He frowned perplexedly. "Nietzsche--that"s the mad superman chap, isn"t it? No. I"ve not read a word."
"I do wish you would. You"ll find him so exhilarating. You might possibly agree with a lot of what he says. I don"t. But he sets you thinking."
She sketched her somewhat prim conception of the Nietzschean philosophy, and after listening to it in dumb wonder, he promised to carry out her wishes. So, when I came down to my library that evening dressed for dinner, I found him, still in morning clothes, with "Thus Spake Zarathustra" on his knees, and a bewildered expression on his face.
"Have you read this, Hilary?" he asked.
"Yes," said I.
"Understand it?"
"More or less."
"Gosh!" said he, shutting the book, "and I suppose Doria understands it too, or she wouldn"t have recommended it. But," he rose ponderously and looked down on me with serious eyes--"what the h.e.l.l is it all about?"
I drew out my watch. "The five seconds that you have before rushing up-stairs to dress," said I, "don"t give me adequate time to expound a philosophic system."
Now if Adrian or I had talked to Jaffery about soul-progression and the Will to Power and suggested that he was missing the essentials of life, we should have been met with bellows of rude and profane derision. I don"t believe he had even roughly considered what kind of an individuality he had, still less enquired into the state of his spiritual being. But the flip of a girl he professed so much to despise came along and reduced him to a condition of helpless introspection. I cannot say that it lasted very long. Psychology and metaphysics and aesthetics lay outside Jaffery"s sphere. But while seeing no harm in his own simple creed of straight-riding and truth-speaking, he added to it an unshakable faith in Doria"s intellectual and spiritual superiority.
On his first meeting with her he had disclaimed the subtler mental qualities, videlicet his similitude of the b.u.mble-bee; now, however, he went further, declaring himself, to a subrident host, to be a chuckle-headed a.s.s, only fit to herd with savages. He would listen, with childlike envy, to Adrian, glib of tongue, exchanging with Doria the shibboleths of the Higher Life. He had been considerably impressed by Adrian as the author of a successful novel; but Adrian as a co-treader of the stars with Doria, appeared to him in the light of an immortal.
Adrian and I, when alone, laughed over old Jaff, as we had laughed over him for goodness knows how many years. I, who had guessed (with Barbara"s aid) the incidence of the thunderbolt, found in his humility something pathetic which was lost to Adrian. The latter only saw the bl.u.s.tering, woman-scorning hulk of thews and sinews, at the mercy of anything in petticoats, from Susan upward. I disagreed. He was not at the mercy of Liosha.
"You burrowing mole," cried Adrian one morning in the library, Jaffery having gone off to golf, "can"t you see that he goes about in mortal terror of her?"
"No such thing!" I retorted hotly. "He has regarded her as an abominable nuisance--a millstone round his neck--a responsibility--"
"A huntress of men," he interrupted. "Especially an all too probable huntress of Jaffery Chayne. With Susan and Barbara and Doria he knows he"s safe--spared the worst--so he yields and they pick him up--look at him and stand him on his head and do whatever they darn well like to him; but with Liosha he knows he isn"t safe. You see," Adrian continued, after having lit a cigarette, "Jaffery"s an honourable old chap, in his way. With Liosha, his friend Prescott"s widow, it would be a question of marriage or nothing."
"You"re talking rubbish," said I. "Jaffery would just as soon think of marrying the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbour."
"That"s what I"m telling you," said Adrian. "He"s in a mortal funk lest his animated Statue of Liberty should descend from her pedestal and with resistless hands take him away and marry him."
"For one who has been hailed as the acutest psychologist of the day,"
said I, "you seem to have very limited powers of observation."
For some unaccountable reason Adrian"s pale face flushed scarlet. He broke out vexedly:
"I don"t see what my imaginative work has got to do with the trivialities of ordinary life. As a matter of fact," he added, after a pause, "the psychology in a novel is all imagination, and it"s the same imaginative faculty that has been amusing itself with Jaffery and this unqualifiable lady."
"All right, my dear man," said I, pacifically. "Probably you"re right and I"m wrong. I was only talking lightly. And speaking of imagination--what about your next book?"
