Prefatory Note (continued 2)

‘Clausen and I went down yesterday and arranged to get his wife something to do.’

‘His wife!’

‘Oh! didn’t you know that he was married? I thought you said you had heard the news.’

‘Married? married? When? who to?’

‘About three months ago: a most beautiful girl. You may have heard of her—Grace Lovell—she was an actress.’

‘I don’t remember,’ said Geraldine, in a bewildered tone. ‘What did you say? Why didn’t he tell us?’

‘I can’t say. It’s all very ugly, on the face of it; and I tell you what, Geraldine, I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s one of the biggest villains on earth. I did you all a terrible wrong in bringing him to the house. I have to ask your forgiveness.’

She looked at her brother a long time, and the tears gathered in her eyes; then she turned away, and hastily entered her own room. Here she found her maid laying out her clothes for the evening.

‘Never mind now, Elizabeth, I want to lie down quietly.’ As she spoke she crossed to her writing-desk and her eyes fell on a sheet of note-paper on which she had scribbled the first wild words that had come into her head when she sat down to write to George Travers. There they were, staring her in the face, ‘My dearest, dearest one on earth, I have heard of your ruin. Come and let me see you once more. I will give you all I have to enable you to——’; then she had stopped herself and written the more moderate note for his eyes, leaving her real passionate words, the words which had been the expression of her inmost feelings, for the eyes of her maid.

She turned to look at the woman, but found she was calmly taking her wrapper out of the wardrobe. Had she seen or not? No trace was visible on her face. Geraldine sat down in front of the glass, and said, ‘You can wash my head, Elizabeth; I think it will refresh me.’

The woman made all the preparations. While she had gone for hot water, Geraldine seized the incriminating note and tore it into a thousand pieces. She had just time to thrust it behind the grate and walk quietly across the room when the maid re-entered. Her eye fell for a moment on the writing-table. ‘She has read it,’ thought Geraldine. She sat quite still for a long time; then she said, ‘What should you say if I were to marry Lord Foreshort after all, Elizabeth?’

Elizabeth started visibly.

‘I should hope your ladyship would be very happy, I’m sure.’

‘Why were you so surprised?’

‘I didn’t think your ladyship seemed willing to take him before.’

There was a long pause while her hair was washed, and Elizabeth was rubbing vigorously when Lady Geraldine said, ‘How is your poor sister now?’

‘The one that was deceived so cruelly?’

‘Yes. The one that fell in love with a married man.’

‘Well, your ladyship, I didn’t like to tell you after all your kindness to her in finding her that place and all, but I’m very much afraid she’s gone off to America with him.’

‘Really! She has done that, has she?’

‘I was afraid your ladyship would be annoyed, so I didn’t mention it. But she disappeared, and some time afterwards I had a letter from her, telling me about how he had got a bit of land out in Canada, and she had joined him there.’

‘And what were they doing?’

‘I’m sorry to say, they seemed doing very well; she wrote most bright and cheerful like. I must beg your ladyship’s pardon for saying it, but they do say the wicked flourish like green bay trees, don’t they, your ladyship?’

‘I suppose they do, sometimes; but don’t be sorry they are happy, Elizabeth.’

‘No, your ladyship.’

‘Elizabeth, I want you to bring all the letters that come for me into my bedroom. Tell the waiter to give them to you.’

‘Yes, your ladyship.’

‘You’d better have that black silk petticoat; it will be nice and cool for you to wear, and I shall keep to white all the rest of the summer.’

‘Yes, your ladyship.’

‘Now I will lie down; don’t let me be disturbed until it is time to dress for dinner.’

‘No, your ladyship.’

‘A telegram for your ladyship,’ said Elizabeth as Geraldine entered her bedroom about twelve o’clock next morning to get ready for a stroll on the beach.

‘All right. I shall not want you for a minute or two.’ Elizabeth discreetly left the room.

She opened the brown envelope, took out the flimsy pink paper, and read, ‘Have started for Portsmouth. Will write. Travers.’

That she could not prevent, that she could do nothing to stop, him coming was a thought that filled her with exultation. He was getting nearer and nearer every moment; and what was more, she was to have a letter from him—it would arrive that evening by the last post perhaps; if not, certainly in the morning. Then she thought of his being married, but it made no difference; she knew he had married before he saw her, that was all that really mattered to her. She rang for Elizabeth, and crushing the telegram up put it into the front of her dress. She dressed, and went out in the highest spirits. She was charming to every one, and made herself so agreeable that Lord Foreshort felt quite encouraged. He said, ‘How well this climate agrees with you!’

‘Doesn’t it. It is exactly the sort of place I like: plenty of life about, and at the same time everything is clean, and spick and span.’

‘It’s perfect. Our tastes are so alike.’

‘You are always saying that, Lord Foreshort.’

‘I am always thinking it, Lady Geraldine.’

‘Then you have no time to think about your tastes?’

‘No, I am always thinking of yours.’

‘So am I.’

‘There, I told you we agreed.’

‘Well, that’s settled. Now let us talk of something else.’

‘When will you begin to let me hope.’

‘You are hoping now, are you not?’

‘Do you really mean it?’

‘Mean what?’

‘That I may hope?’

‘I can’t prevent you hoping, can I?’

‘Yes, you know you can.’

‘Well, I’ve tried to a good many times.’

‘But you will give up trying now, won’t you? Take another tack.’

‘Very well. You have hoped without my permission the whole of the London season; you can hope with my permission during the shooting season, then perhaps you will be sick of hope.’

‘Yes, I shall claim my reward then.’

‘Ah! that’s “another story.” We mustn’t get on too fast.’

That evening the expected letter arrived. It ran thus—

‘Dear Lady Geraldine,—You have restored my belief in the human race. I have indeed received a crushing blow from your brother-in-law, and it is not fitting that I should inform you of the true facts of the case. Honour seals my lips. But although it is forbidden to me to justify myself in your eyes without degrading those who must ever be first in your esteem, your generous letter emboldens me to ask you to believe me, on my bare word, that things are not as they, no doubt, have been represented to you. I am coming to Portsmouth so as to hold myself in readiness to obey any commands you may care to issue to your most devoted adorer,

‘George Travers.’

Geraldine wondered a good deal over this letter, but all the same she wore it next her heart for four days. She wrote in reply—

‘Dear Mr. Travers,—I can’t think of any way of seeing you here, but next Monday we go to our place near Ringwood. If you will put up at the village hotel there, I will write and let you know what I can arrange.—Yours most sincerely,

‘G. F.’

