The Years Before - Page 2

were such as gave
him all ease as an onlooker. He saw closely those who sat with knit
brows and cautiously hovering hand at the great chess-board which is
formed by the map of Europe.

As a statesman or a diplomat he would have gone far, but he had been too
much occupied with Life as an entertainment, too self-indulgent for work
of any order. Having, however, been born with a certain type of brain,
it observed and recorded in spite of him, thereby adding flavour and
interest to existence. But that was all.

Texture and colour gave him almost abnormal pleasure. For this reason,
perhaps, he was the most perfectly dressed man in London.

It was at a garden-party that he first saw Feather. When his eyes fell
upon her, he was talking to a group of people and he stopped speaking.
Some one standing quite near him said afterwards that he had, for a
second or so, became pale--almost as if he saw something which
frightened him. He was still rather pale when Feather lifted her eyes to
him. But he had not talked to her for fifteen minutes before he knew
that there was no real reason why he should ever again lose his colour
at the sight of her. He had thought, at first, there was.

This was the beginning of an acquaintance which gave rise to much
argument over tea-cups regarding the degree of Coombe's interest in her.
Remained, however, the fact that he managed to see a great deal of her.
Feather was guilelessly doubtless concerning him. She was quite sure
that he was in love with her, and very practically aware that the more
men of the class of the Head of the House of Coombe who came in and out
of the slice of a house, the more likely the dwellers in it were to get
good invitations and continued credit.

The realisation of these benefits was cut short. Robert, amazingly and
unnaturally, failed her by dying. He was sent away in a hearse and the
tiny house ceased to represent hilarious little parties.

Bills were piled high everywhere. The rent was long overdue and must be
paid. She had no money to pay it, none to pay the servants' wages.

"It's awful--it's awful--it's awful!" broke out between her sobs.

From her bedroom window--at evening--she watched "Cook," the smart
footman, the nurse, the maids, climb into four-wheelers and be driven
away.

"They're gone--all of them!" she gasped. "There's no one left in the
house. It's empty!"

Then was Feather seized with a panic. She had something like hysterics,
falling face downward upon the carpet and clutching her hair until it
fell down. She was not a person to be judged--she was one of the
unexplained incidents of existence.

The night drew in more closely. A prolonged wailing