Mr. Waddington of Wyck. Sinclair May

the bookcases, where Fanny's fluttering smile made movement and a sort of light.

      Her husband sat facing her in his brown leather chair and in the pose, the wonderful pose of his portrait; only the sobriety of his navy-blue serge had fined it down, giving him a factitious slenderness. He hadn't seen her come in. He sat there in innocence and unawareness; and afterwards it gave her a little pang of remorse remembering how innocent he had then seemed to her and unaware.

      "This is my husband, Barbara. Horatio, you haven't met Miss Madden."

      His eyes bulged with the startled innocence of a creature taken unaware. He had just lifted his face, with its dripping moustache, from his teacup, and though he carried off this awkwardness with an unabashed sweep of his pocket-handkerchief, you could see that he was sensitive; he hated you to catch him in any gesture that was less than noble. All his gestures were noble and his attitudes. He was noble as he got up, slowly, unfolding his great height, tightening by a movement of his shoulders his great breadth. He looked down at her superbly and held out his hand; it closed on hers in a large genial clasp.

      "So this is my secretary, is it?"

      "Yes. And don't forget she's my companion as well as your secretary."

      "I never forget anything that you wish me to remember." (Only he said "nevah" and "remembah"; he bowed as he said it in a very courtly way.)

      Barbara noticed that his black hair and moustache were lightly grizzled, there was loose flesh about his eyelids, his chin had doubled, and his cheeks were sagging from the bone, otherwise he was exactly like his portrait; these changes made him look, if anything, more incorruptibly dignified and more solemn. He had remained on his feet (for his breeding was perfect), moving between the tea-table and Barbara, bringing her tea, milk and sugar, and things to eat. Altogether he was so simple, so genial and unmysterious that Barbara could only suppose that Ralph had been making fun of her, of her wonder, her curiosity.

      "My dear, what a colour you've got!"

      Fanny put up her hands to her own cheeks to draw attention to Barbara's. "You are growing a country girl, aren't you? You should have seen her white face when she came, Horatio."

      "What has she been doing to herself?" He had settled again into his chair and his attitude.

      "She's been out walking with Ralph."

      "With Ralph? Is he here still?"

      "Why shouldn't he be?"

      Mr. Waddington shrugged his immense shoulders. "It's a question of taste. If he likes to hang about the place after his behaviour—"

      "Poor boy! whatever has he done? 'Behaviour' makes it sound as if it had been something awful."

      "We needn't go into it, I think."

      "But you are going into it, darling, all the time. Do you mean to keep it up against him for ever?"

      "I'm not keeping anything up. What Ralph Bevan does is no concern of mine. Since I'm not to be inconvenienced by it—since Miss Madden has come to my rescue so charmingly—I shall not give it another thought."

      He turned to Barbara as to a change of subject. "Had you any difficulty"—(his voice was measured and important)—"in finding your way here?"

      "None at all."

      "Ah, that one-thirty train is excellent. Excellent. But if you had not told the guard to stop at the Hill you would have been carried on to Cheltenham. Which would have been very awkward for you. Very awkward indeed."

      "My dear Horatio, what did you suppose she would do?"

      "My dear Fanny, there are many things she might have done. She might have got into the wrong coach at Paddington and been carried on to Worcester."

      "And that," said Barbara, "would have been much worse than Cheltenham."

      "The very thought of it," said Fanny, "makes me shudder. But thank God,

       Barbara, you didn't do any of those things."

      Mr. Waddington shifted the crossing of his legs as a big dog shifts his paws when you laugh at him; the more Fanny laughed the more dignified and solemn he became.

      "You haven't told me yet, Horatio, what you did in London."

      "I was just going to tell you when Miss Madden—so delightfully—came in."

      At that Barbara thought it discreet to dismiss herself, but Fanny called her back. "What are you running away for? He didn't do anything in London he wouldn't like you to hear about."

      "On the contrary, I particularly wish Miss Madden to hear about it. I am starting a branch of the National League of Liberty in Wyck. You may have heard of it?"

      "Yes. I've heard of it. I've even seen the prospectus."

      "Good. Well, Fanny, I lunched yesterday with Sir Maurice Gedge, and he's as keen as mustard. He agrees with me that the League will be no good, no good at all, until it's taken up strong in the provinces. He wants me to start at once. Just as soon as I can get my Committee."

      "My dear, if you've got to have a Committee first you'll never start."

      "It depends altogether on who I get. And it'll be my Committee. Sir Maurice was very emphatic about that. He agrees with me that if you want a thing done, and done well, you must do it yourself. There can only be one moving spirit. The Committee will have nothing to do but carry out my ideas."

      "Then be sure you get a Committee that hasn't any of its own."

      "That will not be difficult," said Mr. Waddington, "in Wyck. … The first thing is the prospectus. That's where you come in, Miss Madden."

      "You mean the first thing is that Barbara draws up the prospectus."

      "Under my supervision."

      "The next thing," Fanny said, "is to conceal your prospectus from your Committee till it's in print. You come to your Committee with your prospectus. You don't offer it for discussion."

      "Supposing," Barbara said, "they insist on discussing it?"

      "They won't," said Fanny, "once it's printed, especially if it's paid for. You must get Pyecraft to send in his bill at once. And if they do start discussing you can put them off with the date and place of the meeting and the wording of the posters. That'll give them something to talk about. I suppose you'll be chairman."

      "Well, I think, in the circumstances, they could hardly appoint anybody else."

      "I don't know. Somebody might suggest Sir John Corbett."

      Mr. Waddington's face sagged with dismay as Fanny presented this unpleasant possibility.

      "I don't think Sir John would care about it. I shall suggest it to him myself; but I don't think—."

      After all, Sir John Corbett was a lazy man.

      "When you've roused Sir John, if you ever do rouse him, then you'll have to round up all the towns and villages for twenty miles. It's a pity you can't have Ralph; he would have rounded them for you in no time on his motor-bike."

      "I am quite capable of rounding them all up myself, thank you."

      "Well, dear," said Fanny placably, "it'll keep you busy for the next six months, and that'll be nice. You won't miss the war then so much, will you?"

      "Miss the war?"

      "Yes, you do miss it, darling. He was a special constable, Barbara; and he sat on tribunals; and he drove his motor-car like mad on government service. He had no end of a time. It's no use your saying you didn't enjoy it, Horatio, for you did."

      "I was glad to be of service to my country as much as any soldier, but to say that I enjoyed the war—"

      "If there hadn't been a war there wouldn't have been any service to be glad about."

      "My