On Sunday she took a long walk with a party of friends. She and Mr. Clausen were ahead. Mr. Clausen knew the island well, and had undertaken to act as pioneer. By degrees she led the conversation to the subject which occupied so many of her thoughts, and Clausen found himself giving her a full account of what had taken place at Old Windsor the previous Monday.

‘Kirkdale and I went down to Datchet and drove to Old Windsor: there we found Mrs. Travers occupying a little cottage, pretty enough in its way, but only fit for a labouring man,—the chairs covered and windows hung with white dimity, an old oak settle, and so on. You know the kind of thing.’

‘What is she like?’

‘An exceedingly pretty, dark, slight woman. She is very young; but she gives you an extraordinary impression of knowing her own mind at moments.’

‘What is her version of their life together?’

‘She spoke of nothing but her great desire to go on the stage again; he has been preventing her doing so, all this time. They appear to have been exceedingly happy together otherwise.’

‘Do you believe he really loves her?’

‘He must have, I should think; there seems to have been no other reason why he should marry her?’

‘He may have liked her at first, but perhaps she is a shallow sort of person. I should think he wanted a very deep nature to sympathise with him.’

‘I don’t think she is shallow; but you mustn’t forget, when you talk of depth of character, the thinnest sheet of gold-leaf is a good deal more valuable than a whole bogful of mud.’

‘And is she going back to the stage now?’

‘We promised to arrange it for her. Horsham is a great friend of mine. She made her success with him, and he was delighted to hear she was ready to come back again; but now——’

‘What?’ said Lady Geraldine.

‘Well, I fear her husband has found out what a little gold-mine she may become. She wrote to me yesterday, saying he had been coaching her in some leading parts, and proposed touring with her in the States if he can get some capital to start them.’

‘But isn’t he fearfully hard up now?’

‘A man like that is never without resources; if he cannot get money out of men, he can get it out of women.’

‘O Mr. Clausen, how dreadful that sounds!’

‘Lady Geraldine, I beg your pardon. I should not have said such a thing to you; forgive me.’

‘No, Mr. Clausen, I beg of you, don’t think I am so absurd; girls hear of all sorts of things nowadays. I want to know what you really think Mr. Travers will do.’

‘He will do anything that he thinks most likely to bring in a quick return.’

‘But what is his object? His tastes are so fastidious. I cannot imagine his being content to mix with actors and actresses for the rest of his life, they are such flashy, noisy people. Whenever one sees any very disagreeable set at Henley or Lords, one is always told they are actresses.’

‘Yes, that is the phrase, of course; still, in justice to the profession, I must say that a great many actresses go about quite as dowdily as the royal family. There is no distinctive badge which can be applied to all the members of the profession.’

‘But I cannot imagine Mr. Travers tolerating anything that isn’t in the best taste.’

‘He no doubt prefers everything about him to be of the best; but as he has effectually cut himself off from it by being twice caught in the act of cheating at cards, he will have to satisfy himself with the second best now.’

‘Tell me what is a man’s real feeling about this cheating at cards. Why is it the most terrible sin he can commit? It seems to me, from hearing people talk, that it is quite possible to break every one of the commandments without losing a single acquaintance, but directly you commit this particular crime the whole world cuts you.’

‘I will explain. You know among the Arabs there is another unwritten law, that you may kill or destroy the property of any man who annoys you; but if you have once eaten salt with him, you must hold your hand, whatever provocation you may receive. All these things are a sign of a bond that exists between certain members of the community. Cards are to the European what salt is to the Arabian. They are the sacred symbol of fidelity; and any man who does not feel this must be cast out.’

‘But why? it seems such an arbitrary thing.’

‘I can’t help that. We have all been brought up to believe that it is a beastly thing to betray our friends; and a man must be regarded as a friend from the moment you sit down to a game of chance with him.’

‘Well, I don’t believe I shall ever understand; but perhaps women have no moral sense.’

‘Exactly what I have always said, Lady Geraldine. The only safe place for a woman is under lock and key, and even then you ought to stop up the keyhole with sealing-wax.’

‘It is because we are kept under lock and key that we don’t care what we do. We feel we are unjustly treated, and that we have a perfect right to cheat, and lie, and prevaricate. It is the only means of retaliation we have. Oh, I wonder if the time will ever come when we shall get fair play.’

‘No, it will not; I can tell you that much. No man or woman, from the Queen down to the beggar who spends the night on a doorstep, gets fair play. There isn’t a single human being in all the world who hasn’t been kept back from doing all he might by other people, or by circumstances of one sort or another. This place is meant for a struggle; and the only way to get through it comfortably is to cultivate a taste for struggling.’

‘I’m sure you know you needn’t say that to me, Mr. Clausen.’

‘Yes, you struggle a little—too much, in fact; for the secret of all success is to discern the difference between the possible and the impossible. Turn your back on the impossible, and make steadily for the possible.’

‘O Mr. Clausen, how wise you sound now! I wish I had been there to see when you were young.’

‘I wish you had. You would no doubt have found me quite foolish enough to please you then.’

‘And did you turn your back on the impossible?’

‘Yes.’

‘And are you glad you did?’

‘No.’

‘Ah, I knew that.’

‘It is perfectly true, a temptation resisted gives you no pleasure; but that does not prevent a temptation yielded to giving you an inevitable retribution.’

‘Oh, that sounds so like a copy-book, I am sure it can’t be true.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Mr. Clausen, can’t you understand what it is when a girl grows up and finds out bit by bit everything she has been taught and told is a pack of lies.’

‘But surely your mother——’

‘No, no, it isn’t my mother; it’s the governesses, it’s the nurses, it’s the silly novels, it’s other girls. It makes me shudder when I think what a world of shams I’m living in, and what a sham I am myself.’

‘My dear child, I fear I have only one consolation to offer you, and that is, that you would shudder a good deal more if you for one moment saw the truths which underlie these shams.’

‘You talk as if the world was a pest-house. Surely we are some of us beautiful; we are not all diseased and horrible.’

‘One hears a good deal about the beauty of life; but I am very much afraid you will find in the long run that the beauty of life is like the beauty of a lady’s complexion—very fleeting, or else sham.’

‘There I have cornered you, Mr. Clausen. There’s a beauty about a gypsy’s skin which isn’t fleeting, and which is very real; and it is beautiful, just because it is exposed to the sun and the rain. In a word, freedom is beauty, and gives beauty.’

‘Well, perhaps there’s something in what you say; but I don’t think you’d find gypsies very satisfactory companions at close quarters.’

‘I should like to get a chance of seeing for myself.’

‘Take my advice, and don’t. I am sure your tastes are too fastidious for such realities as that,’ said Mr. Clausen, laughing. Here the rest of the party came up, conversation ceased, and chatter reigned in its stead.

