The Shadow of the East

“Alex and psychology—good heavens!” interposed Miss Craven, her hands at her hair, “and the amelioration of the downtrodden poor,” continued Peters. “It doesn’t sound very original, but I’m told that the propaganda is novel in the extreme. Alex is hard at work among their own people,” he concluded, leaning back in his chair with a laugh.

“But—the downtrodden poor! I thought Horringford was a model landlord and his estates an example to the kingdom.”

“Precisely. That’s the humour of it. But a little detail like that wouldn’t deter Alex. It will be an interest for the summer, she’s always rather at a loose end when there’s no hunting. She had taken up this socialistic business very thoroughly, organizing meetings and lectures. A completely new scheme for the upbringing of children seems to be a special sideline of the campaign. I’m rather vague there—I know I made Alex very angry by telling her that it reminded me of intensive market gardening. That Alex has no children of her own presents no difficulty to her—she is full of the most beautiful theories. But theories don’t seem to go down very well with the village women. She was routed the other day by the mother of a family who told her bluntly to her face she didn’t know what she was talking about—which was doubtless perfectly true. But the manner of telling seems to have been disagreeable and Alex was very annoyed and complained to Thomson, the new agent. He, poor chap, was between the devil and the deep sea, for the tenants had also been complaining that they were being interfered with. So he had to go to Horringford and there was a royal row. The upshot of it was that Alex rang me up on the ‘phone this morning to tell me that Horringford was behaving like a bear, that he was so wrapped up in his musty mummies that he hadn’t a spark of philanthropy in him, and that she was coming over to lunch tomorrow to tell me all about it—she’s delighted to hear that the house is open again, and will come on to you for tea, when you will doubtless get a second edition of her woes. Half-an-hour later Horringford rang me up to say that Alex had been particularly tiresome over some new crank which had set everybody by the ears, that Thomson was sending in a resignation daily, altogether there was the deuce to pay, and would I use my influence and talk sense to her. It appears he is working at high pressure to finish a monograph on one of the Pharaohs and was considerably ruffled at being interrupted.”

“If he cared a little less for the Pharaohs and a little more for Alex—” suggested Miss Craven, blowing smoke rings thoughtfully. Peters shook his head.

“He did care—that’s the pity of it,” he said slowly, “but what can you expect?—you know how it was. Alex was a child married when she should have been in the schoolroom, without a voice in the matter. Horringford was nearly twenty years her senior, always reserved and absorbed in his Egyptian researches. Alex hadn’t an idea in the world outside the stables. Horringford bored her infinitely, and with Alex-like honesty she did not hesitate to tell him so. They hadn’t a thought in common. She couldn’t see the sterling worth of the man, so they drifted apart and Horringford retired more than ever into his shell.”

“And what do you propose to do, Peter?” Craven’s sudden question was startling, for he had not appeared to be listening to the conversation.

Peters lit a cigarette and smoked for a few moments before answering. “I shall listen to all Alex has to say,” he said at last, “then I shall tell her a few things I think she ought to know, and I shall persuade her to ask Horringford to take her with him to Egypt next winter.”

“Why?”

“Because Horringford in Egypt and Horringford in England are two very different people. I know—because I have seen. It’s an idea, it may work. Anyhow it’s worth trying.”

“But suppose her ladyship does not succumb to your persuasive tongue?”

“She will—before I’ve done with her,” replied Peters grimly, and then he laughed. “I guessed from what she said this morning that she was a little frightened at the hornet’s nest she had raised. I imagine she won’t be sorry to run away for a while and let things settle down. She can ease off gently in the meantime and give Egypt as an excuse for finally withdrawing.”

“You think Alex is more to blame than Horringford?” said Miss Craven, with a note of challenge in her voice.

Peters shrugged. “I blame them both. But above all I blame the system that has been responsible for the trouble.”

“You mean that Alex should have been allowed to choose her own husband? She was such a child—”

“And Horringford was such a devil of a good match,” interposed Craven cynically, moving from his chair to the padded fireguard. Gillian was sitting on the arm of Miss Craven’s chair, sorting the patience cards into a leather case. She looked up quickly. “I thought that in England all girls choose their own husbands, that they marry to please themselves, I mean,” she said in a puzzled voice.