"Oh, d.a.m.n the next book," said he, flicking the ash off his cigarette.
"I"ve got an idea, of course. A jolly good idea. But I"m not worrying about it yet."
"Why?" I asked.
He threw his cigarette into the grate. How, in the name of common sense, could he settle down to work? Wasn"t his head full of his approaching marriage? Could he see at present anything beyond the thing of dream and wonder that was to be his wife? I was a cold-blooded fish to talk of novel-writing.
"But you"ll have to get into it sometime or other," said I.
"Of course. As soon as we come back from Venice, and settle down to a normal life in the flat."
"What does Doria think of the new idea?"
Thousands who knew him not were looking forward to Adrian Boldero"s new book. We, who loved him, were peculiarly interested. Somehow or other we had not touched before so intimately on the subject. To my surprise he frowned and snapped impatient fingers.
"I haven"t told Doria anything about it. It isn"t my way. My work"s too personal a thing, even for Doria. She understands. I know some fellows tell their plots to any and everybody--and others, if they don"t do that, lay bare their artistic souls to those near and dear to them.
Well, I can"t. A word, no matter how loving, of adverse criticism, a glance even that was not sympathetic would paralyse me, it would shatter my faith in the whole structure I had built up. I can"t help it. It"s my nature. As I told you two or three months ago, it has always been my instinct to work in the dark. I instanced my First at Cambridge. How much more powerful is the instinct when it"s a question of a vital created thing like a novel? My dear Hilary, you"re the man I"m fondest of in the world. You know that. But don"t worry me about my work. I can"t stand it. It upsets me. Doria, heart of my heart and soul of my soul, has promised not to worry me. She sees I must be free from outside influences--no matter how closely near--but still outside. And you must promise too."
"My dear old boy," said I, somewhat confused by this impa.s.sioned exposition of the artistic temperament, "you"ve only got to express the wish--"
"I know," said he. "Forgive me." He laughed and lit another cigarette.
"But Wittekind and the editor of _Fowler"s_ in America--I"ve sold him the serial rights--are shrieking out for a synopsis. I"m d.a.m.ned if I"m going to give "em a synopsis. They get on my nerves. And--we"re intimate enough friends, you and I, for me to confess it--so do our dearest Barbara and old Jaff, and you yourself, when you want to know how I"m getting on. Look, dear old Hilary"--he laughed again and threw himself into an armchair--"giving birth to a book isn"t very much unlike giving birth to a baby. It"s a.n.a.logical in all sorts of ways. Well, some women, as soon as the thing is started, can talk quite freely--sweetly and delicately--I haven"t a word to say against them--to all their women friends about it. Others shrink. There"s something about it too near their innermost souls for them to give their confidence to anyone. Well, dear old Hilary--that"s how I feel about the novel."
He spoke from his heart. I understood--like Doria.
"Elizabeth Barrett Browning calls it "the sorrowful, great gift,"" said I. "We who haven"t got it can only bow to those who have."
Adrian rose and took a few strides about the library.
"I"m afraid I"ve been talking a lot of inflated nonsense. It must sound awfully like swelled head. But you know it isn"t, don"t you?"
"Don"t he an idiot," said I. "Let us talk of something else."
We did not return to the subject.
In the course of time came Mrs. Considine to carry off Liosha to the First Cla.s.s Boarding House which she had found in Queen"s Gate. Liosha left us full of love for Barbara and Susan and I think of kindly feeling for myself. A few days afterwards Jaffery went off to sail a small boat with another lunatic in the Hebrides. A little later Doria and Adrian went to pay a round of short family visits beginning with Mrs. Boldero.
So before August was out, Barbara and Susan and I found ourselves alone.
"Now," said I, "I can get through some work."
"Now," said Barbara, "we can run over to Dinard."
"What?" I shouted.
"Dinard," she said, softly. "We always go. We only put it off this year on account of visitors."
"We definitely made up our minds," I retorted, "that we weren"t going to leave this beautiful garden. You know I never change my mind. I"m not going away."
Barbara left the room, whistling a musical comedy air.
We went to Dinard.
CHAPTER VII