Lady Geraldine’s mind was much perturbed by her conversation with Clausen. She doubted Travers, but felt she must see him, she must get some sort of proof herself. Poor girl! after all her outcry, she was only a very ordinary woman, wrapped up in her own little chaos of emotions and foolish little thoughts. She thought it would be a splendid thing to sacrifice herself for love. Mediocrity was her bugbear, just as it has been the bugbear of thousands of other mediocre people, and she was ready to take the most desperate measures to escape from it. The only way she could think of to show how different she was from the rest of her sex was to cultivate her instincts and let them lead her whither they would. To overcome the world and remain a slave to your own passions has been the ideal of all the splendid failures of history, but she only recognised their splendour, and did not stop to consider their defeat. So, with her mind strung up to a high pitch of romantic passion, Lady Geraldine went to meet Travers in the Kirkdale woods.

She found him leaning against a tree cleaning a horseshoe he had just picked up. His little fox-terrier was running about smelling the rabbit-holes and following trails with a suspicious and preoccupied air, as if he was not quite sure whether these joys were permitted to him or not. He ran forward to see who Geraldine was, and licked her hand; then he hung his head and ran back to his master and sat down by his side. Travers looked up; he had not seen Geraldine approach, and he said, ‘So you have actually come to see the last of the poor outcast.’

‘Is it the last? Is it true that you are going to America to act?’

He started a little, wondering how this could have come to her knowledge, but recovered himself quickly. ‘There seems nothing else left for me to do.’

‘But if there was?’

‘I would gladly take the alternative.’

‘I thought so; I didn’t believe you could willingly take up that sort of life.’

‘Indeed you are right there. What an angel you are to come here like this! I can’t think how I deserved such a thing.’

‘I don’t know whether you deserve it or not, and I don’t care much: I have come because I love you, and because—’

He took the hand she held out to him and kissed it; she put her other hand round his neck, and he kissed her lips. Then feeling he had done all that was expected of him, he was about to gallantly release her, when he found she was almost fainting in his arms.

‘By George, this is serious,’ he murmured, and he led her to a felled tree, sat her down on it, and went to look for some water. When he returned he found she was calmer.

He had a little pocket flask with him and had filled the cup with water. She refused to drink, but dipped her finger in it and wiped her forehead. Then he sat down by her side, and she leant on his shoulder and said—

‘What shall we do? Will you come away from England with me, or shall we stay here?’

‘Whichever you think best; your wishes are my law.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you exactly how I stand. I have eight hundred pounds a year now, and shall have four hundred pounds a year more when mamma dies. It is settled on me, and they cannot take it from me whatever I do.’

‘Ah!’ he said, ‘in the hands of trustees, I suppose.’

‘Yes, that is the worst of it: I cannot touch the capital.’

‘But, dear Lady Geraldine, have you ever considered what it would be for two people to try and live on eight hundred pounds a year?’

‘I know it would be very difficult, but I am willing to try anything if it will save you from that dreadful life. We could take a flat in Venice or Florence, and you would have to be divorced; then we could be married, and no one would mind in a few years.’

‘I am sure you would regret it, if you took such a step.’

‘I should never regret it. I hate this life in England. We would have a beautiful home, and then we could come to your place at Old Windsor sometimes.’

‘That is not my house.’

‘Not your house! what do you mean?’

‘It belongs to a friend of mine; he asked me to take it.’ Travers stopped himself, and for once in his life, by a supreme effort, told the truth. ‘I mean he offered to lend it me because he was going away. You don’t know what a poor devil I am, Lady Geraldine.’

‘Don’t call me by that hateful title. And so you have been very, very poor. Why, my wretched little eight hundred pounds a year will seem quite a lot of money to you. I am so glad you know what it is to be poor.’

‘I can’t deny that poverty and I are old bed-fellows, Lady Geraldine; but all the same——’

‘Why are you hesitating?’

‘Well, it sounds rather ungrateful; but I think I ought to tell you that if my wife and I went to America to-morrow, the very smallest salary I would accept would be one hundred pounds a week between us.’

‘But your wife is not a great actress.’

‘No. If she were a great actress she would get that sum without having me thrown in; but during my last engagement at Mallock’s Theatre I had seventy pounds a week myself.’

‘I see; I cannot bribe you high enough. I am sorry to have troubled you to come here to-night.’

‘I am terribly distressed about the whole business; but I am sure you would be miserable living abroad like that yourself. Think of what it would mean. I have been disgraced publicly; you would be disgraced; we should both be shunned as if we were plague-stricken. I am sure you see things as I do.’

Lady Geraldine got up to walk away. Suddenly she turned and flung herself at Travers’s feet, saying: ‘Oh, don’t let us talk or think about the hateful money! Act if you like, if you find it so profitable, but don’t, don’t leave England. Cut yourself free from that woman. I will do anything you like. I love you wildly, desperately. I cannot, cannot leave you.’

He gently disengaged her fingers. She rose on her knees and looked him straight in the eyes. Then she cried out—

‘You don’t love me the least little bit in the world. Why is it? Am I not beautiful enough? Haven’t you told me a hundred times I was? O George, George, tell me what is the meaning of it all!’

‘It means I love you too well to wish to injure you.’

‘Then you do not love me at all. Is it that you love this other woman, this wife of yours?’

‘Perhaps; I can’t tell what it is.’

‘I will sit down quietly by your side now; I won’t rave at you any more, don’t be afraid. Tell me exactly what you feel.’ She stood for a moment, then put her hand in her pocket, took out her handkerchief, then sat down, holding it in her lap.

‘Now tell me, dear one,’ and she laid her hand on his arm. He shuddered a little. She noticed it and removed her hand. ‘What do you feel about her and me?’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I think it must be this. When I fell in love with her, I did so in the terrible blind, reckless way that only comes over one once in a lifetime. It is more a nightmare than anything else. I couldn’t understand myself at the time, and I can’t understand myself now.’

‘Oh, you have got over it, then?’ she said, leaning towards him.

‘Yes, I have got over it. I am sickened of love. But my wife is a clever woman. I believe I can do something with her. She has a most extraordinary talent for acting, and that interests me. I don’t suppose there is a man alive, take it all in all, who knows more about the tricks of the trade than I do. These are just what she wants to be taught, and it is interesting to me to see what she’ll turn out. This feeling has taken the place of love. She is about as tired of love-making as I am, and now we are going to set seriously to work together.’

‘But if you are so tired of love, why are you here to-night? Did you think you would get money out of me to go to America with her?’

He laughed a little. ‘Well, it does sound absurd now you put it like that, but I suppose I did.’

