The Essential G. B. Shaw: Celebrated Plays, Novels, Personal Letters, Essays & Articles. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

and a tarnished reputation.”

      Lydia remained silent so long after this that Lucian’s expression of magisterial severity first deepened, then wavered, and finally gave way to a sense of injury; for she seemed to have forgotten him. He was about to protest against this treatment, when she looked at him again, and said,

      “Why did Lord Worthington introduce a man of this class to me?”

      “Because you asked him to do so. Probably he thought that if you chose to make such a request without previous inquiry, you should not blame him if you found yourself saddled with an undesirable acquaintance. Recollect that you asked for the introduction on the platform at Wiltstoken, in the presence of the man himself. Such a ruffian would be capable of making a disturbance for much less offence than an explanation and refusal would have given him.”

      “Lucian,” said Lydia, in a tone of gentle admonition, “I asked to be introduced to my tenant, for whose respectability you had vouched by letting the Warren Lodge to him.” Lucian reddened. “How does Lord Worthington explain Mr. Byron’s appearance at Mrs. Hoskyn’s?”

      “It was a stupid joke. Mrs. Hoskyn had worried Worthington to bring some celebrity to her house; and, in revenge, he took his pugilistic protege.”

      “Hm!”

      “I do not defend Worthington. But discretion is hardly to be expected from him.”

      “He has discretion enough to understand a case of this kind thoroughly. But let that pass. I have been thinking upon what you tell me about these singular people, whose existence I hardly knew of before. Now, Lucian, in the course of my reading I have come upon denunciations of every race and pursuit under the sun. Very respectable and well-informed men have held that Jews, Irishmen, Christians, atheists, lawyers, doctors, politicians, actors, artists, flesh-eaters, and spirit-drinkers are all of necessity degraded beings. Such statements can be easily proved by taking a black sheep from each flock, and holding him up as the type. It is more reasonable to argue a man’s character from the nature of his profession; and yet even that is very unsafe. War is a cruel business; but soldiers are not necessarily bloodthirsty and inhuman men. I am not quite satisfied that a prizefighter is a violent and dangerous man because he follows a violent and dangerous profession — I suppose they call it a profession.”

      Lucian was about to speak; but she interrupted him by continuing,

      “And yet that is not what concerns me at present. Have you found out anything about Mr. Byron personally? Is he an ordinary representative of his class?”

      “No; I should rather think — and hope — that he is a very extraordinary representative of it. I have traced his history back to his boyhood, when he was a cabin-boy. Having apparently failed to recommend himself to his employers in that capacity, he became errand-boy to a sort of maitre d’armes at Melbourne. Here he discovered where his genius lay; and he presently appeared in the ring with an unfortunate young man named Ducket, whose jaw he fractured. This laid the foundation of his fame. He fought several battles with unvarying success; but at last he allowed his valor to get the better of his discretion so far as to kill an Englishman who contended with him with desperate obstinacy for two hours. I am informed that the particular blow by which he felled the poor wretch for the last time is known in pugilistic circles as ‘Cashel’s killer,’ and that he has attempted to repeat it in all his subsequent encounters, without, however, achieving the same fatal result. The failure has doubtless been a severe disappointment to him. He fled from Australia and reappeared in America, where he resumed his victorious career, distinguishing himself specially by throwing a gigantic opponent in some dreadful fashion that these men have, and laming him for life. He then—”

      “Thank you, Lucian,” said Lydia rather faintly. “That is quite enough. Are you sure that it is all true?”

      “My authority is Lord Worthington, and a number of newspaper reports which he showed me. Byron himself will probably be proud to give you the fullest confirmation of the record. I should add, in justice to him, that he is looked upon as a model — to pugilists — of temperance and general good conduct.”

      “Do you remember my remarking a few days ago, on another subject, how meaningless our observations are until we are given the right thread to string them on?”

      “Yes,” said “Webber, disconcerted by the allusion.

      “My acquaintance with this man is a case in point. He has obtruded his horrible profession upon me every time we have met. I have actually seen him publicly cheered as a pugilist-hero; and yet, being off the track, and ignorant of the very existence of such a calling, I have looked on and seen nothing.”

      Lydia then narrated her adventure in Soho, and listened with the perfect patience of indifference to his censure of her imprudence in going there alone.

      “And now, Lydia,” he added, “may I ask what you intend to do in this matter?”

      “What would you have me do?”

      “Drop his acquaintance at once. Forbid him your house in the most explicit terms.”

      “A pleasant task!” said Lydia, ironically. “But I will do it — not so much, perhaps, because he is a prizefighter, as because he is an impostor. Now go to the writing-table and draft me a proper letter to send him.”

      Lucian’s face elongated. “I think,” he said, “you can do that better for yourself. It is a delicate sort of thing.”

      “Yes. It is not so easy as you implied a moment ago. Otherwise I should not require your assistance. As it is—” She pointed again to the table.

      Lucian was not ready with an excuse. He sat down reluctantly, and, after some consideration, indited the following:

      “Miss Carew presents her compliments to Mr. Cashel Byron, and begs to inform him that she will not be at home during the remainder of the season as heretofore. She therefore regrets that she cannot have the pleasure of receiving him on Friday afternoon.”

      “I think you will find that sufficient,” said Lucian.

      “Probably,” said Lydia, smiling as she read it. “But what shall I do if he takes offence; calls here, breaks the windows, and beats Bashville? Were I in his place, that is what such a letter would provoke me to do.”

      “He dare not give any trouble. But I will warn the police if you feel anxious.”

      “By no means. We must not show ourselves inferior to him in courage, which is, I suppose, his cardinal virtue.”

      “If you write the note now, I will post it for you.”

      “No, thank you. I will send it with my other letters.”

      Lucian would rather have waited; but she would not write while he was there. So he left, satisfied on the whole with the success of his mission. When he was gone, she took a pen, endorsed his draft neatly, placed it in a drawer, and wrote to Cashel thus:

      “Dear Mr. Cashel Byron, — I have just discovered your secret. I am sorry; but you must not come again. Farewell. Yours faithfully,

      “Lydia Carew.”

      Lydia kept this note by her until next morning, when she read it through carefully. She then sent Bashville to the post with it.

      CHAPTER IX

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      Cashel’s pupils frequently requested him to hit them hard — not to play with them — to accustom them to regular, right down, severe hitting, and no nonsense. He only pretended to comply; for he knew that a black eye or loosened tooth would be immoderately boasted of if received in combat with a famous pugilist, and that the sufferer’s friends would make private notes to avoid so rough a professor. But when Miss Carew’s note reached him he made an exception to his practice in this respect. A young guardsman, whose lesson began shortly