queer　voice：

〃Come　in；　Nell！　　D'you　know　my　daughter？〃

A　hand　took　Lennan's；　a　hand　that　seemed　to　waver　between　the
aplomb　of　a　woman　of　the　world；　and　a　child's　impulsive　warmth。
And　a　voice；　young；　clipped；　clear；　said：

〃How　d'you　do？　　She's　rather　sweet；　isn't　shemy　kitten？〃

Then　Dromore　turned　the　light　up。　　A　figure　fairly　tall；　in　a　grey
riding…habit；　stupendously　well　cut；　a　face　not　quite　so　round　as　a
child's　nor　so　shaped　as　a　woman's；　blushing　slightly；　very　calm；
crinkly　light…brown　hair　tied　back　with　a　black　ribbon　under　a　neat
hat；　and　eyes　like　those　eyes　of　Gainsborough's　'Perdita'slow；
grey；　mesmeric；　with　long　lashes　curling　up；　eyes　that　draw　things
to　them；　still　innocent。

And　just　on　the　point　of　saying：　〃I　thought　you'd　stepped　out　of
that　picture〃he　saw　Dromore's　face；　and　mumbled　instead：

〃So　it's　YOUR　kitten？〃

〃Yes；　she　goes　to　everybody。　　Do　you　like　Persians？　　She's　all　fur
really。　　Feel！〃

Entering　with　his　fingers　the　recesses　of　the　kitten；　he　said：

〃Cats　without　fur　are　queer。〃

〃Have　you　seen　one　without　fur？〃

〃Oh；　yes！　　In　my　profession　we　have　to　go　below　furI'm　a
sculptor。〃

〃That　must　be　awfully　interesting。〃

What　a　woman　of　the　world！　　But　what　a　child；　too！　　And　now　he
could　see　that　the　face　in　the　sepia　drawing　was　older　altogether
lips　not　so　full；　look　not　so　innocent；　cheeks　not　so　round；　and
something　sad　and　desperate　about　ita　face　that　life　had　rudely
touched。　　But　the　same　eyes　it　hadand　what　charm；　for　all　its
disillusionment；　its　air　of　a　history！　　Then　he　noticed；　fastened
to　the　frame；　on　a　thin　rod；　a　dust…coloured　curtain；　drawn　to　one
side。　　The　self…possessed　young　voice　was　saying：

〃Would　you　mind　if　I　showed　you　my　drawings？　　It　would　be　awfully
good　of　you。　　You　could　tell　me　about　them。〃　　And　with　dismay　he
saw　her　open　a　portfolio。　　While　he　scrutinized　those　schoolgirl
drawings；　he　could　feel　her　looking　at　him；　as　animals　do　when　they
are　making　up　their　minds　whether　or　no　to　like　you；　then　she　came
and　stood　so　close　that　her　arm　pressed　his。　　He　redoubled　his
efforts　to　find　something　good　about　the　drawings。　　But　in　truth
there　was　nothing　good。　　And　if；　in　other　matters；　he　could　lie
well　enough　to　save　people's　feelings；　where　Art　was　concerned　he
never　could；　so　he　merely　said：

〃You　haven't　been　taught；　you　see。〃

〃Will　you　teach　me？〃

But　before　he　could　answer；　she　was　already　effacing　that　naive
question　in　her　most　grown…up　manner。

〃Of　course　I　oughtn't　to　ask。　　It　would　bore　you　awfully。〃

After　that　he　vaguely　remembered　Dromore's　asking　if　he　ever　rode
in　the　Row；　and　those　eyes　of　hers　following　him　about；　and　her
hand　giving　his　another　childish　squeeze。　　Then　he　was　on　his　way
again　down　the　dimly…lighted　stairs；　past　an　interminable　array　of
Vanity　Fair　cartoons；　out　into　the　east　wind。


III


Crossing　the　Green　Park　on　his　way　home；　was　he　more；　or　less；
restless？　　Difficul