She was sitting to his right. Her fingers closed on something that had been hidden in her handkerchief; then came the loud report of a pistol, a puff of smoke, a groan from Travers as he fell sideways with a crash in a heap among the brackens.

Lady Geraldine sat perfectly motionless for a moment; then she saw the blood beginning ooze from the wound just over his heart, and she drew her dress carefully on one side. She did not look at his face for about five minutes. She turned round then, and saw his eyes fixed on her with a terrible stare.

‘No, I will not suffer for you,’ she whispered, as if replying to their silent menace, and she put the pistol into his hand and closed the fingers round it. They would not keep as she placed them. At last she left the thing on the ground by his side, then she walked rapidly away. Before she had got far she remembered the compromising letters she had written: she must go back and get them at any price. She found his pocket-book; she found her three letters in it; she took them, and replaced the pocket-book. Then she went. Just as she was leaving the wood, the fox-terrier, which had been off on a hunting expedition, ran up to her, smelling her dress. She put down her hand to pat its head. It licked off a little spot of blood that soiled her first finger. She tried to speak to it, to tell it to go to its master, but she found her mouth was parched and dry. She could not utter a word. But it went all the same, following the track of her footsteps into the wood.

She went through what would probably occur. He would be found alone with a pistol. She thought of what would happen if the pistol was identified. She had taken it from the gun-room at home; she had thought it would add to the romance of the situation. Two of them had been hanging on the wall; she remembered them all her life. Sometimes her father had allowed her and her sisters to practise with them on Sunday afternoons, much to the scandal of the neighbourhood. Kirkdale would go to look at the body; he would be sure to recognise the pistol. She got into the house unobserved just as the clock struck eleven. First she went up to her bedroom and dusted her shoes; her feet were covered with dust. She took off her stockings and wiped them clean as well as she could without making a mess. Then she went downstairs. She had sent her maid to bed. Nobody seemed to be up except Kirkdale and Clausen, whom she could hear playing billiards as she passed the door. She went down the passage, entered the gun-room, and examined the window. She saw it was accessible from the outside. It was one of the old-fashioned hasp bolts, so she took a rusty pocket-knife she found lying in a forgotten heap of odds and ends and passed it between the crack of the window. She scratched the bolt as best she could to make it appear as if it had been opened from the outside; then she dropped the knife outside the window, closed the door, and went to bed. She lay awake wondering if there was any precaution she had forgotten to take; and when at last she slept, she dreamed that she was a child again, and that her father was alive. He was in one of his rarely affectionate moods, dancing her on his knee and calling her his own dear little girl. He called her mother and sisters and little Stephen to look at her as he stood her upon the table—Mr. Clausen was there too,—and then her father laughed and clapped his hands, and said, ‘She’s the flower of the flock, she’s my very own daughter,’ and he rushed at the others and chased them out of the room. Then it seemed to her they were afraid of her as they had been of him. She saw their faces peeping in at the window at her, as if she was a terror to them. She looked at her father for explanation, but he no longer spoke or moved; his face was cold and lifeless, as if formed from damp yellow clay; and she went and touched his fingers, which closed on hers, and she felt she was becoming clay too. The cold crept up her arm; she could not stir hand or foot. Just as the cold reached her heart she woke and tried to scream, but once again she could utter no sound, and lay there motionless. At last the morning came. The horror of the dream had taken all her attention: she thought of nothing else; she felt she must speak of it, yet feared that in some vague way it might betray her. She could not bear to stay in the house waiting. She ordered the pony-carriage, and drove herself over to Lyndhurst, where she found some friends at home. They got her to put up there, and she did not return to Ringwood until dinner-time. Driving home she went over in her mind every possible thing that could happen: they would know the pistol; they would find it was impossible for the gun-room to have been entered from the outside; he would have boasted that he was going to meet her; somebody had seen her in the wood with him. She had gone to her room with a headache at nine o’clock, and asked not to be disturbed; perhaps Elizabeth had brought her something just before going to bed, and had discovered her absence. She imagined herself being driven away handcuffed between two policemen. She went through all the horrors of the last scene of all, when she would go blindfold into eternity. She shuddered terribly, then suddenly remembered the groom was sitting behind her, and was probably taking notes of her behaviour, and that he would be able to give his evidence too. As she drove over the bridge a train was arriving at the station. She pulled up a moment and watched the passengers alight. She saw a girl get out of a carriage and a tall man meeting her, and, leading her tenderly through the station, put her into a closed carriage. She saw that it was Kirkdale. Then she understood everything had been found out, and they had sent for the wife.

She drove into the village, sending the groom into the draper’s to get her some riding gloves. The man came out to deliver them to her himself. He looked very serious, and said, ‘Terrible news, isn’t it, my lady?’

‘What is terrible?’ she asked. ‘I have been away all day.’

‘A gentleman found murdered in the woods close to Kirkdale Castle.’

‘Murdered!’ she cried.

‘Well, the police are very reticent; I can’t say how it was done, but I know he was shot through the heart.’

‘Dear, dear! I must try and find out as quickly as possible,’ and she drove off without noticing the man’s parting salutation.

‘Murdered,’ she said over and over to herself. ‘After all, they know, they know everything.’

Mr. Clausen met her as she drove up to the principal entrance, and solemnly led her into the library. ‘You have heard?’ he said.

‘Yes. Weyman told me that he had been found dead.’

‘George Travers?’

‘Yes.’

‘He has not been publicly identified yet. How did Weyman know who he was?’

‘I don’t know, I suppose he heard it somehow.’ She looked up nervously. She met Mr. Clausen’s eyes looking steadily at hers, and she knew he guessed. After a pause she said, ‘Tell me what is known.’

‘I will. This morning the footman spoke to Kirkdale after breakfast, and informed him the gun-room had apparently been broken into.’ Mr. Clausen laid ever so slight a stress on the word ‘apparently.’ He continued, ‘A careful search was made and nothing was missing but one of a brace of pistols, that had been hanging together over the mantelpiece. I formed my own theory on the matter, and was just about to demonstrate to Kirkdale that it was impossible that the window should have been entered from the outside, when the news of the dead body being found reached us. I therefore refrained from making any remarks, and later in the day, when every one was agog over the conveyance of the body to the parish room, I went outside the gun-room window and tried myself to get into it from the outside. I found it was possible, but very difficult, and I knocked down some plaster, besides disturbing a good deal of dust which I had noticed was quite undisturbed in the morning. I may have done away with some circumstantial evidence, but it is always a satisfaction to try things for one’s-self.’ Again their eyes met, this time with a fuller understanding than before.

