Chapter 12

In the silence that followed, Humphrey stood bewildered. The harsh note in Ferrol's voice surprised him; what on earth could it matter to Ferrol whether he married or not. And Ferrol must have read his thoughts, and seen his mistake at once.

"Of course," he said, "it's no business of mine. Your life's your own. Only I think you're too young for that sort of thing. Why, you haven't seen the world yet. You haven't a father, have you?"

"No," said Humphrey.

"Well"—Ferrol's voice softened—"you won't mind my advising you then."

"No," said Humphrey again: already he seemed to feel Lilian slipping from his grasp.

"I'm looking at it simply from the business point of view. No man has a right to marry until his position is made—least of all a reporter."

"But she would help me," Humphrey pleaded. "She would be able to help me. She would ..." he broke off.

Ferrol completed the sentence for him. "Keep you straight. Yes, I know. I've heard it all before. The man who needs a woman to keep him straight is only half a man."

"But," continued Humphrey—and he thought of Wratten and Tommy Pride—"we don't get much out of life—we're at work all day long, there's absolutely nobody ... I mean, there's nothing left in it all ..." he spread his hands wide. "At the end there's nothing ... emptiness." He stammered broken sentences[184] that had a queer impressiveness in them. "I'm nothing ... it seems to me ... all this life, rushing about all day ... and everything forgotten to-morrow ... there's nothing that lasts ... nothing except...."

"Oh, you think you'll get happiness," Ferrol said. "Perhaps you will. But every moment of happiness is going to cost you years of misery. As soon as you marry, what happens? You are no longer independent. You've got to lie down and take all the kicks. You've got to submit to be ground down; to be insulted by men whom you dare not strike back, as you would, if you had only yourself to think of.... And then, you know, in a year's time, you've got to work ... double as hard, and to watch every penny, and to save.... Why, you young fool, don't you see that if you're going to get on in this business, you mustn't have any other wish in life but to rise to the top. Everything must be put aside for that—you must even put aside yourself. You must have only one love—the love of the game; the love of the hunter for his quarry."

What made Ferrol talk like this.... What had happened to Humphrey that he should be there, standing up to Ferrol, fighting the question of his marriage? Something new and unexpected had thrust itself into their relations, and Humphrey could not understand it.

"But that's what I want to do," he said; "we should do it together."

"Yes. How?" said Ferrol, a little brutally again. "Shall I tell you? I know you young men who marry the moment you see a marrying wage. It's all very well for you—you may progress—you may develop—you're bound to, for men knock about and gather world experience. But what of the woman at home?—cooped up in her home with babies? Eh? have you thought of that? Where would your home be? You haven't got as far as that, then. The woman stands still, and[185] you march on. She can lift you up, but you can't lift her up. And then the day comes that you're a brilliant man—the most brilliant man in the Street, if you like...." Ferrol smiled. "Oh! you never know. Think of John K. Garton, and Mallaby, and Owers.... And you're different. You can link up the things of life. You can perceive and appreciate pictures and fine music and the meaning of everything that matters ... and for the woman who has not been able to progress, nothing but popular songs, chromographs, and ignorance of anything but the petty little things of to-day. Then you hear people saying, 'How on earth did he come to marry her?' There's always an answer to that. He didn't marry her. It was another man—the man he was twenty years ago—who did it. Do you see?"

Humphrey looked about him forlornly. His dreams were crumbling before the onslaught of Ferrol's remorseless less words. The powerful magnetism of this man held him: he felt sure that Ferrol was right.... Ferrol was only voicing the thoughts that he himself had feared to express. Above the inward turmoil of his mind, he heard again the voice of Ferrol, forceful and insistent:

"You are not the man you will be in twenty years' time. There's no reason," he added hastily, "why I should take all this trouble over you ... no reason at all ... it's no concern of mine. Other people on my staff can do as they please—for some men marriage is the best thing ... I don't interfere. I'm not interfering now. I'm only giving my point of view."

"Yes ... I know," Humphrey said, and somehow or other he seemed to feel an extraordinary sympathy for Ferrol; he seemed to understand this man. At that moment he would have stood forth for Ferrol and championed him against a world of hatred!

"Only I thought ..." Humphrey began. "You see, she supports her family...."

[186]

"O Lord!" Ferrol groaned. "It's worse than I imagined."

"Besides, she's ... she's clever ... we have the same tastes."

"Of course you have. But your tastes will alter. You're going to progress.... And she's going to progress, too, on different lines.... A woman's line of progress is different ... and in twenty years' time!"

The telephone bell rang. Ferrol took up the receiver.

"Well, that's all," he said to Humphrey. And then: "I don't take this trouble with every one."

Humphrey groped for words. "No ... I understand ... I see what you mean.... You don't think...."

Ferrol nodded. "You can do what you like, of course."

He put the receiver to his ear and began talking rapidly.