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'But I heard him knock； I fancy！'
'No； that was somebody inquiring for lodgings who came to the wrong
house。 I forgot to tell you that Mr。 Trewe sent a note just before
lunch to say I needn't get any tea for him； as he should not require
the books； and wouldn't come to select them。'
Ella was miserable； and for a long time could not even re…read his
mournful ballad on 'Severed Lives；' so aching was her erratic little
heart； and so tearful her eyes。 When the children came in with wet
stockings； and ran up to her to tell her of their adventures； she
could not feel that she cared about them half as much as usual。
* * *
'Mrs。 Hooper； have you a photograph ofthe gentleman who lived
here？' She was getting to be curiously shy in mentioning his name。
'Why； yes。 It's in the ornamental frame on the mantelpiece in your
own bedroom； ma'am。'
'No； the Royal Duke and Duchess are in that。'
'Yes； so they are； but he's behind them。 He belongs rightly to that
frame； which I bought on purpose； but as he went away he said：
〃Cover me up from those strangers that are coming； for God's sake。
I don't want them staring at me； and I am sure they won't want me
staring at them。〃 So I slipped in the Duke and Duchess temporarily
in front of him； as they had no frame； and Royalties are more
suitable for letting furnished than a private young man。 If you
take 'em out you'll see him under。 Lord； ma'am； he wouldn't mind if
he knew it！ He didn't think the next tenant would be such an
attractive lady as you； or he wouldn't have thought of hiding
himself； perhaps。'
'Is he handsome？' she asked timidly。
'_I_ call him so。 Some； perhaps； wouldn't。'
'Should I？' she asked； with eagerness。
'I think you would； though some would say he's more striking than
handsome； a large…eyed thoughtful fellow； you know； with a very
electric flash in his eye when he looks round quickly； such as you'd
expect a poet to be who doesn't get his living by it。'
'How old is he？'
'Several years older than yourself； ma'am； about thirty…one or two；
I think。'
Ella was； as a matter of fact； a few months over thirty herself； but
she did not look nearly so much。 Though so immature in nature； she
was entering on that tract of life in which emotional women begin to
suspect that last love may be stronger than first love； and she
would soon； alas； enter on the still more melancholy tract when at
least the vainer ones of her sex shrink from receiving a male
visitor otherwise than with their backs to the window or the blinds
half down。 She reflected on Mrs。 Hooper's remark； and said no more
about age。
Just then a telegram was brought up。 It came from her husband； who
had gone down the Channel as far as Budmouth with his friends in the
yacht； and would not be able to get back till next day。
After her light dinner Ella idled about the shore with the children
till dusk； thinking of the yet uncovered photograph in her room；
with a serene sense of something ecstatic to come。 For； with the
subtle luxuriousness of fancy in which this young woman was an
adept； on learning that her husband was to be absent that night she
had refrained from incontinently rushing upstairs and opening the
picture…frame； preferring to reserve the inspection till she could
be alone； and a more romantic tinge be imparted to the occasion by
silence； candles； solemn sea and stars outside； than was afforded by
the garish afternoon sunlight。
The children had been sent to bed； and Ella soon followed； though it
was not yet ten o'clock。 To gratify her passionate curiosity she
now made her preparations； first getting rid of superfluous garments
and putting on her dressing…gown； then arranging a chair in front of
the table and reading several pages of Trewe's tenderest utterances。
Then she fetched the portrait…frame to the light； opened the back；
took out the likeness； and set it up before her。
It was a striking countenance to look upon。 The poet wore a
luxuriant black moustache and imperial； and a slouched hat which
shaded the forehead。 The large dark eyes； described by the
landlady； showed an unlimited capacity for misery； they looked out
from beneath well…shaped brows as if they were reading the universe
in the microcosm of the confronter's face； and were not altogether
overjoyed at what the spectacle portended。
Ella murmured in her lowest； richest； tenderest tone： 'And it's YOU
who've so cruelly eclipsed me these many times！'
As she gazed long at the portrait she fell into thought； till her
eyes filled with tears； and she touched the cardboard with her lips。
Then she laughed with a nervous lightness； and wiped her eyes。
She thought how wicked she was； a woman having a husband and three
children； to let her mind stray to a stranger in this unconscionable
manner。 No； he was not a stranger！ She knew his thoughts and
feelings as well as she knew her own； they were； in fact； the self…
same thoughts and feelings as hers； which her husband distinctly
lacked； perhaps luckily for himself； considering that he had to
provide for family expenses。
'He's nearer my real self； he's more intimate with the real me than
Will is； after all； even though I've never seen him；' she said。
She laid his book and picture on the table at the bedside； and when
she was reclining on the pillow she re…read those of Robert Trewe's
verses which she had marked from time to time as most touching and
true。 Putting these aside； she set up the photograph on its edge
upon the coverlet； and contemplated it as she lay。 Then she scanned
again by the light of the candle the half…obliterated pencillings on
the wall…paper beside her head。 There they werephrases； couplets；
bouts…rimes； beginnings and middles of lines； ideas in the rough；
like Shelley's scraps； and the least of them so intense； so sweet；
so palpitating； that it seemed as if his very breath； warm and
loving； fanned her cheeks from those walls； walls that had
surrounded his head times and times as they surrounded her own now。
He must often have put up his hand sowith the pencil in it。 Yes；
the writing was sideways； as it would be if executed by one who
extended his arm thus。
These inscribed shapes of the poet's world；
'Forms more real than living man；
Nurslings of immortality；'
were； no doubt； the thoughts and spirit…strivings which had come to
him in the dead of night； when he could let himself go and have no
fear of the frost of criticism。 No doubt they had often been
written up hastily by the light of the moon； the rays of the lamp；
in the blue…grey dawn； in full daylight perhaps never。 And now her
hair was dragging where his arm had lain when he secured the
fugitive fancies； she was sleeping on a poet's lips； immersed in the
very essence of him； permeated by his spirit as by an ether。
While she was dreaming the minutes away thus； a footstep came upon
the stairs； and in a moment she heard her husband's heavy step on
the landing immediately without。
'Ell； where are you？'
What possessed her she could not have described； but； with an
instinctive objection to let her husband know what she had been
doing； she slipped the photograph under the pillow just as he flung
open the door； with the air of a man who had dined not badly。
'O； I beg pardon；' said William Marchmill。 'Have you a headache？ I
am afraid I have disturbed you。'
'No； I've not got a headache；' said she。 'How is it you've come？'
'Well； we found we could get back in very good time after all； and I
didn't want to make another day of it； because of going somewhere
else to…morrow。'
'Shall I come down again？'
'O no。 I'm as tired as a dog。 I've had a good feed； and I shall
turn in straight off。 I want to get out at six o'clock to…morrow if
I can 。 。 。 I shan't disturb you by my getting up； it will be long
before you are awake。' And he came forward into the room。
While her eyes followed his movements； Ella softly pushed the
photograph further out of sight。
'Sure you're not ill？' he asked； bending over her。
'No； only wicked！'
'Never mind that。' And he stooped and kissed her。
Next morning Marchmill was called at six o'clock； and in waking