‘At the moment Kirkdale and I went at once to the scene of the tragedy, and found poor Travers dead, with his little terrier by his side, shivering and trembling, and refusing to stir; indeed, we had the greatest difficulty to coax it away. While the constable was taking notes, I saw the revolver lying among the ferns close to his hand, but the constable did not; I thought it better not to attract Kirkdale’s attention to it at the time, so I let them remove the body without saying a word. I then went back to the gun-room and did what I have told you; and having satisfied myself that the chain of evidence was complete, I went down to the village, and advised the constable to come up and search the scene of the fatality more thoroughly. Kirkdale came too, and it was not long before we found the revolver this time. The sight of the pistol at once reminded Kirkdale of the open window, and without a moment’s hesitation he told the constable all he knew. The constable came along, and having pointed out to him the marks of feet outside, the footman having given his evidence, and having wired for Mrs. Travers, whom by the way Lady Kirkdale has most kindly consented to put up, and who arrived about half an hour ago, I watched for you, so as to put you in full possession of the facts of the case.’ For the third time their eyes met.

‘How can I ever thank you?’

‘Good God, woman, don’t thank me! You owe me nothing. It is for your mother’s sake that I have become your accomplice, and that I have taken this burden on myself.’ She bent her head. He continued, ‘People who sin against human life in this way cannot expect sympathy. Your punishment is that you are cut off from fellowship with your race; the memory of that murdered man will rise between you and those who guess, and those who do not guess, your guilt.’

‘Supposing, after all, others discover that I did it?’ she whispered.

‘They shall not, they must not! I command you not to betray yourself; it is the least you can do.’

‘You needn’t be afraid. I dare say you think I am sorry that I did it, but I am not; I am glad. I should be miserable if it had not been done.’

‘He would never have done anything so criminal as this.’

‘No, he hadn’t the courage, but he would have sneaked and lied and shivered through life, taking men’s and women’s souls and bodies and tearing them to shreds, dragging them down until they could see nothing in life but a struggle for amusement, nothing beyond but a rest from torment. I know I did it from a horrible motive, just to gratify my mad injured pride, to revenge myself on the cur that had turned on me; but all the same it is a good deed done, and I am glad I did it.’

‘I do not understand you, Lady Geraldine.’

She got up and walked past him to the door; then she turned and said, ‘I am my father’s daughter. People like him and me belong to a race apart; we are only mortal clay, while you and mamma, and Maisy and all the rest of you have immortal souls.’

She came towards him once more. ‘Oh, don’t be afraid, I won’t touch you, I won’t contaminate you. Yes, I see it plainly now: you all of you have immortal souls, you show it in your lives, don’t you?’

It was the day of the funeral. ‘Suicide while of unsound mind’ was the verdict brought in by the jury. Lady Geraldine was alone with Mrs. Travers for the first time. They were sitting with books in their hands pretending to read. Both were dressed in black. Both were somewhat restless. Lady Kirkdale had left them in the drawing-room. The funeral had taken place in the little village churchyard early in the morning. There was nothing more to be done. Mrs. Travers was going to London the following day to commence rehearsing for a new piece at Horsham’s Theatre. Lady Kirkdale had suggested she must stay with them and rest, but she only thanked her very much, and said she should prefer to set to work at once.

Lady Geraldine sat eyeing her surreptitiously. At last she said—

‘You are very fond of your profession, are you not, Mrs. Travers?’

‘Indeed I am. I don’t know how I should have lived during the last few months if it had not been for the thought of it.’

‘You were going to America, I heard?’

‘Yes; George spoke of doing so.’

‘Will you tell me what your real feeling about this is; you seem very calm, and yet——’

‘And yet I loved him, you mean.’ Lady Geraldine nodded. ‘Yes, I loved him; and I suppose if this had happened two months ago I should have gone nearly mad with grief. But a curious change has been taking place during that time. It used to seem as if great floods of emotion came over me, enfolded me, and took possession of me. I had no power to resist them. One day I suddenly found I could, as it were, swim through; I knew what I was doing; I could guide and control myself; I could use the emotion as I pleased.’

‘Yes, yes; I believe I know what you mean; go on telling me.’

‘Well, that is what it comes to. In real life you get an emotion which masters you; in art, in acting, in all works of genius, I suppose, you master an emotion. That is why artists are set apart from the rest of the world; they cannot enjoy the common emotion long, they demand too much from it.’

‘And do you not regret your loss at all?’

‘Oh, we are all human, of course. I loved him, but still I feared him. He made me see things in his way: I had no freedom of judgment. When he was with me I thought he was a splendidly clever person; even when I found out how bad he was, and what terrible things he had done, he only had to make some ridiculous excuse for me to believe every word he said.’

‘Don’t you think it is a good thing for you that he is dead? Don’t you feel that if you had seen much more of him you would have become a thoroughly bad woman?’

‘Yes, I do. I sometimes wonder even now if I can get away altogether from his influence. But how did you know this? What made you imagine it?’

‘I will tell you exactly why. You know we were quite ignorant that he had a wife until about a fortnight ago. I must confess to you that from the first day I saw him I would have married him at any moment if he had asked me, and given up everything in the world for him. I found out by degrees what he was, and I thought that if it were true, I could not bear that he should live. And now that he is dead I am glad. I feel a weight is off my soul.’

‘Yes,’ whispered Grace Travers, ‘that is just what I feel, a weight is off my soul: to live with him was to be morally contaminated. Almost the last time I talked to him, I remember feeling as if it would be a glorious thing to be a great criminal, and that if you could not rule by fair means, you should rule by foul. George had such a horror of mediocrity.’

‘He thought anything better than that, eh?’

‘Yes, I believe the only person who could really fascinate him would be some one who could make him suffer terribly.’

‘Was there anything that could make him suffer?’

‘No, I don’t think there was, he always took things so easily. But he didn’t want to die; he hated the thought of it. I can’t think how he ever came to kill himself.’

‘Well, it is unfortunate that the only person who could attempt to fascinate him in the way you suggest would be compelled, by the circumstances of the case, to prevent him from showing that he was fascinated.’

‘Poor George, what a pity he isn’t here! That would have amused him; it is just the sort of thing he would have said himself.’

THE END.

Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press

List of Books in

Belles Lettres

Elkin Mathews & John Lane: —Publishers and Vendors of Choice & Rare Editions in Belles Lettres.

ALL BOOKS IN THIS CATALOGUE ARE PUBLISHED AT NET PRICES

1894

Telegraphic Address— ‘Bodleian, London’

‘A WORD must be said for the manner in which the publishers have produced the volume (i.e. “The Earth Fiend”), a sumptuous folio, printed by Constable, the etchings on Japanese paper by Mr. Goulding. The volume should add not only to Mr. Strang’s fame but to that of Messrs. Elkin Mathews and John Lane, who are rapidly gaining distinction for their beautiful editions of belles-lettres.’—Daily Chronicle, Sept. 24, 1892.

Referring to Mr. Le Gallienne’s ‘English Poems’ and ‘Silhouettes’ by Mr. Arthur Symons:—‘We only refer to them now to note a fact which they illustrate, and which we have been observing of late, namely, the recovery to a certain extent of good taste in the matter of printing and binding books. These two books, which are turned out by Messrs. Elkin Mathews and John Lane, are models of artistic publishing, and yet they are simplicity itself. The books with their excellent printing and their very simplicity make a harmony which is satisfying to the artistic sense.’—Sunday Sun, Oct. 2, 1892.

‘Mr. Le Gallienne is a fortunate young gentleman. I don’t know by what legerdemain he and his publishers work, but here, in an age as stony to poetry as the ages of Chatterton and Richard Savage, we find the full edition of his book sold before publication. How is it done, Messrs. Elkin Mathews and John Lane? for, without depreciating Mr. Le Gallienne’s sweetness and charm, I doubt that the marvel would have been wrought under another publisher. These publishers, indeed, produce books so delightfully that it must give an added pleasure to the hoarding of first editions.’—Katharine Tynan in The Irish Daily Independent.

‘To Messrs. Elkin Mathews and John Lane almost more than to any other, we take it, are the thanks of the grateful singer especially due; for it is they who have managed, by means of limited editions and charming workmanship, to impress book-buyers with the belief that a volume may have an æsthetic and commercial value. They have made it possible to speculate in the latest discovered poet, as in a new company—with the difference that an operation in the former can be done with three half-crowns.’—St. James’s Gazette.

March 1894

List of Books IN BELLES LETTRES

(Including some Transfers)

PUBLISHED BY Elkin Mathews and John Lane The Bodley Head VIGO STREET, LONDON, W.

N.B.—The Authors and Publishers reserve the right of reprinting any book in this list if a second edition is called for, except in cases where a stipulation has been made to the contrary, and of printing a separate edition of any of the books for America irrespective of the numbers to which the English editions are limited. The numbers mentioned do not include the copies sent for review or to the public libraries.

ADAMS (FRANCIS).

Essays in Modernity. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.

[Immediately.

ALLEN (GRANT).

The Lower Slopes: A Volume of Verse. 600 copies. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.

ANTÆUS.

The Backslider and other Poems. 100 only. Small 4to. 7s. 6d. net.

[Very few remain.

BENSON (EUGENE).

From the Asolan Hills: A Poem. 300 copies. Imp. 16mo. 5s. net.

[Very few remain.

BINYON (LAURENCE).

Lyric Poems. With Title-page by Selwyn Image. Sq. 16mo. 5s. net.

BOURDILLON (F. W.).

A Lost God: A Poem. With Illustrations by H. J. Ford. 500 copies. 8vo. 6s. net.

[Very few remain.

CHAPMAN (ELIZABETH RACHEL).

A Little Child’s Wreath: A Sonnet Sequence. 350 copies. Sq. 16mo. 3s. 6d. net.

COLERIDGE (HON. STEPHEN).

The Sanctity of Confession: A Romance. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. net.

[A few remain.

CRANE (WALTER).

Renascence: A Book of Verse. Frontispiece and 38 designs by the Author.

[Small paper edition out of print.

There remain a few large paper copies, fcap. 4to. £1, 1s. net. And a few fcap. 4to, Japanese vellum. £1, 15s. net.

CROSSING (WM.).

The Ancient Crosses of Dartmoor. With 11 plates. 8vo, cloth. 4s. 6d. net.

[Very few remain.

DAVIDSON (JOHN).

Plays: An Unhistorical Pastoral; A Romantic Farce; Bruce, a Chronicle Play; Smith, a Tragic Farce; Scaramouch in Naxos, a Pantomime, with a Frontispiece, Title-page, and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. 500 copies. Small 4to. 7s. 6d. net.

DAVIDSON (JOHN).

Fleet Street Eclogues. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 5s. net.

DAVIDSON (JOHN).

A Random Itinerary: Prose Sketches, with a Ballad. Frontispiece, Title-page, and Cover Design by Laurence Housman. Fcap. 8vo. Uniform with ‘Fleet Street Eclogues.’ 5s. net.

DAVIDSON (JOHN).

The North Wall. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.

The few remaining copies transferred by the Author to the present Publishers.

DE GRUCHY (AUGUSTA).

Under the Hawthorn, and other Verses. Frontispiece by Walter Crane. 300 copies. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

[Very few remain.

Also 30 copies on Japanese vellum. 15s. net.

DE TABLEY (LORD).

Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical. By John Leicester Warren (Lord De Tabley). Illustrations and Cover Design by C. S. Ricketts. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.

FIELD (MICHAEL).

Sight and Song. (Poems on Pictures.) 400 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.

[Very few remain.

FIELD (MICHAEL).

Stephania: A Trialogue in Three Acts. 250 copies. Pott 4to. 6s. net.

[Very few remain.

GALE (NORMAN).

Orchard Songs. Fcap. 8vo. With Title-page and Cover Design by J. Illingworth Kay. 5s. net.

Also a Special Edition limited in number on hand-made paper bound in English vellum. £1, 1s. net.

GARNETT (RICHARD).

Poems. With Title-page designed by J. Illingworth Kay. 350 copies. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

GOSSE (EDMUND).

The Letters of Thomas Lovell Beddoes. Now first edited. Pott 8vo. 5s. net.

GRAHAME (KENNETH).

Pagan Papers: A Volume of Essays. With Title-page by Aubrey Beardsley. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.

GREENE (G. A.).

Italian Lyrists of To-day. Translations in the original metres from about thirty-five living Italian poets, with bibliographical and biographical notes. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

HAKE (DR. T. GORDON).

A Selection from his Poems. Edited by Mrs. Meynell. With a Portrait after D. G. Rossetti, and a Cover Design by Gleeson White. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

HALLAM (ARTHUR HENRY).

The Poems, together with his essay ‘On Some of the Characteristics of Modern Poetry and on the Lyrical Poems of Alfred Tennyson.’ Edited, with an Introduction, by Richard Le Gallienne. 550 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.

[Very few remain.

HAMILTON (COL. IAN).

The Ballad of Hadji and other Poems. Etched Frontispiece by Wm. Strang. 50 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. net.

Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers.

HAZLITT (WILLIAM).

