Christopher said:
“Hadn’t you better mention names?”
Mark said:
“No! I never mention names. I mean a woman writer and her daughter. I suppose the girl is father’s daughter, isn’t she?”
Christopher said:
“No. She couldn’t be. I’ve thought of it. She’s twenty-seven. We were all in Dijon for the two years before she was born. Father didn’t come into the estate till next year. The Wannops were also in Canada at the time. Professor Wannop was principal of a university there. I forget the name.”
Mark said:
“So we were. In Dijon! For my French!” He added: “Then she can’t be father’s daughter. Its a good thing. I thought, as he wanted to settle money on them, they were very likely his children. There’s a son, too. He’s to have a thousand. What’s he doing?”
“The son,” Tietjens said, “is a conscientious objector. He’s on a mine-sweeper. A bluejacket. His idea is that picking up mines is saving life, not taking it.”
“Then he won’t want the brass yet,” Mark said, “it’s to start him in any business. What’s the full name and address of your girl? Where do you keep her?”
They were in an open space, dusty, with half-timber buildings whose demolition had been interrupted. Christopher halted close to a post that had once been a cannon; up against this he felt that his brother could lean in order to assimilate ideas. He said slowly and patiently:
“If you’re consulting with me as to how to carry out our father’s intentions, and as there’s money in it you had better make an attempt to get hold of the facts. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t a matter of money. In the first place, no money is wanted at this end. I can live on my pay. My wife is a rich woman, relatively. Her mother is a very rich woman….”
“She’s Rugeley’s mistress, isn’t she?” Mark asked.
Christopher said:
“No, she isn’t. I should certainly say she wasn’t. Why should she be? She’s his cousin.”
“Then it’s your wife who was Rugeley’s mistress?” Mark asked. “Or why should she have the loan of his box?”
“Sylvia also is Rugeley’s cousin, of course, a degree further removed,” Tietjens said. “She isn’t anyone’s mistress. You can be certain of that.”
“They say she is,” Mark answered. “They say she’s a regular tart… I suppose you think I’ve insulted you.”
Christopher said:
“No, you haven’t…. It’s better to get all this out. We’re practically strangers, but you’ve a right to ask.”
Mark said:
“Then you haven’t got a girl and don’t need money to keep her…. You could have what you liked. There’s no reason why a man shouldn’t have a girl, and if he has he ought to keep her decently….”
Christopher did not answer. Mark leaned against the half-buried cannon and swung his umbrella by its crook.
“But,” he said, “if you don’t keep a girl what do you do for…” He was going to say “for the comforts of home,” but a new idea had come into his mind. “Of course,” he said, “one can see that your wife’s soppily in love with you.” He added: “Soppily… one can see that with half an eye….”
Christopher felt his jaw drop. Not a second before — that very second! — he had made up his mind to ask Valentine Wannop to become his mistress that night. It was no good, any more, he said to himself. She loved him, he knew, with a deep, an unshakable passion, just as his passion for her was a devouring element that covered his whole mind as the atmosphere envelopes the earth. Were they, then, to go down to death separated by years, with no word ever spoken? To what end? For whose benefit? The whole world conspired to force them together! To resist became a weariness!
His brother Mark was talking on. “I know all about women,” he had announced. Perhaps he did. He had lived with exemplary fidelity to a quite unpresentable woman, for a number of years. Perhaps the complete study of one woman gave you a map of all the rest!
Christopher said:
“Look here, Mark. You had better go through all my pass-books for the last ten years. Or ever since I had an account. This discussion is no good if you don’t believe what I say.”
Mark said:
“I don’t want to see your pass-books. I believe you.”
He added, a second later:
“Why the devil shouldn’t I believe you? It’s either believing you’re a gentleman or Ruggles a liar. It’s only commonsense to believe Ruggles a liar, in that case. I didn’t before because I had no grounds to.”
Christopher said:
“I doubt if liar is the right word. He picked up things that were said against me. No doubt he reported them faithfully enough. Things are said against me. I don’t know why.”
“Because,” Mark said with emphasis, “you treat these south country swine with the contempt that they deserve. They’re incapable of understanding the motives of a gentleman. If you live among dogs they’ll think you’ve the motives of a dog. What other motives can they give you?” He added: “I thought you’d been buried so long under their muck that you were as mucky as they!”
Tietjens looked at his brother with the respect one has to give to a man ignorant but shrewd. It was a discovery that his brother was shrewd.
But, of course, he would be shrewd. He was the indispensable head of a great department. He had to have some qualities…. Not cultivated, not even instructed. A savage! But penetrating!
“We must move on,” he said, “or I shall have to take a cab.” Mark detached himself from his half buried cannon.
“What did you do with the other three thousand?” he asked. “Three thousand is a hell of a big sum to chuck away. For a younger son.”
“Except for some furniture I bought for my wife’s rooms,” Christopher said, “it went mostly in loans.”
“Loans!” Mark exclaimed. “To that fellow Macmaster?”
“Mostly to him,” Christopher answered. “But about seven hundred to Dicky Swipes, of Cullercoats.”
“Good God! Why to him?” Mark ejaculated.
“Oh, because he was Swipes, of Cullercoats,” Christopher said, “and asked for it. He’d have had more, only that was enough for him to drink himself to death on.”
Mark said:
“I suppose you don’t give money to every fellow that asks for it?”
Christopher said:
“I do. It’s a matter of principle.”
“It’s lucky,” Mark said, “that a lot of fellows don’t know that. You wouldn’t have much brass left for long.”
“I didn’t have it for long,” Christopher said.
“You know,” Mark said, “you couldn’t expect to do the princely patron on a youngest son’s portion. It’s a matter of taste. I never gave a ha’penny to a beggar myself. But a lot of the Tietjens were princely. One generation to addle brass; one to keep; one to spend. That’s all right…. I suppose Macmaster’s wife is your mistress? That’ll account for it not being the girl. They keep an arm-chair for you.”
Christopher said:
“No. I just backed Macmaster for the sake of backing him. Father lent him money to begin with.”
“So he did,” Mark exclaimed.
“His wife,” Christopher said, “was the widow of Breakfast Duchemin. You knew Breakfast Duchemin?”
“Oh, I knew Breakfast Duchemin,” Mark said. “I suppose Mac-master’s a pretty warm man now. Done himself proud with Duchemin’s money.”
“Pretty proud!” Christopher said. “They won’t be knowing me long now.”
“But damn it all!” Mark said. “You’ve Groby to all intents and purposes. I’m not going to marry and beget children to hinder you.”
Christopher said: