The Three Fates. F. Marion Crawford

her with a vague sense of disappointment. In the first place, he always felt that there was a sort of disloyalty in coming at all. He knew the details of his father’s past life, and was aware that old Tom Craik had been the cause of his ruin, and he guessed that Totty had profited by the same catastrophe, since he had always heard that her brother managed her property. He even fancied that Totty was not so harmless as she looked, and that she was very fond of money, though he was astonished at his own boldness in suspecting the facts to be so much at variance with the outward appearance. He was very young, and he feared to trust his own judgment, though he had an intimate conviction that his instincts were right. On the whole he was forced to admit to himself that there were many reasons against his periodical visits to the Trimms, and he was quite ready to allow that it was not Totty’s personality or conversation that attracted him to the house. Yet, as he rested in the cushioned chair he had selected and felt the thick carpet under his feet, and breathed that indefinable atmosphere which impregnates every corner of a really luxurious house, he knew that it would be very hard to give up the habit of enjoying all these things at regular intervals. He imagined that his thoughts liquefied and became more mobile under the genial influence, forgetting the grooves and moulds so unpleasantly familiar to them. Hosts of ideas and fancies presented themselves to him, which he recognised as belonging to a self that only came to life from time to time; a self full of delicate sensations and endowed with brilliant powers of expression; a self of which he did not know whether to be ashamed or proud; a self as overflowing with ready appreciation, as his other common, daily self was inclined to depreciate all that the world admired, and to find fault with everything that was presented to its view. Though conscious of all this, however, George did not care to analyse his own motives too closely. It was disagreeable to his pride to find that he attached so much importance to what he described collectively as furniture and tea. He was disappointed with himself, and he did all in his power not to increase his disappointment. Then an extreme depression came upon him, and showed itself in his face. He felt impelled to escape from the house, to renounce the visit Totty had proposed, to go home, get into his oldest clothes and work desperately at something, no matter what. But for his cousin’s opportune return, he might have yielded to the impulse. She re-entered the room briskly, dressed for walking and smiling as usual. George’s expression changed as he heard the latch move in the door, and Mrs. Sherrington Trimm must have been even keener than she was, to guess what had been passing in his mind. She was not, however, in the observant mood, but in the subjective, for she felt that she was now about to appear as her cousin’s benefactress, and, having got rid of her qualms of conscience, she experienced a certain elation at her own skill in the management of her soul.

      George took his hat and rose with alacrity. There was nothing essentially distasteful to him in the prospect of being presented to a pair of pretty sisters, who had doubtless been warned of his coming, and his foolish longing for his old clothes and his work disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

      It was still winter, and the low afternoon sun fell across the avenue from the westward streets in broad golden patches. It was still winter, but the promise of spring was already in the air, and a faint mist hung about the vanishing point of the seemingly endless rows of buildings. The trees were yet far from budding, but the leafless branches no longer looked dead, and the small twigs were growing smooth and glossy with the returning circulation of the sap. There were many people on foot in the avenue, and Totty constantly nodded and smiled to her passing acquaintances, who generally looked with some interest at George as they acknowledged or forestalled his companion’s salutation. He knew a few of them by sight, but not one passed with whom he had ever spoken, and he felt somewhat foolishly ashamed of not knowing every one. When he was alone the thought did not occur to him, but his cousin’s incessant smiles and nods made him realise vividly the difference between her social position and his own. He wondered whether the gulf would ever be bridged over, and whether at any future time those very correct people who now looked at him with inquiring eyes would be as anxious to know him and be recognised by him as they now seemed desirous of knowing Totty and being saluted by her.

      “Do you mean to say that you really remember the names of all these friends of yours?” he asked, presently.

      “Why not? I have known most of them since I was a baby, and they have known me. You could learn their names fast enough if you would take the trouble.”

      “Why should I? They do not want me. I should never be a part of their lives.”

      “Why not? You could if you liked, and I am always telling you so. Society never wants anybody who does not want it. It is founded on the principle of giving and receiving in return. If you show that you like people, they will show that they like you.”

      “That would depend upon my motives.”

      Mrs. Sherrington Trimm laughed, lowered her parasol, and turned her head so that she could see George’s face.

      “Motives!” she exclaimed. “Nobody cares about your motives, provided you have good manners. It is only in business that people talk about motives.”

      “Then any adventurer who chose might take his place in society,” objected George.

      “Of course he might—and does. It occurs constantly, and nothing unpleasant happens to him, unless he makes love in the wrong direction or borrows money without returning it. Unfortunately those are just the two things most generally done by adventurers, and then they come to grief. A man is taken at his own valuation in society, until he commits a social crime and is found out.”

      “You think there would be nothing to prevent my going into society, if I chose to try it?”

      “Nothing in the world, if you will follow one or two simple rules.”

      “And what may they be?” inquired George, becoming interested.

      “Let me see—in the first place—dear me! how hard it is to explain such things! I should say that one ought never to ask a question about anybody, unless one knows the answer, and knows that the person to whom one is speaking will be glad to talk about the matter. One may avoid a deal of awkwardness by not asking a man about his wife, for instance, if she has just applied for a divorce. But if his sister is positively engaged to marry an English duke, you should always ask about her. That kind of conversation makes things pleasant.”

      “I like that view,” said George. “Give me some more advice.”

      “Never say anything disagreeable about any one you know.”

      “That is charitable, at all events.”

      “Of course it is; and, now I think of it, charity is really the foundation of good society,” continued Mrs. Trimm very sweetly.

      “You mean a charitable silence, I suppose.”

      “Not always silence. Saying kind words about people you hate is charitable, too.”

      “I should call it lying,” George observed.

      Totty was shocked at such bluntness.

      “That is far too strong language,” she answered, beginning to look as she did in church.

      “Gratuitous mendacity,” suggested her companion. “Is the word ‘lie’ in the swearing dictionary?”

      “Perhaps not—but after all, George,” continued Mrs. Trimm with sudden fervour, “there are often very nice things to be said quite truly about people we do not like, and it is certainly charitable and magnanimous to say them in spite of our personal feelings. One may just as well leave out the disagreeable things.”

      “Satan is a fallen angel. You hate him of course. If he chanced to be in society you would leave out the detail of the fall and say that Satan is an angel. Is that it?”

      “Approximately,” laughed Totty, who was less shocked at the mention of the devil than at hearing tact called lying. “I think you would succeed in society. By-the-bye, there is another thing. You must never talk about culture and books and such things, unless some celebrity begins it. That is most important, you know. Of course you would not like to feel that you were talking of things which other people could not understand, would