Liber Amoris, a reprint of the 1823 edition, with numerous original documents appended never before printed, including Mrs. Hazlitt’s Diary in Scotland, Portrait after Bewick, Facsimile Letters, etc., and the Critical Introduction by Richard Le Gallienne prefixed to the edition of 1893. A limited number only. 4to. £1, 1s. net.

[In the Press.

HICKEY (EMILY H.).

Verse Tales, Lyrics and Translations. 300 copies. Imp. 16mo. 5s. net.

HORNE (HERBERT P.).

Diversi Colores: Poems. With ornaments by the Author. 250 copies. 16mo. 5s. net.

JAMES (W. P.).

Romantic Professions: A Volume of Essays, with Title-page by J. Illingworth Kay. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

JOHNSON (EFFIE).

In the Fire and Other Fancies. Frontispiece by Walter Crane. 500 copies. Imp. 16mo. 3s. 6d. net.

JOHNSON (LIONEL).

The Art of Thomas Hardy: Six Essays. With Etched Portrait by Wm. Strang, and Bibliography by John Lane. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net.

Also 150 copies, large paper, with proofs of the portrait. £1, 1s. net.

[Very shortly.

JOHNSON (LIONEL).

A Volume of Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.

[In preparation.

KEATS (JOHN).

Three Essays, now issued in book form for the first time. Edited by H. Buxton Forman. With Life-mask by Haydon. Fcap. 4to. 10s. 6d. net.

[Very few remain.

KEYNOTES SERIES.

Each volume complete in itself. Crown 8vo, cloth. 3s. 6d. net.

Vol. I. Keynotes. By George Egerton. With Title-page by Aubrey Beardsley.

[Fourth edition now ready.

Vol. II. Poor Folk. Translated from the Russian of F. Dostoievsky by Lena Milman. With a Preface by George Moore.

[In rapid preparation.

Vol. III. The Dancing Faun. By Florence Emery.

Vol. IV. A Child of the Age. By Francis Adams.

[Shortly.

Vol. V. The Great God Pan and The Inmost Light. By Arthur Machen.

[Shortly.

LEATHER (R. K.).

Verses. 250 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. net.

Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers.

LEATHER (R. K.), & RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.

The Student and the Body-Snatcher and Other Trifles.

[Small paper edition out of print.

There remain a very few of the 50 large paper copies. 7s. 6d. net.

LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD).

Prose Fancies. With a Portrait of the Author by Wilson Steer. Crown 8vo. Purple cloth, uniform with ‘The Religion of a Literary Man.’ 5s. net.

Also a limited large paper edition. 12s. 6d. net.

LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD).

The Book Bills of Narcissus. An Account rendered by Richard Le Gallienne. Second Edition. Crown 8vo, buckram. 3s. 6d. net.

LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD).

English Poems. Third Edition, crown 8vo. Purple cloth, uniform with ‘The Religion of a Literary Man.’ 5s. net.

LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD).

George Meredith: Some Characteristics. With a Bibliography (much enlarged) by John Lane, portrait, etc. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net.

LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD).

The Religion of a Literary Man. 3rd thousand. Crown 8vo. Purple cloth. 3s. 6d. net.

Also a special rubricated edition on hand-made paper. 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.

LETTERS TO LIVING ARTISTS.

500 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.

[Very few remain.

MARSTON (PHILIP BOURKE).

A Last Harvest: Lyrics and Sonnets from the Book of Love. Edited by Louise Chandler Moulton. 500 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.

Also 50 copies on large paper, hand-made. 10s. 6d. net.

[Very few remain.

MARTIN (W. WILSEY).

Quatrains, Life’s Mystery and other Poems. 16mo. 2s. 6d. net.

[Very few remain.

MARZIALS (THEO.).

The Gallery of Pigeons and Other Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.

[Very few remain.

Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers.

MEYNELL (MRS.), (ALICE C. THOMPSON).

Poems. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. A few of the 50 large paper copies (First Edition) remain. 12s. 6d. net.

MEYNELL (MRS.).

The Rhythm of Life, and other Essays. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. A few of the 50 large paper copies (First Edition) remain. 12s. 6d. net.

MONKHOUSE (ALLAN).

Books and Plays: A Volume of Essays. 400 copies. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

MURRAY (ALMA).

Portrait as Beatrice Cenci. With critical notice containing four letters from Robert Browning. 8vo, wrapper. 2s. net.

NETTLESHIP (J. T.).

Robert Browning: Essays and Thoughts. A Third Edition is in preparation. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net. Half a dozen of the Whatman large paper copies (First Edition) remain. £1, 1s. net.

NOBLE (JAS. ASHCROFT).

The Sonnet in England and Other Essays. Title-page and Cover Design by Austin Young. 600 copies. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

Also 50 copies large paper. 12s. 6d. net.

NOEL (HON. RODEN).

Poor People’s Christmas. 250 copies. 16mo. 1s. net.

[Very few remain.

OXFORD CHARACTERS.

A series of lithographed portraits by Will Rothenstein, with text by F. York Powell and others. To be issued monthly in term. Each number will contain two portraits. Parts I. to V. ready. 200 sets only, folio, wrapper, 5s. net per part; 25 special large paper sets containing proof impressions of the portraits signed by the artist, 10s. 6d. net per part.

PINKERTON (PERCY).

Galeazzo: A Venetian Episode and other Poems. Etched Frontispiece. 16mo. 5s. net.

[Very few remain.

Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers.

RADFORD (DOLLIE).

Songs. A New Volume of Verse.

[In preparation.

RADFORD (ERNEST).

Chambers Twain. Frontispiece by Walter Crane. 250 copies. Imp. 16mo. 5s. net.

Also 50 copies large paper. 10s. 6d. net.

[Very few remain.

RHYS (ERNEST).

A London Rose and Other Rhymes. With Title-page designed by Selwyn Image. 500 copies. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

RICKETTS (C. S.) AND C. H. SHANNON.

Hero and Leander. By Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman. With Borders, Initials, and Illustrations designed and engraved on the wood by C. S. Ricketts and C. H. Shannon. Bound in English vellum and gold. 200 copies only. 35s. net.

RHYMERS’ CLUB, THE BOOK OF THE.

A second volume will appear in the Spring of 1894.

SCHAFF (DR. P.).

Literature and Poetry: Papers on Dante, etc. Portrait and Plates, 100 copies only. 8vo. 10s. net.

STODDARD (R. H.).

The Lion’s Cub; with other Verse. Portrait. 100 copies only, bound in an illuminated Persian design. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.

[Very few remain.

STREET (G. S.).

The Autobiography of a Boy. Passages selected by his friend G. S. S. With Title-page designed by C. W. Furse. 500 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.

