There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.         
          HAMLET             

THE snaring of men is the tamest sport in the world. It is so ridiculously easy. Let but the female cast a favourable eye upon the male and he is hers—for as long as she is clever enough to keep him. Whether a prize so easily won is worth the keeping is a matter for every woman to decide for herself. Generally the matter is settled by the advent of children, or by economic complications, or by fear of public opinion. Desire waits upon vanity and vanity is the destroyer of love. Unhappily passion is so exceedingly rare that there would be neither marriage nor giving in marriage if men and women did not hoodwink themselves and each other. Quite clearly the world would be the better without the hoodwinking and the marriages resulting from it, but, these being in the majority, and the ignoble art of hoodwinking being passed on from generation to generation, and commended by eminent divines and popular writers, and since women insist on getting married in all circumstances and at whatever cost of degradation and disappointment, there is nothing to be done but to grin and bear it and applaud every active protest that is made against it.

These were the sentiments roused in Serge Folyat when it was announced that Frederic had entered upon an indefinite engagement to marry Jessie Clibran-Bell.

Quite other and not at all philosophical were the sentiments of Frederic’s father when the announcement was made to him exactly a week after his visit to Miller Street, to the house of Mrs. Lipsett. He was shocked and [Pg 178]outraged, but as the announcement was made to him by his wife—in their bedroom—and she seemed to take an extraordinary pleasure in it, he was silent. Mrs. Folyat declared herself entirely taken by surprise. She had made Frederic take her and Jessie to the pantomime, and on the way home Jessie had stolen her hand into hers and said:

“I am so happy.”

And Frederic had added:

“Yes. Isn’t she?”

And then she knew! And Frederic was so proud and happy too. And so brave and manly! He could not think of marrying Jessie until he was making three hundred a year. And didn’t Francis think it was time they set Frederic up in a practice by himself?

Francis groaned inwardly.

It would be delightful (continued Mrs. Folyat) to have Frederic settled. Of course he would only have a small establishment to begin with, but when he had made his position, he would be able to live in the best suburbs on the south of the town and his sons would go to public schools. Jessie was such a dear girl, as Francis would find when he knew her better, and she was so devotedly attached to Frederic, and Frederic was so very much in love, so chivalrous and attentive. Nothing better could be wished for. Francis must really consider the possibility of providing Frederic with an office of his own.

“I’ll think it over,” said Francis. “If you don’t mind, I would like to sleep.”

Mrs. Folyat continued her monologue for a quarter of an hour and lulled herself to sleep with the sound of her own voice.

Francis lay on his back staring into the darkness. His first impulse was to go up to Frederic’s room and have it out with him there and then, but he could hardly do that without waking the woman sleeping at his side. Also he had made it a rule never to act in any difficulty without sleeping on it, or, at any rate, if sleep visited him not, without a night’s cogitation. The trouble was that this new complication seemed to him so hideous that he hated [Pg 179]to think of it. In the cause of morality, also for the sake of Jessie Clibran-Bell, he ought to denounce Frederic and fling him out neck and crop. But common sense bade him pause. What would be the result? A great deal of wretchedness and misery in two houses, and in all probability Frederic’s utter ruin.

Already he was an accessory after the fact of Frederic’s first dishonour. Could he become an aider and abettor of the second? Or, rather, having swallowed the first could he reasonably strain at the second? . . . He condemned himself for his weakness in palliating such an offence for the sake of peace. Then, rebounding from self-condemnation—(no man can keep it up for very long)—he told himself that it was not for the sake of peace but to save that poor girl from a drudging life with a man out of her own class. Then, in justice, he was forced to admit that the truth lay between the two.

His final conclusion, just as dawn began to outline the window, was that the world must be much less or more simple than he had thought. The effort of deciding which the world was entirely exhausted him, and sleep came at last.

In the morning he had a letter from his brother William, the first for fifteen years, announcing his return from India and settlement at Sydenham, near the Crystal Palace, where he would be glad to see Francis, his wife, or any of his children. How many were there? He, William, had two.

Francis handed it over to his wife just as Frederic came down.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate Frederic, my dear?” asked Mrs. Folyat.

Frederic looked across at his father with malicious defiance in his eyes. Francis opened another letter and ignored the question. Mrs. Folyat returned to the charge.

“My dear, Frederic is to be congratulated.”

“I am as delighted,” replied Francis, “as Frederic is himself.”

Frederic viciously sliced off the top of an egg. Mrs. Folyat seemed to be satisfied. She read William’s letter.

[Pg 180]

“That will be very nice,” she said. “Gertrude could stay with them on her way back from the Folkestone Folyats.”

Frederic went to the door and bawled peevishly to Annette to bring his coffee.

“Annette,” observed Francis, “is not a servant.”

“I know,” returned Frederic, “but I can’t be late.”

Annette appeared with Frederic’s coffee. He gave her no thanks, and she returned to cook breakfast for Serge, Minna, and Gertrude. (Mary was away on a visit.)

“I think,” said Francis, “I think Annette might be the first to stay with William.”

“Annette!” Mrs. Folyat swept her out of consideration. “Annette! She has no clothes.”

Frederic gulped down his coffee and hurried away.

“It will be time,” said Mrs. Folyat, “it will be time to think of Annette when Gertrude and Mary and Minna are married.”

“And suppose they never marry?”

“Of course they will marry.”

Serge came down in Frederic’s dressing-gown, and shortly afterwards Minna and Gertrude followed him.

“Any news?” asked Minna.

“My dear . . .”

Mrs. Folyat wriggled with excitement.

“My dear. What do you think? Frederic took me and Jessie to the pantomime last night; I thought it vulgar and most unsuitable for children. And what do you think? Frederic and Jessie are engaged.”

“How clever of you, ma,” said Minna.

“I! I was entirely taken by surprise.”

Minna grinned:

“So was Wellington when he found he had won the battle of Waterloo.”

Francis gathered up his letters and the daily paper, a Conservative organ, together with the Church Times, and turned to Serge.

“If you can give me a moment or two,” he said, “I should like your opinion on a matter of some importance.”

“Delighted,” answered Serge.

[Pg 181]

Five minutes later Serge knocked at the study door, went in, and found his father at his desk writing a letter. Francis laid down his pen and turned.

“I want your opinion as a man of the world. I find myself in a situation with which I am not competent to deal, and yet I must deal with it.”

“My experience is,” said Serge, “that most ............