SYMONDS (JOHN ADDINGTON).

In the Key of Blue, and other Prose Essays. Cover designed by C. S. Ricketts. Second Edition. Thick Crown 8vo. 8s. 6d. net.

THOMPSON (FRANCIS).

Poems. With Frontispiece, Title-page and Cover Design by Laurence Housman. Fourth Edition. Pott 4to. 5s. net.

TODHUNTER (JOHN).

A Sicilian Idyll. Frontispiece by Walter Crane. 250 copies. Imp. 16mo. 5s. net.

Also 50 copies large paper, fcap. 4to. 10s. 6d. net.

[Very few remain.

TOMSON (GRAHAM R.).

After Sunset. A Volume of Poems. With Title-page and Cover Design by R. Anning Bell. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.

Also a limited large paper edition. 12s. 6d. net.

[In preparation.

TREE (H. BEERBOHM).

The Imaginative Faculty: A Lecture delivered at the Royal Institution. With portrait of Mr. Tree from an unpublished drawing by the Marchioness of Granby. Fcap. 8vo, boards. 2s. 6d. net.

TYNAN HINKSON (KATHARINE).

Cuckoo Songs. With Title-page and Cover Design by Laurence Housman. 500 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.

VAN DYKE (HENRY).

The Poetry of Tennyson. Third Edition, enlarged. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net.

The late Laureate himself gave valuable aid in correcting various details.

WATSON (WILLIAM).

The Eloping Angels: A Caprice. Second Edition. Square 16mo. buckram. 3s. 6d. net.

WATSON (WILLIAM).

Excursions in Criticism: being some Prose Recreations of a Rhymer. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.

WATSON (WILLIAM).

The Prince’s Quest, and other Poems. With a Bibliographical Note added. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.

WEDMORE (FREDERICK).

Pastorals of France—Renunciations. A volume of Stories. Title-page by John Fulleylove, R.I. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.

A few of the large paper copies of Renunciations (First Edition) remain. 10s. 6d. net.

WICKSTEED (P. H.).

Dante. Six Sermons. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 2s. net.

WILDE (OSCAR).

The Sphinx. A poem decorated throughout in line and colour, and bound in a design by Charles Ricketts. 250 copies. £2, 2s. net. 25 copies large paper. £5, 5s. net.

WILDE (OSCAR).

The incomparable and ingenious history of Mr. W. H., being the true secret of Shakespear’s sonnets now for the first time here fully set forth, with initial letters and cover design by Charles Ricketts. 500 copies. 10s. 6d. net.

Also 50 copies large paper. 21s. net.

[In preparation.

WILDE (OSCAR).

Dramatic Works, now printed for the first time with a specially designed Title-page and binding to each volume, by Charles Shannon. 500 copies. Small 4to. 7s. 6d. net per vol.

Also 50 copies large paper. 15s. net per vol.

Vol. I. Lady Windermere’s Fan: A Comedy in Four Acts.

[Ready.

Vol. II. A Woman of No Importance: A Comedy in Four Acts.

[Shortly.

Vol. III. The Duchess of Padua: A Blank Verse Tragedy in Five Acts.

[In preparation.

WILDE (OSCAR).

Salomé: A Tragedy in one Act, done into English. With 11 Illustrations, Title-page, and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. 500 copies. Small 4to. 15s. net.

Also 100 copies, large paper. 30s. net.

WYNNE (FRANCES).

Whisper. A Volume of Verse. With a Memoir by Katharine Tynan and a Portrait added. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.

Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers.

The Hobby Horse

A new series of this illustrated magazine will be published quarterly by subscription, under the Editorship of Herbert P. Horne. Subscription £1 per annum, post free, for the four numbers. Quarto, printed on hand-made paper, and issued in a limited edition to subscribers only. The Magazine will contain articles upon Literature, Music, Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, and the Decorative Arts; Poems; Essays; Fiction; original Designs; with reproductions of pictures and drawings by the old masters and contemporary artists. There will be a new title-page and ornaments designed by the Editor. Among the contributors to the Hobby Horse are:

The late Matthew Arnold.F. York Powell.

Laurence Binyon.Christina G. Rossetti.

Wilfrid Blunt.W. M. Rossetti.

Ford Madox Brown.John Ruskin, D.C.L., LL.D.

The late Arthur Burgess.Frederick Sandys.

E. Burne-Jones, A.R.A.The late W. Bell Scott.

Austin Dobson.Frederick J. Shields.

Richard Garnett, LL.D.J. H. Shorthouse.

A. J. Hipkins, F.S.A.The late James Smetham.

Selwyn Image.Simeon Solomon.

Lionel Johnson.A. Somervell.

Richard Le Gallienne.The late J. Addington Symonds.

Sir F. Leighton, Bart., P.R.A.Katharine Tynan.

T. Hope McLachlan.G. F. Watts, R.A.

May Morris.Frederick Wedmore.

C. Hubert H. Parry, Mus. Doc. Oscar Wilde.

A. W. Pollard.

Prospectuses on Application.

THE BODLEY HEAD, VIGO STREET, LONDON, W.

‘Nearly every book put out by Messrs. Elkin Mathews & John Lane, at the Sign of the Bodley Head, is a satisfaction to the special senses of the modern bookman for bindings, shapes, types, and papers. They have surpassed themselves, and registered a real achievement in English bookmaking by the volume of “Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical,” of Lord De Tabley.’Newcastle Daily Chronicle.

‘A ray of hopefulness is stealing again into English poetry after the twilight greys of Clough and Arnold and Tennyson. Even unbelief wears braver colours. Despite the jeremiads, which are the dirges of the elder gods, England is still a nest of singing-birds (teste the Catalogue of Elkin Mathews and John Lane).’—Mr. Zangwill in Pall Mall Magazine.

‘All Messrs. Mathews & Lane’s Books are so beautifully printed and so tastefully issued, that it rejoices the heart of a book-lover to handle them; but they have shown their sound judgment not less markedly in the literary quality of their publications. The choiceness of form is not inappropriate to the matter, which is always of something more than ephemeral worth. This was a distinction on which the better publishers at one time prided themselves; they never lent their names to trash; but some names associated with worthy traditions have proved more than once a delusion and a snare. The record of Messrs. Elkin Mathews & John Lane is perfect in this respect, and their imprint is a guarantee of the worth of what they publish.’—Birmingham Daily Post, Nov. 6, 1893.

‘One can nearly always be certain when one sees on the title-page of any given book the name of Messrs Elkin Mathews & John Lane as being the publishers thereof that there will be something worth reading to be found between the boards.’—World.

Edinburgh: T. and A. Constable Printers to Her Majesty